THEGLORYOF 
 CLEMENTINA 
 
 WILLIAM J . LOCKE
 
 UCSB LIBRARY 
 
 
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 .
 
 THE GLORY 
 
 CF 
 CLEMENTINA
 
 THE GLORY OF 
 CLEMENTINA 
 
 By WILLIAM J. LOCKE 
 
 Author of "Idols," "Septimus," "Derelicts," "Simon 
 the Jester," "The Beloved Vagabond," etc. 
 
 WITH FOUK ILLUSTRATIONS 
 BY ARTHUR I. KELLER 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1911 
 BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1911 
 BY JOHN LANE COMPANY
 
 THE GLORY 
 
 OF 
 CLEMENTINA
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 UNLESS you knew that by taking a few turn- 
 ings in any direction and walking for five 
 minutes you would inevitably come into one 
 of the great, clashing, shrieking thoroughfares of 
 London, you might think that Romney Place, Chelsea, 
 was situated in some world-forgotten cathedral city. 
 Why it is called a " place," history does not record. It 
 is simply a street, or double terrace, the quietest, se- 
 datest, most unruffled, most old-maidish street you can 
 imagine. Its primness is painful. It is rigorously 
 closed to organ-grinders and German bands ; and itin- 
 erant vendors of coal would have as much hope of sell- 
 ing their wares inside the British Museum as of attract- 
 ing custom in Romney Place by their raucous appeal. 
 Little dogs on leads and lazy Persian cats are its genii 
 loci. It consists of a double row of little Early Vic- 
 torian houses, each having a basement protected by 
 area railings, an entrance floor reached by a prim 
 little flight of steps, and an upper floor. Three little 
 houses close one end of the street, a sleepy little 
 modern church masks the other. Each house has a 
 tiny back garden which, on the south side, owing 
 to the gradual slope of the ground river wards, is on a 
 level with the basement floor and thus on a lower 
 level than the street. Some of the houses on this 
 south side are constructed with a studio on the gar- 
 den level running the whole height of the house. A 
 sloping skylight in the roof admits the precious north 
 light, and a French window leads on to the garden. 
 
 i
 
 2 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 A gallery runs round the studio, on a level and in 
 communication with the entrance floor; and from this 
 to the ground is a spiral staircase. 
 
 From such a gallery did Tommy Burgrave, one 
 November afternoon, look down into the studio of 
 Clementina Wing. She was not alone, as he had ex- 
 pected; for in front of an easel carrying a nearly 
 finished portrait stood the original, a pretty, dainty 
 girl accompanied by a well-dressed, well-fed, bullet- 
 headed, bull - necked, commonplace young man. 
 Clementina, on hearing footsteps, looked up. 
 
 "I'm sorry " he began. "They didn't tell 
 
 me " 
 
 " Don't run away. We're quite through with the 
 sitting. Come down. This is Mr. Burgrave, a neigh- 
 bour of mine," she explained. " Tries to paint, too- 
 Miss Etta Concannon Captain Hilyard." 
 
 She performed perfunctory introductions. The 
 group lingered round the portrait for a few moments, 
 and then the girl and the young man went away. 
 Clementina scrutinised the picture, sighed, pushed the 
 easel to a corner of the studio and drew up another 
 one into the light. Tommy sat on the model-throne 
 and lit a cigarette. 
 
 "Who's the man?" 
 
 " This ? " asked Clementina, pointing to the new 
 portrait, that of a stout and comfortable-looking gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " No. The man with Miss Etta Something. I like 
 the name Etta." 
 
 " He's engaged to her. I told you his name, Captam 
 Hilyard. He called for her. I don't like him," replied 
 Clementina, whose language was abrupt. 
 
 " He looks rather a brute and she's as pretty as 
 paint. It must be awful hard lines on a girl when she 
 gets hold of a bad lot."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 3 
 
 "You're right," she said, gathering up palette and 
 brushes. Then she turned on him. " What are you 
 wasting precious daylight for? Why aren't you at 
 work?" 
 
 " I feel rather limp this afternoon, and want stimu- 
 lating. So I thought I'd come in. Can I stay ? " 
 
 " Oh, Lord, yes, you can stay," said Clementina, 
 dabbing a vicious bit of paint on the canvas and step- 
 ping back to observe the effect. " Though you limp 
 young men who need stimulating make me tired 
 as tired," she added, with another stroke, " as this 
 horrible fat man's trousers." 
 
 " I don't see why you need have painted his trousers. 
 Why not have made him half length? " 
 
 " Because he's the kind of cheesemonger that wants 
 value for his money. If I cut him off at the waist 
 he would think he was cheated. He pays to have his 
 hideous trousers painted, and so I paint them." 
 
 " But you're an artist, Clementina." 
 
 " I got over the disease long ago," she replied 
 grimly, still dabbing at the creases of the abominable 
 and unmentionable garments. " A woman of my age 
 and appearance hasn't any illusions left. If she has, 
 she's a fool. I paint portraits for money, so that one 
 of these days I may be able to retire from trade and 
 be a lady. Bah ! Art ! Look at that ! " 
 
 " Hi ! Stop ! " laughed Tommy, as soon as the result 
 of the fresh brush-stroke was revealed. " Don't make 
 the infernal things more hideous than they are al- 
 ready." 
 
 " That's where I get ' character,' " she said sar- 
 castically. " People like it. They say : ' How rug- 
 ged ! How strong ! How expressive ! ' Look at the 
 fat, self-satisfied old pig! and they pay me in guineas 
 where the rest of you high artistic people get shillings. 
 If I had the courage of my convictions and painted
 
 4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 him with a snout, they'd pay me in lacs of rupees. 
 Art ! Don't talk of it. I'm sick of it." 
 
 " All right," said Tommy, calmly puffing away at 
 his cigarette, " I won't. Art is long and the talk about 
 it is longer, thank God. So it will keep." 
 
 He was a fresh- faced, fair-haired boy of two-and- 
 twenty, and the chartered libertine of Clementina's 
 exclusive studio. His uncle, Ephraim Quixtus, had 
 married a distant relation of Clementina, so, in a 
 vague way, she was a family connection. To this fact 
 he owed acquaintance with her indeed, he had 
 known her dimly from boyhood; but his intimacy 
 he owed to a certain charm and candour of youth 
 which had found him favour in her not very tolerant 
 eyes. 
 
 He sat on the model-throne, clasping his knee, and, 
 wonderingly, admiringly, watched her paint. For all 
 her cynical depreciation of her art, she was a portrait- 
 painter of high rank, possessing the portrait-painter's 
 magical gift of getting at essentials, of splashing the 
 very soul, miserable or noble, of the subject upon 
 the canvas. She had a rough, brilliant method, direct 
 and uncompromising as her speech. To see her at 
 work was at once Tommy Burgrave's delight and his 
 despair. Had she been a young and pretty woman, 
 his masculine vanity might have smarted. But 
 Clementina, with her ugliness, gruffness, and untidi- 
 ness, scarcely ranked as a woman in his disingenuous 
 mind. You couldn't possibly fall in love with her ; no 
 one could ever have fallen in love with her. And she, 
 of course, had never had the remotest idea of falling 
 in love with anybody. To his boyish fancy, Clemen- 
 tina in love was a grotesque conception. Besides, she 
 might be any age. He decided that she must be about 
 fifty. But when you made allowances for her gruff- 
 ness and eccentricities, you found that she was a good
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 5 
 
 sort and, there was no doubt about it, she could 
 paint. 
 
 Of course, Clementina might have made herself 
 look much younger and more prepossessing, and 
 thereby have pleased the fancy of Tommy Burgrave. 
 As a matter of fact she was only thirty-five. Many a 
 woman with more years and even less foundation of 
 beauty than Clementina flaunts about the world break- 
 ing men's hearts, obfusticating their common sense, 
 and exerting all the bewildering influences of a se- 
 ductive sex. She only has to do her hair, attend to 
 her skin, and attire herself in more or less becoming 
 raiment. Very little care suffices. Men are ludi- 
 crously easy to please in the way of female attractive- 
 ness but they draw the line somewhere. It must 
 be confessed that they drew it at Clementina Wing. 
 Her coarse black hair straggled perpetually in un- 
 cared-for strands between fortuitous hairpins. Her 
 complexion was dark and oily; her nose had never 
 been powdered since its early infancy; and her face, 
 even when she walked abroad, was often disfigured, 
 as it was now, by a smudge of paint. She had heed- 
 lessly suffered the invasion of lines and wrinkles. A 
 deep vertical furrow had settled hard between her 
 black, overhanging brows. She had intensified and 
 perpetuated the crow's-feet between her eyes by a 
 trick, when concentrating her painter's vision on a 
 sitter, of screwing her face into a monkey's myriad 
 wrinkles. She dressed, habitually, in any old blouse, 
 any old skirt, any old hat picked up at random in bed- 
 room or studio, and picked up originally, with equal 
 lack of selection, in any miscellaneous emporium of 
 feminine attire. When her figure, which, as women 
 acquaintances would whisper to each other, but never 
 (not daring) to Clementina, had, after all, its possi- 
 bilities, was hidden by a straight, shapeless, colour-
 
 6 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 smeared painting-smock, and all of Clementina as 
 God made her that was visible, save her capable hands, 
 was the swarthy face with its harsh contours, its high 
 cheekbones, its unlovely, premature furrows, sur- 
 mounted by the bedraggled hair that would have dis- 
 graced a wigwam, Tommy Burgrave may be pardoned 
 for regarding her less as a woman than a painter of 
 genius who somehow did not happen to be a man. 
 
 Presently she laid down palette and brushes and 
 pushed the easel to one side. 
 
 " I can't do any more at it without a model. Be- 
 sides, it's getting dark. Ring for tea." 
 
 She threw off her painting-smock, revealing herself 
 in an old brown skirt and a soiled white blouse gaping 
 at the back, and sank with a sigh of relief into a chair. 
 It was good to sit down, she said. She had been 
 standing all day. She would be glad to have some tea. 
 It would take the taste of the trousers out of her 
 mouth. 
 
 "If you dislike them so much, why did you rush 
 at them, as soon as those people had gone ? " 
 
 " To get the girl's face out of my mind. Look here, 
 won petit," she said, turning on him suddenly, " if 
 you ask questions I'll turn you into the street. I'm 
 tired ; give me something to smoke." 
 
 He disinterred a yellow, crumpled packet of French 
 tobacco and cigarette-papers from among a litter on 
 the table, and lit the cigarette for her when she had 
 rolled it. 
 
 " I suppose you're the only woman in London who 
 rolls her own cigarettes." 
 
 " Well? " asked Clementina. 
 
 He laughed. " That's all." 
 
 " It was an idiotic remark," said Clementina. 
 
 The maid brought in tea, and it was Tommy who 
 played host. She softened a little as he waited on her.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 7 
 
 " I was meant to be a lady, Tommy, and do nothing. 
 This paint-brush walloping after all, what is it? 
 What's the good of painting these fools' portraits? " 
 
 " Each of them is work of genius," said Tommy. 
 
 " Rot and rubbish," said Clementina. "Let me clear 
 your mind of a lot of foolish nonsense you hear at 
 your high-art tea-parties, where women drivel and 
 talk of their mission in the world. A woman has only 
 one mission; to marry and get babies. Keep that 
 fact in front of you when you're taking up with any 
 of 'em. Genius! I can't be a genius for the simple 
 reason that I'm a woman. Did you ever hear of a 
 man-mother ? No. It's a contradiction in terms. So 
 there can't be a woman-genius." 
 
 " But surely," Tommy objected, more out of polite- 
 ness, perhaps, than conviction, for every male creature 
 loves to be conscious of his sex's superiority. " Surely 
 there was Rosa Bonheur and and in your line, 
 Madame Vigee Le Brun." 
 
 " Very pretty," said Clementina, " but stick them 
 beside Paul Potter and Gainsborough, and what do 
 they look like? Could a woman have painted Paul 
 Potter's bull?" 
 
 " What's your definition of genius ? " asked Tommy, 
 evading the direct question. He had visited The 
 Hague, and stood in rapt wonder before what is per- 
 haps the most essentially masculine bit of painting in 
 the world. Certainly no woman could have painted it. 
 
 " Genius," said Clementina, screwing up her face 
 and looking at the tip of a discoloured thumb, " is 
 the quality the creative spirit assumes as soon as it 
 can liberate itself from the bond of the flesh." 
 
 " Good," said Tommy. " Did you make up that 
 all at once? It knocks Carlyle's definition silly. But 
 I don't see why it doesn't apply equally to men and 
 women."
 
 8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Woman," said Clementina, " has always her sex 
 hanging round the neck of her spirit." 
 
 Tommy stared. This was a new conception of 
 woman which he was too young and candid to under- 
 stand. For him women or rather that class of the 
 sex that counted for him as women, the mothers and 
 sisters and wives of his friends, the women from 
 whose midst one of these days he would select a wife 
 himself were very spiritual creatures indeed. That 
 twilight region of their being in which their sex had a 
 home was holy ground before entering which a man 
 must take the shoes from off his feet. He took it for 
 granted that every unmarried woman believed in the 
 stork or gooseberry bush theory of the population of 
 the world. A girl allowed you to kiss her because she 
 was kind and good and altruistic, realising that it gave 
 you considerable pleasure; but as for the girl craving 
 the kiss for the satisfaction of her own needs, that was 
 undreamed of in his ingenuous philosophy. And here 
 was Clementina laying it down as a fundamental ax- 
 iom that woman has her sex always hanging round 
 the neck of her spirit. He was both mystified and 
 shocked. 
 
 " I'm afraid you don't know what you're talking 
 about. Clementina," he said at last, with some severity. 
 
 Indeed, how on earth could Clementina know ? 
 
 " Perhaps I don't, Tommy," she said, with ironical 
 meekness, realising the gulf between them and the rev- 
 erence, which, as the Latin Grammar tells us, is espe- 
 cially due to tender youth. She looked into the fire, 
 a half-smile playing round her grim, unsmiling lips, 
 and there was silence for a few moments. Then she 
 asked, brusquely: 
 
 " How's that uncle of yours? " 
 
 " All right," said Tommy. " I'm dining with him 
 this evening."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 9 
 
 " I hear he has taken to calling himself Dr. Quixtus 
 lately." 
 
 " He's entitled to do so. He's a Ph.D. of Heidel- 
 berg. I wish you didn't have your knife into him so 
 much, Clementina. He's the best and dearest chap 
 in the world. Of course, he's getting rather elderly 
 and precise. He'll be forty next birthday, you 
 know " 
 
 " Lord save us," said Clementina. 
 
 " -but one has to make allowances for that. 
 
 Anyway," he added, with a flash of championship, 
 " he's the most courtly gentleman I've ever met." 
 
 " He's civil enough," said Clementina. " But if I 
 were his wife, I'm sure I would throw him out of 
 window." 
 
 Tommy stared again for a moment, and then 
 laughed more at the idea of the quaint old thing that 
 was Clementina being married than at the picture of 
 his uncle's grotesque ejectment. 
 
 " I don't think that's ever likely to happen," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " Nor do I," said Clementina. 
 
 Soon after that Tommy departed as unceremoni- 
 ously as he had entered. Not that Tommy Burgrave 
 was by nature unceremonious, being a boy of excellent 
 breeding ; but no one stood on ceremony with Clemen- 
 tina; the elaborate politeness of the Petit Trianon was 
 out of place in the studio of a lady who would tell 
 you to go to the devil as soon as look at you. 
 
 When the door at the end of the gallery closed 
 behind him she gave a sigh of relief, and rolled an- 
 other cigarette. There are times when the most obsti- 
 nate woman's nerves are set on edge, and she craves 
 either solitude or a sympathetic presence. Now, she 
 was very fond of Tommy; but what, save painting 
 and cricket and the young animal's joy of life, could
 
 io THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Tommy understand ? She regretted having- spoken of 
 sex and spirit to his uncomprehending ears. Generally 
 she held herself and even her unruly tongue under 
 control. But this afternoon she had lost grip. The 
 sitting had strangely affected her, for she had divined, 
 as she had not done on previous occasions, the wistful 
 terror that lurked in the depths of the young girl's 
 soul a divination that had been confirmed by the 
 quick look of fear with which she had greeted the 
 bullet-headed young man when he had arrived to 
 escort her home. And Tommy, with his keen young 
 vision, had summed him up in a few words. 
 
 She turned on the great lamp suspended in the mid- 
 dle of the studio, and drew the easel containing the 
 girl's portrait into the light. She gazed at it for a 
 while intently, and then, throwing herself into her 
 chair by the fire, remained there motionless, with 
 parted lips, in the attitude of a woman overwhelmed 
 by memories. 
 
 They went back fifteen years, when she was this 
 girl's age. She had not this girl's bearing and flower- 
 like grace ; but she had her youth and everything in it 
 that stood for the promise of life. She had memories 
 of her mirrored self quite a dainty slip of a girl in 
 spite of her homely face, her hair wound around a 
 not unshapely head in glossy coils, and her figure 
 set off by delicately fitting clothes. And there was 
 a light in her eyes because a man loved her and she 
 had given all the richness of herself to the man. They 
 were engaged to be married. Yet, for all her tremu- 
 lous happiness, terror lurked in the depths of her soul. 
 Many a night she awoke, gripped by the nameless fear, 
 unreasonable, absurd ; for the man in her eyes was as 
 handsome and debonair as any prince out of a fairy 
 tale. Her mother and father, who were then both 
 alive, came under the spell of the man's fascinations.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA IF 
 
 He was of good family, fair private income, and was 
 making a position for himself in the higher walks of 
 journalism; a man too of unsullied reputation. A 
 gallant lover, he loved her as in her dreams she had 
 dreamed of being loved. The future held no flaw. 
 
 Suddenly, something so grotesque happened as to 
 awaken all her laughter and indignation. Roland 
 Thorne was arrested on a charge of theft. A lady, 
 a stranger, the only other occupant of a railway- 
 carriage in which he happened to be travelling from 
 Plymouth to London, missed some valuable diamonds 
 from a jewel-case beside her on the seat. At Bath 
 she had left the carriage for a minute to buy a novel 
 at the bookstall, leaving the case in the compartment. 
 She brought evidence to prove that the diamonds 
 were there when she left Plymouth and were not there 
 when she arrived at her destination in London. The 
 only person, according to the prosecution, who could 
 have stolen them was Roland Thorne, during her 
 temporary absence at Bath. Thorne treated the mat- 
 ter as a ludicrous annoyance. So did Clementina, 
 as soon as her love and anger gave place to her sense 
 of humour. And so did the magistrate who dismissed 
 the charge, saying that it ought never to have been 
 brought. 
 
 With closed eyes, the woman in front of the fire 
 recalled their first long passionate kiss after he had 
 brought the news of his acquittal, and she shivered. 
 She remembered how he had drawn back his hand- 
 some head and looked into her eyes. 
 
 " You never for one second thought me guilty? " 
 
 Something in his gaze checked the cry of scorn at 
 her lips. The nameless terror clutched her heart. 
 She drew herself slowly, gradually, out of his embrace, 
 keeping her widened eyes fixed on him. He stood 
 motionless as she recoiled. The horrible truth dawned
 
 12 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 on her. He was guilty. She sat on the nearest chair, 
 white-lipped and shaken. 
 
 "You? You?" 
 
 Whether the man had meant to make the confession, 
 probably he himself did not know. Overwrought 
 nerves may have given way. But there he stood at 
 that moment, self-confessed. In a kind of dream 
 paralysis she heard him make his apologia. He said 
 something of sins of his youth, of blackmail, of large 
 sums of money to be paid, so as to avert ruin; how 
 he had idly touched the jewel-case, without thought 
 of theft, how it had opened easily, how the temptation 
 to slip the case of diamonds into his pocket had been 
 irresistible. His voice seemed a toneless echo, far 
 away. He said many things that she did not hear. 
 Afterwards she had & confused memory that he 
 pleaded for mercy at her hands. He had only yielded 
 in a moment of desperate madness; he would make 
 secret restitution of the diamonds. He threw himself 
 on the ground at her feet and kissed her skirt, but 
 she sat petrified, speechless, stricken to her soul. Then 
 without a word or a sign from her, he went out. 
 
 The woman by the fire recalled the anguish of the 
 hour of returning life. It returned with the pain of 
 blood returning to frost-bitten flesh. She loved him 
 with every quivering fibre. No crime or weakness in 
 the world could alter that. Her place was by his 
 side, to champion him through evil, to ward off 
 temptation, to comfort him in his time of need. Her 
 generous nature cried aloud for him, craved to take 
 him into her arms and lay his head against her bosom. 
 She scorned herself for having turned to him a heart 
 of stone, for letting him go broken and desperate 
 into the world. A touch would have changed his hell 
 to heaven, and she had not given it. She rose and 
 stood for a while, this girl of twenty, transfigured,
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 13 
 
 vibrating with a great purpose the woman of thirty- 
 five remembered (ah, God!) the thrill of it. The 
 flames of the sunrise spread through her veins. 
 
 In a few minutes she was driving through the busy 
 streets to the man's chambers ; in a few minutes more 
 she reached them. She mounted the stairs. She had 
 no need to ring, as the outer door stood open. She 
 entered. Called : 
 
 " Roland, are you here?" 
 
 There was no reply. She crossed the hall and went 
 into the sitting-room. There on the floor lay Roland 
 Thome with a revolver bullet through his head.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SUCH were the memories that overwhelmed 
 Clementina Wing as she sat grim and lonely 
 by the fire. 
 
 In the tragedy the girl Clementina perished, and 
 from her ashes arose the phoenix of dingy plumage 
 who had developed into the Clementina of to-day. 
 As soon as she could envisage life again, she plunged 
 into the strenuous art-world of Paris, living solitary, 
 morose, and heedless of external things. The joyous- 
 ness of the light-hearted crowd into which she was 
 thrown jarred upon her. It was like Bacchanalian 
 revelry at a funeral. She made no friends. Good- 
 natured importunates she drove away with rough 
 usage. The pairs of young men and maidens who 
 flaunted their foolish happiness in places of public 
 resort she regarded with misanthropic eye. She hated 
 them at one-and-twenty because they were fools; 
 because they deluded themselves into the belief that 
 the world was rose and blue and gold, whereas she, 
 of her own bitter knowledge, knew it to be drab. 
 And from a drab world what was there more vain 
 than the attempt to extract colour? Beauty left her 
 unmoved because it had no basis in actuality. The 
 dainty rags in which she had been accustomed to garb 
 herself she threw aside with contempt. Sackcloth was 
 the only wear. 
 
 It must be remembered that Clementina at this 
 period was young, and that it is only given to youth 
 to plumb the depths of existence. She was young, 
 strong-fibred, desperately conscious of herself. She
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 15 
 
 had left her home rejecting sympathy. To no one 
 could she exhibit the torture of her soul; to no one 
 could she confess the remorse and shame that con- 
 sumed her. She was a failure in essentials. She had 
 failed the man in his hour of need. She had let him 
 go forth to his death. She, Clementina Wing, was a 
 failure. She, Clementina Wing, was the world. 
 Therefore was the world a failure. She saw life drab. 
 Her vision was infallible. Therefore life was drab. 
 Syllogisms, with the eternal fallacy of youth in their 
 minor premises. Work saved her reason. She went 
 at it feverishly, indefatigably, unremittingly, as only 
 a woman can and only a woman who has lost sense 
 of values. Her talent was great in those days she 
 did not scout the suggestion of genius and by her 
 indomitable pains she acquired the marvellous tech- 
 nique which had brought her fame. The years 
 slipped away. Suddenly she awakened. A picture 
 exhibited in the Salon obtained for her a gold medal, 
 which pleased her mightily. She was not as dead 
 as she had fancied, having still the power to feel the 
 thrill of triumph. Money much more than would 
 satisfy her modest wants jingled in her pockets with 
 a jocund sound. Folks whom she had kept snarlingly 
 at bay whispered honeyed flattery in her ears. Phil- 
 osophy, which (of a bitter nature) she had cultivated 
 during her period of darkness, enabled her to estimate 
 the flattery at its true value; but no philosophy in 
 the world could do away with the sweetness of it. 
 So it came to pass that on her pleasant road to success, 
 Clementina realised that there was such a thing as 
 light and shade in life as well as in pictures. But 
 though she came out of the underworld a different 
 woman from the one who had sojourned there, she 
 was still a far more different woman from the girl 
 who had flung herself into it headlong. She emerged
 
 1 6 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 cynical, rough, dictatorial, eccentric in speech, habits, 
 and attire. As she had emancipated herself from the 
 gloom of remorse and self-torture, so did she emanci- 
 pate herself from convention. Youth had flown early, 
 and with it the freshness that had given charm to 
 her young face. Lines had come, bones had set, the 
 mouth had hardened. She had lost the trick of 
 personal adornment. Years of loose and casual cor- 
 seting had ruined her figure. Even were she to preen 
 and primp herself, what man would look at her with 
 favour? As for women, she let them go hang. She 
 was always impatient of the weaknesses, frailties, 
 and vanities of her own sex, especially when they 
 were marked by an outer show of strength. The help- 
 less she had been known to take to her bosom as she 
 would have taken a wounded bird but her sex as a 
 whole attracted her but little. Women could go hang, 
 because she did not want them. Men could go hang 
 likewise, because they did not want her. Thus dis- 
 missing from her horizon all the human race, she 
 found compensation in the freedom so acquired. If 
 she chose to run bareheaded and slipshod into the 
 King's Road and come back with a lump of beef 
 wrapped in a bloodstained bit of newspaper (as her 
 acquaintance, Mrs. Venables, had caught her doing 
 " My dear, you never saw such an appalling sight in 
 your life," she said when reporting the incident, " and 
 she had the impudence to make me shake hands with 
 her and the hand, my dear, in which she had been 
 holding the beef") if she chose to do this, what 
 mattered it to any one of God's creatures, save per- 
 haps Mrs. Venables's glove-maker to whom it was 
 an advantage? Her servant had a bad cold, time 
 the morning light was precious and the putting on 
 of hat and boots a retarding vanity. If she chose 
 to bring in a shivering ragamuffin from the streets
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 17 
 
 and warm him before the fire and stuff him with the 
 tomato sandwiches and plum-cake set out for a vis- 
 itor's tea, who could say her nay? The visitor in re- 
 volt against the sight and smell of the ragamuffin, 
 could get up and depart. It was a matter of no con- 
 cern to Clementina. Eventually folks recognised 
 Clementina's eccentricity, classed it in the established 
 order of things, ceased to regard it just as dwellers 
 by a cataract lose the sound of the thunder, and as a 
 human wife ceases to be conscious of the wart on her 
 husband's nose. To this enviable height of freedom 
 had Clementina risen. 
 
 She sat by the fire, overwhelmed by memories. 
 They had been conjured up by the girl with the terror 
 at the back of her eyes; but their mass was no longer 
 crushing. They came over her like a weightless grey 
 cloud that had arisen from some remote past with 
 which she had no concern. She had grown to look 
 upon the tragedy impersonally, as though it were a 
 melodramatic tale written by a young and inexperi- 
 enced writer, in which the characters were overdrawn 
 and untrue to life. The reading of the tale left her 
 with the impression that Roland Thorne was an un- 
 principled weakling, Clementina Wing an hysterical 
 little fool. 
 
 Presently she rose, rubbed her face hard with both 
 hands, a proceeding which had the effect of spreading 
 the paint smudge into a bright gamboge over her 
 cheeks, pushed the easel aside, and, taking down 
 " Tristram Shandy " from her shelves, read the story 
 of the King of Bohemia and his Seven Castles, by 
 way of a change of fiction, till her maid summoned 
 her to her solitary dinner. 
 
 Early the next morning, as soon as she had entered 
 the studio and had begun to set her palette, prepara- 
 tory to the day's work, Tommy Burgrave appeared
 
 1 8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 on the gallery, with a " Hullo, Qementina ! " and ran 
 down the spiral staircase. Clementina paused with a 
 paint tube in her hand. 
 
 " Look, my young friend, you don't live here, you 
 know," she said coolly. 
 
 " I'll clear out in half a second," he replied, smiling-. 
 " I'm bringing you news. You ought to be very 
 grateful to me. I've got you a commission." 
 
 " Who's the fool ? " asked Clementina, 
 
 " It isn't a fool," said Tommy, buttoning the belt 
 of his Norfolk jacket, as if to brace himself to the 
 encounter. "It's my uncle." 
 
 " Lord save us ! " said Clementina. 
 
 " I thought I would give you a surprise," said 
 Tommy. 
 
 Clementina shrugged her shoulders and went on 
 squeezing paint out of tubes. 
 
 " He must have softening of the brain." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " First for wanting to have his portrait painted at 
 all, and secondly for thinking of coming to me. Go 
 back and tell him I'm not a caricaturist." 
 
 Tommy planted a painting-stool in the middle of 
 the floor and sat upon it, with legs apart. 
 
 " Let us talk business, Clementina. In the first 
 place, he has nothing to do with it. He doesn't want 
 his portrait painted, bless you. It's the other pre- 
 historic fossils he foregathers with. I met chunks of 
 them at dinner last night. They belong to the Anthro- 
 pological Society, you know, they fool around with 
 antediluvian stones and bones and bits of iron and 
 my uncle's president. They want to have his portrait 
 to hang up in the cave where they meet. They were 
 talking about it at my end of the table. They didn't 
 know what painter to go to, so they consulted me. 
 My uncle had introduced me as an artist, you know,
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 19 
 
 and they looked on me as a sort of young- prophet. 
 I asked them how much they were prepared to give. 
 They said about five hundred pounds they evidently 
 have a lot of money to throw about one of them, all 
 over gold chains and rings, seemed to perspire money, 
 looked like a bucket-shop keeper. I think it's he who 
 is presenting the Society with the portrait. Anyway, 
 that's about your figure, so I said there was only 
 one person to paint my uncle and that was Clemen- 
 tina Wing. It struck them as a brilliant idea, and 
 the end of it was that they told my uncle and requested 
 me to sound you on the matter. I've sounded." 
 
 She looked at his confident boyish face, and uttered 
 a grim sound, halfway between a laugh and a sniff, 
 which was her nearest approach to exhibition of mirth, 
 and might have betokened amusement or pity or 
 contempt or any two of these taken together or the 
 three combined. Then she turned away and, screw- 
 ing up her eyes, looked out for a few moments into 
 the sodden back garden. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of a barber refusing to shave 
 a man because he didn't like the shape of his whis- 
 kers?" 
 
 " Only one," said Tommy, " and he cut the man's 
 throat from ear to ear with the razor." 
 
 He laughed aloud at his own jest, and going up to 
 the window where Clementina stood with her back to 
 him, laid a hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " That means you'll do it." 
 
 " Guineas, not pounds," said Clementina, facing 
 him. " Five hundred guineas. I couldn't endure 
 Ephraim Quixtus for less." 
 
 " Leave it to me, I'll fix it up. So long." He ran 
 up the spiral staircase, in high good-humour. On the 
 gallery he paused and leaned over the balustrade. 
 
 " I say, Clementina, if the ugly young man calls
 
 20 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 to-day for that pretty Miss Etta, and you want any 
 murdering done, send for me." 
 
 She looked up at him smiling down upon her, gay 
 and handsome, so rich in his springtide, and she 
 obeyed a sudden impulse. 
 
 " Come down, Tommy." 
 
 When he had descended she unhooked from the 
 wall over the fireplace a Delia Robbia plaque a 
 child's white head against a background of yellow and 
 blue a cherished possession and thrust it into 
 Tommy's arms. He stared at her, but clutched the 
 precious thing tight for fear of dropping it. 
 
 " Take it. You can give it as a wedding present to 
 your wife when you have one. I want you to have it." 
 
 He stammered, overwhelmed by her magnificent and 
 unprecedented generosity. He could not accept the 
 plaque. It was too priceless a gift. 
 
 " That's why I give it to you, you silly young 
 idiot," she cried impatiently. " Do you think I'd give 
 you a pair of embroidered braces or a hymn-book? 
 Take it and go." 
 
 What Tommy did then, nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine young men out of a thousand would not have done. 
 He held out his hand " Rubbish," said Clementina ; 
 but she held out hers he gripped it, swung her to 
 him and gave her a good, full, sounding, honest kiss. 
 Then, holding the thing of beauty against his heart he 
 leaped up the stairs and disappeared, with an exultant 
 " Good-bye," through the door. 
 
 A dark flush rose on the kissed spot on Clementina's 
 cheek. Softness crept into her hard eyes. She looked 
 at the vacant place on the wall where the cherished 
 thing of beauty had hung. By some queer optical 
 illusion it appeared even brighter than before. 
 
 Tommy, being a young man of energy and enthusi- 
 asm with modern notions as to the reckoning of time,
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 21 
 
 rushed the Anthropologists, who were accustomed to 
 reckon time by epochs instead of minutes, oft their 
 leisurely feet. His uncle had said words of protest 
 at this indecent haste; " My dear Tommy, if you were 
 more of a reflective human being and less of a whirl- 
 wind, it would frequently add to your peace and com- 
 fort." But Tommy triumphed. Within a very short 
 period everything was settled, the formal letters had 
 been exchanged, and Ephraim Quixtus found himself 
 paying a visit, in a new character, to Clementina 
 Wing. 
 
 She received him in her prim little drawing-room 
 as prim and old-maidish as Romney Place itself a 
 striking contrast to the chaotically equipped studio 
 which, as Tommy declared, resembled nothing so 
 much as a show-room after a bargain-sale. The furni- 
 ture was the stiffest of Sheraton, the innocent colour 
 engravings of Tomkins, Cipriani, and Bartolozzi hung 
 round the walls, and in a corner stood a spinning- 
 wheel with a bunch of flax on the distaff. The room 
 afforded Clementina perpetual grim amusement. Ex- 
 cept when she received puzzled visitors she rarely sat 
 in it from one year's end to the other. 
 
 " I haven't seen you since the Deluge, Ephraim," she 
 said, as he bent over her hand in an old-fashioned un- 
 English way. " How's prehistoric man getting on? " 
 
 " As well," said he, gravely, " as can be expected." 
 
 Ephraim Quixtus, Ph.D., was a tall, gaunt man of 
 forty, with a sallow complexion, raven black hair 
 thinning at the temples and on the crown of his head, 
 and great, mild, china-blue eyes. A reluctant mous- 
 tache gave his face a certain lack of finish. Clemen- 
 tina's quick eye noted it at once. She screwed up her 
 face and watched him. 
 
 " I could make a much more presentable thing of 
 you if you were clean shaven," she said brusquely.
 
 22 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I couldn't shave off my moustache." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 He started in alarm. 
 
 " I think the Society would prefer to have their 
 President in the guise in which he presided over them." 
 
 " Umph ! " said Clementina. She looked at him 
 again, and with a touch of irony; " Perhaps it's just 
 as well. Sit down." 
 
 " Thank you," said Quixtus, seating himself on one 
 
 of the stiff Sheraton chairs. And then, courteously: 
 
 ' You have travelled far since we last met, Clementina. 
 
 You are famous. I wonder what it feels like to be a 
 
 celebrity." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. " In my case it feels 
 like leading apes in hell. By the way, when did I 
 last see you." 
 
 " It was at poor Angela's funeral, five years ago." 
 
 " So it was," said Clementina. 
 
 There was a short silence. Angela was his dead 
 wife and her distant relation. 
 
 " What has become of Will Hammersley ? " she 
 asked suddenly. " He has given up writing to me." 
 
 " Still in Shanghai, I think. He went out, you 
 know, to take over the China branch of his firm just 
 before Angela's death, wasn't it? It's a couple of 
 years or more since I have heard from him." 
 
 "That's strange; he was an intimate friend of 
 yours," said Clementina. 
 
 " The only intimate friend I've ever had in my life. 
 We were at school and at Cambridge together. Some- 
 how, although I have many acquaintances and, so 
 to speak, friends, yet I've never formed the intimacies 
 that most men have. I suppose," he added, with a 
 sweet smile, " it's because I'm rather a dry stick." 
 
 ' You're ten years older than your age," said Clem- 
 entina, frankly. " You want shaking up. It's a pity
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 23 
 
 Will Hammersley isn't here. He used to do you a 
 lot of good." 
 
 " I'm glad you think so much of Hammersley," said 
 Quixtus. 
 
 "I don't think much of most people, do I?" she 
 said. " But Hammersley was a friend in need. He 
 was to me, at any rate." 
 
 "Are you still fond of Sterne?" he asked. "I 
 think you are 4:he only woman w T ho ever was." 
 
 She nodded. " Why do you ask? " 
 
 " I was thinking," he said, in his quiet, courtly 
 way, " that we have many bonds of sympathy, after 
 all; Angela, Hammersley, Sterne, and my scapegrace 
 nephew, Tommy." 
 
 " Tommy is a good boy," said Clementina, " and 
 he'll learn to paint some day." 
 
 " I must thank you for your very great kindness to 
 him." 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Clementina. 
 
 " It's a great thing for a young fellow wild and 
 impulsive like Tommy to have a good friend in a 
 woman older than himself." 
 
 "If you think, my good man," snapped Clementina, 
 reverting to her ordinary manner, " that I look after 
 his morals, you are very much mistaken. What has it 
 got to do with me if he kisses models and takes them 
 out to dinner in Soho? " 
 
 The lingering Eve in her resented the suggestion of 
 a maternal attitude towards the boy. After all, she 
 was not five-and-fifty; she was younger, five years 
 younger than the stick of an uncle who was talking 
 to her as if he had stepped out of the pages of a 
 Sunday-school prize. 
 
 " He never tells me of the models," replied Quixtus, 
 " and I'm very glad he tells you. It shows there is 
 no harm in it."
 
 24 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Let us talk sense," said Clementina, " and not 
 waste time. You've come to me to have your portrait 
 painted. I've been looking at you. I think a half- 
 length, sitting down, would be the best unless you 
 want to stand up in evening-dress behind a table, with 
 presidential gold chains and badges of office and ham- 
 mers and water-bottles " 
 
 " Heaven forbid! "cried Quixtus, who was as mod- 
 est a man as ever stepped. " What you suggest will 
 quite do." 
 
 " I suppose you will wear that frock-coat and turn- 
 down collar? Don't you ever wear a narrow black 
 tie?" 
 
 " My dear Clementina," he cried horrified, " I may 
 not be the latest thing in dandyism, but I've no 
 desire to look like a Scotch deacon in his Sunday 
 clothes." 
 
 " Vanity again," said Clementina. " I could have 
 got something much better out of you in a narrow 
 black tie. Still, I daresay I'll manage though what 
 your bone-digging friends want with a portrait of you 
 at all for, I'm blest if I can understand." 
 
 With which gracious remark she dismissed him, 
 after having arranged a date for the first sitting. 
 
 " A poor creature," muttered Clementina, when the 
 door closed behind him. 
 
 The poor creature, however, walked smartly home- 
 wards through the murky November evening, perfectly 
 contented with God and man even with Clementina 
 herself. In this well-ordered world, even the tongue 
 of an eccentric woman must serve some divine purpose. 
 He mused whimsically on the purpose. Well, at any 
 rate, she belonged to a dear and regretted past, which 
 without throwing an absolute glamour around Clem- 
 entina still shed upon her its softening rays. His 
 thoughts were peculiarly retrospective this evening.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 23 
 
 It was a Tuesday, and his Tuesday nights for some 
 years had been devoted to a secret and sacred gather- 
 ing of pale ghosts. His Tuesday nights were mysteries 
 to all his friends. When pressed for the reason of this 
 perennial weekly engagement, he would say vaguely : 
 " It's a club to which I belong." But what was the 
 nature of the club, what the grim and ghastly penalty 
 if he skipped a meeting, those were questions which 
 he left, with a certain innocent mirth, to the con- 
 jecture of the curious. 
 
 The evening was fine, with a touch of shrewdness 
 in the air. He found himself in the exhilarated frame 
 of mind which is consonant with brisk walking. He 
 look at his watch. He could easily reach Russell 
 Square by seven o'clock. He timed his walk exactly. 
 It was five minutes to seven when he let himself in 
 by his latchkey. The parlour-maid, emerging from the 
 dining-room, met him in the hall and helped him off 
 with his coat. 
 
 " The gentlemen have come, sir." 
 
 " Dear, dear," said Quixtus, self-reproachfully. 
 
 " They're before their time. It isn't seven yet, sir," 
 said the parlour-maid, flinging the blame upon the 
 gentlemen. In speaking of them she had just the 
 slightest little supercilious tilt of the nose. 
 
 Quixtus waited until she had retired, then, drawing 
 something from his own pocket, he put something 
 into the pocket of each of three greatcoats that hung 
 in the hall. After that he ran upstairs into the draw- 
 ing-room. Three men rose to receive him. 
 
 " How do you do, Huckaby. So glad to see you, 
 Vandermeer. My dear Billiter." 
 
 He apologised for being late. They murmured ex- 
 cuses for being early. Quixtus asked leave to wash 
 his hands, went out and returned rubbing them, as 
 though in anticipation of enjoyment. Two of the
 
 26 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 men standing in front of the fire made way for him. 
 He thrust them back courteously. 
 
 " No, no, I'm warm. Been walking for miles. I've 
 not seen an evening paper. What's the news ?" 
 
 Quixtus never saw an evening paper on Tuesdays. 
 The question was a time-honoured opening to the 
 kindly game he played with his guests. 
 
 Now there is a reason for most things, even for a 
 parlour-maid's tilt of the nose. The personal appear- 
 ance of the guests would have tilted the nose of any 
 self-respecting parlour-maid in Russell Square. They 
 were a strange trio. All were shabby and out-at- 
 elbows. All wore the insecure, apologetic collar which 
 is one of the most curious badges of the down-at-heel. 
 All bore on their faces the signs of privation and suf- 
 fering; Huckaby, lantern-jawed, black-bearded and 
 watery-eyed ; Vandermeer, small, decrepit, pinched of 
 feature, with crisp, sparse red hair and the bright eyes 
 of a hungry wolf; Billiter, the flabby remains of a 
 heavily built florid man, with a black moustache turning 
 grey. They were ghosts of the past, who once a week 
 came back to the plentiful earth, lived for a few brief 
 hours in the land that had been their heritage, talked 
 of the things they had once loved, and went forth (so 
 Quixtus hoped) cheered and comforted for their next 
 week's wandering on the banks of Acheron. Once a 
 week they sat at a friend's table and ate generous 
 food, drank generous wine, and accepted help from a 
 friend's generous hand. Help they all needed, and 
 like desperate men would snatch it from any hand held 
 out to them. Huckaby had been a successful coach at 
 Cambridge; Vandermeer, who had forsaken early in 
 life a banking office for the Temple of Literary Fame, 
 had starved for years on free-lance journalism ; Billi- 
 ter, of Rugby and Oxford, had run through a fortune. 
 All waste products of the world's factory. Among
 
 the many things they had in common was an urir 
 quenchable thirst, which they dissimulated in Russell 
 Square ; but they made up for. it by patronising their 
 host. When a beneficiary is humble he is either deserv- 
 ing or has touched the lowest depths of degradation. 
 
 Quixtus presided happily at the meal. With 
 strangers he was shy and diffident ; but here he was at 
 his ease, among old friends none the less valued be- 
 cause they had fallen by the wayside. Into the reason 
 of their fall it did not concern him to inquire. All 
 that mattered was their obvious affection and the 
 obvious brightness that fortune had enabled him to 
 shed on their lives. 
 
 " I wonder," said he, with one of his sudden smiles, 
 " I wonder if you fellows know how I prize these 
 evenings of ours." 
 
 " They're Attic Symposia," said Huckaby. 
 
 " I've been thinking of a series of articles on them, 
 after the manner of the Nodes Ambrosiana" said 
 Vandermeer. 
 
 " They would quite bear it," Huckaby agreed. " I 
 think we get better talk here than anywhere else I 
 know. I'm a sometime Fellow of Corpus Christi 
 College, Cambridge," he rolled out the alliterative 
 phrase with great sonority " and I know the talk in 
 the Combination Room; but it's pedantic pedantic. 
 Not ripe and mellow like ours." 
 
 " I'm not a brainy chap like you others," said 
 Billiter, wiping his dragoon's moustache, " but I like 
 to have my mind improved, now and then." 
 
 " Do you know the Nodes, Huckaby ?" asked Quix- 
 tus. " Of course you do. What do you think of 
 them?" 
 
 " I suppose you like them," replied Huckaby, " be- 
 cause you are an essentially scientific and not a literary 
 man. But I think them dull."
 
 28 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I don't call them dull," Quixtus argued, " but to 
 my mind they're pretentious. I don't like their sham 
 heartiness, their slap-on-the-back and how-are-you-old- 
 fellow tone, their impossible Pantagruelian ban- 
 quets " 
 
 The hungry wolf's face of Vandermeer lit up. 
 " That's what I like about them the capons the 
 pies the cockaleeky the haggises 
 
 " I remember a supper-party at Oxford," said Billi- 
 ter, " when there was a haggis, and one chap who 
 was awfully tight insisted that a haggis ought to be 
 turned like an omelette or tossed like a pancake. He 
 tossed it. My God ! You never saw such a thing in 
 your life ! " 
 
 So they all talked according to the several necessities 
 of their natures, and at last Quixtus informed his 
 guests that he was to sit for his portrait to Miss 
 Clementina Wing. 
 
 " I believe she is really quite capable," said Huckaby, 
 judicially, stroking his straggling beard. 
 
 " I know her," cried Vandermeer. " A most charm- 
 ing woman." 
 
 Quixtus raised his eyebrows. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so," said he. "She is a 
 sort of distant connection of mine by marriage." 
 
 " I interviewed her," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " The exclamation on the part of 
 Quixtus was inaudible. 
 
 " I was doing a series of articles very important 
 articles," said Vandermeer, with an assertive glance 
 around the table, " on Women Workers of To-day, 
 and of course Miss Clementina Wing came into it. I 
 called and put the matter before her." 
 
 He paused dramatically. 
 
 " And then ? " asked Quixtus, amused. 
 
 " We went out to lunch in a restaurant and she
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 29 
 
 gave me all the material necessary for my article. A 
 most charming woman, who I think will do you jus- 
 tice, Quixtus." 
 
 When his friends had gone, each, by the way, diving 
 furtive and searching hands into their great-coat 
 pockets, as soon as they had been helped into these 
 garments by the butler and here, by the way also, 
 be it stated that, no matter how sultry the breath of 
 summer or how frigid that of fortune, they never 
 failed to bring overcoats to hang, for all the world 
 like children's stockings for Santa Claus, on the famil- 
 iar pegs when his friends were gone, Quixtus, who 
 had an elementary sense of humour, failed entirely to 
 see an expansive and notoriety-seeking Clementina 
 lunching tete-a-tete at the Carlton or the Savoy with 
 Theodore Vandermeer. In point of fact, he fell asleep 
 smiling at the picture. 
 
 The next day, while he was at breakfast he break- 
 fasted rather late Tommy Burgrave was announced. 
 Tommy, who had already eaten with the appetite of 
 youth, immediately after his cold bath, declined to 
 join his uncle in a meal, but for the sake of sociability 
 trifled with porridge, kidneys, cold ham, hot rolls and 
 marmalade, while Quixtus feasted on a soft-boiled 
 egg and a piece of dry toast. When his barmecide 
 meal was over, Tommy came to the business of the 
 day. For some inexplicable, unconjecturable reason 
 his monthly allowance had gone, disappeared, vanished 
 into the Ewigkeit. What in the world was he to do ? 
 
 Now it must be explained that Tommy Burgrave 
 was an orphan, the son of Ephraim Quixtus's only 
 sister, and his whole personal estate a sum of money 
 invested in a mortgage which brought him in fifty 
 pounds a year. On fifty pounds a year a young man 
 cannot lead the plenteous life as far as food and rai- 
 ment are concerned, rent a studio (even though it be a
 
 30 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 converted first-floor back, as Tommy's was) and a 
 bedroom in Romney Place, travel (even on a bicycle, 
 as Tommy did) about England, and entertain ladies 
 to dinner at restaurants even though the ladies may 
 be only models, and the restaurants in Soho. He must 
 have other financial support. This other financial sup- 
 port came to him in the guise of a generous allowance 
 from his uncle. But as the generosity of his instincts 
 and who in the world would be a cynic, animated 
 blight, curmudgeon enough to check the generous in- 
 stincts of youth? as, I say, the generosity of his 
 instincts outran the generosity of his allowance, tow- 
 ards the end of every month Tommy found himself 
 in a most naturally inexplicable position. At the end 
 of the month, therefore, Tommy came to Russell 
 Square and trifled with porridge, kidneys, cold ham, 
 hot rolls and marmalade, while his uncle feasted on a 
 soft-boiled egg and a piece of dried toast, and, at 
 the end of his barmecide feast, came to business. 
 
 On the satisfactory conclusion thereof (and it had 
 never been known to be otherwise) Tommy lit a cigar 
 he liked his uncle's cigars. 
 
 " Well," said he, " what do you think of Clemen- 
 tina?" 
 
 " I think," said Quixtus, with a faint luminosity 
 lighting his china-blue eyes, " I think that Clementina, 
 being an artist, is a problem. But if she weren't an 
 artist and in a different class of life, she would be a 
 model old family servant in a great house in which 
 the family, by no chance whatever, resided." 
 
 Tommy laughed. " It seemed tremendously funny 
 to bring you two together." 
 
 Quixtus smiled indulgently. " So it was a practical 
 joke on your part ? " 
 
 " Oh, no !" cried Tommy, flaring up. " You mustn't 
 think that. There's only one painter living who has
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 31 
 
 her power and I'm one of the people who know it- 
 and I wanted her to paint you. Besides, she is a 
 thorough good sort through and through." 
 
 " My dear boy, I was only jesting," said Quixtus, 
 touched by his earnestness. " I know that not only 
 are you a devotee and very rightly so of Clemen- 
 tina but that she is a very great painter." 
 
 " All the same," said Tommy, with a twinkle in his 
 eyes, " I'm afraid that you're in for an awful time." 
 
 " I'm afraid so, too," said Quixtus, whimsically, 
 " but I'll get through it somehow." 
 
 He did get through it ; but it was only " somehow." 
 This quiet, courtly, dreamy gentleman irritated Clem- 
 entina as he had irritated her years ago. He was a 
 learned man; that went without saying; but he was 
 a fool all the same, and Clementina had not trained 
 herself to suffer fools gladly. The portrait became 
 her despair. The man had no character. There was 
 nothing beneath the surface of those china-blue eyes. 
 She was afraid, she said, of getting on the canvas the 
 portrait of a congenital idiot. His attitude towards 
 life the dilettante attitude which she as a worker 
 despised made her impatient. By profession he was 
 a solicitor, head of the old-fashioned firm of Quixtus 
 and Son; but, on his open avowal, he neglected 
 the business, leaving it all in the hands of his 
 partner. 
 
 " He'll do you, sure as a gun," said Clementina. 
 
 Quixtus smiled. " My father trusted him implicitly, 
 and so do I." 
 
 " A man or a woman's a fool to trust anybody," 
 said Clementina. 
 
 " I've trusted everybody around me all my life, and 
 no one has done me any harm, and therefore I'm a 
 happy man." 
 
 " Rubbish," said Clementina. " Any fraud gets the
 
 32 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 better of you. What about your German friend 
 Tommy was telling me of ? " 
 
 This was a sore point. A most innocent, spectacled, 
 bearded, but obviously poverty-stricken German had 
 called on him a few weeks before with a collection of 
 flint instruments for sale, which he alleged to have 
 come from the valley of the Weser, near Hameln. 
 They were of shapes and peculiarities which he had 
 not met with before, and, after a cursory and admiring 
 examination, he had given the starving Teuton twice 
 as much as he had asked for the collection, and sent 
 him on his way rejoicing. With a brother palaeontolo- 
 gist summoned in haste he had proceeded to a minute 
 scrutiny of his treasures. They were impudent for- 
 geries. 
 
 " I told Tommy in confidence. He ought not tc 
 have repeated the story," he said, with dignity. 
 
 " Which shows," said Clementina, pausing so as to 
 make her point and an important brush-stroke 
 " which shows that you can't even trust Tommy." 
 
 On another occasion he referred to Vandermeer's 
 famous interview. 
 
 " You know a friend of mine, Vandermeer," said he. 
 
 Clementina shook her head. 
 
 " Never heard the name." 
 
 He explained. Vandermeer was a journalist. He 
 had interviewed her and lunched with her at a res- 
 taurant. 
 
 Clementina could not remember. At last her knitted 
 brow cleared. 
 
 " Good lord, do you mean a half-starved, foxy-faced 
 man with his toes through his boots ? " 
 
 " The portrait is unflattering," said he, " but I'm 
 afraid there's a kind of resemblance." 
 
 " He looked so hungry and was so hungry he told 
 me that I took him to the ham-and-beef shop round
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 33 
 
 the corner and staffed his head with copy while he 
 stuffed himself with ham and beef. To say that he 
 lunched with me at a restaurant is infernal impu- 
 dence." 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Quixtus. " He has to live rather 
 fatly in imagination so as to make up for the meagre- 
 ness of his living in reality. It's only human nature." 
 
 " Bah," said Clementina, " I believe you'd find 
 human nature in the devil." 
 
 Quixtus smiled one of his sweet smiles. 
 
 " I find it in you, Clementina," he said. 
 
 Thus it may be perceived that the sittings were not 
 marked by the usual amenities of the studio. The 
 natures of the two were antagonistic. He shrank 
 from her downrightness ; she disdained his ineffec- 
 tuality. Each bore with the other for the sake of 
 past associations; but each drew a breath of relief 
 when freed from the presence of the other. Although 
 he was a man of wide culture beyond the bounds of 
 his own particular subject, and could talk well in a 
 half-humorous, half-pedantic manner, her influence 
 often kept him as dumb as a mummy. This irritated 
 Clementina still further. She wanted him to talk, to 
 show some animation, so that she could seize upon 
 something to put upon the dismaying canvas. She 
 talked nonsense, in order to stimulate him. 
 
 " To live in the past as you do without any regard 
 for the present is as worthless as to go to bed in a 
 darkened room and stay there for the rest of your 
 life. It's the existence of a mole, not of a man." 
 
 He indicated, with a wave of the hand, a Siennese 
 predclla on the wall. " You go to the past." 
 
 " For its lessons," said Clementina. "Because the 
 Old Masters can teach me things. How on earth do 
 you think I should be able to paint you if it hadn't 
 been for Velasquez? To say nothing of the aesthetic
 
 34 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 side. But you only go to the past to satisfy an idle 
 curiosity." 
 
 " Perhaps I do, perhaps I do," he assented, mildly. 
 " A knowledge of the process by which a prehistoric 
 lady fashioned her petticoat out of skins by means 
 of a flint needle and reindeer sinews would be of no 
 value to Worth or Paquin. But it soothes me per- 
 sonally to contemplate the intimacies of the toilette 
 of the prehistoric lady." 
 
 " I call that abnormal," said Clementina, " and you 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 And that was the end of that conversation. 
 
 Meanwhile, in spite of her half-comic despair, the 
 portrait progressed. She had seized, at any rate, the 
 man's air of intellectuality, of aloofness from the 
 practical affairs of life. Unconsciously she had in- 
 vested the face with a spirituality which had eluded 
 her conscious analysis. The artist had worked with 
 the inner vision, as the artist always does when he 
 produces a great work. For the great work of an 
 artist is not that before which he stands, and, sighing, 
 says : " This is fair, but how far away from my 
 dreams ! " That is the popular fallacy. The great 
 w r ork is that which, when he regards it on completion, 
 causes him to say in humble admiration and modest 
 stupefaction : " How on earth did the dull clod that 
 is I manage to do it ? " For he does not know how 
 he accomplished it. When a man is conscious of every 
 step he takes in the execution of a work of art, he is 
 obeying the letter and not the spirit; he is a juggler 
 with formulas; and formulas, being mere analytical 
 results, have no place in that glorious synthesis which 
 is creation either of a world or a flower or a poem. 
 Clementina, to her astonishment, regarded the portrait 
 of Ephraim Quixtus, and, like the First Creator re- 
 garding His work, saw that it was good.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 35 
 
 " I should never have believed it," she said. 
 " What ? " asked Quixtus. 
 
 " That I should have got all this out of you," said 
 Clementina.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 WE have heard much of a man in the Land of 
 Uz whose name was Job. We know that 
 he was perfect and upright, feared God, 
 and eschewed evil; and we are told how, on a disas- 
 trous afternoon, messenger after messenger came to 
 him to announce one calamity after the other, culmi- 
 nating in the annihilation of his entire family, and 
 how the final scorbutic affliction came shortly after- 
 wards, the anti-climax, it must be confessed, of his 
 woes, which drove the patient man to open his mouth 
 and curse his day. Between Job and Dr. Quixtus I 
 doubt whether the like avalanche of disasters, Pelion 
 on Ossa and Kunchinginja on Pelion of misfortunes, 
 ever came thundering down on the head of an upright 
 and evil-eschewing human creature. 
 
 The tale of these successive misfortunes can only 
 be briefly narrated ; for to examine in detail the train 
 of circumstances which led up to tftem, and the intri- 
 cate nexus of human motive in which they were 
 complicated would be foreign to the purpose of this 
 chronicle. Except passively or negatively, perhaps, 
 Quixtus had no hand in their happening. As in the 
 case of Job, the thunderbolts fell from a cloudless 
 sky. His moral character was blameless, his position 
 as assured, his life as happy as the patriarch's. He 
 had done no man harm all his days, and he had no 
 cause to fear evil from any quarter. A tithe or more 
 of his goods he gave in generous charity; and not 
 only did he not proclaim the fact aloud like the Phari- 
 
 36
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 33 
 
 see, but never mentioned the matter to himself for 
 the simple reason that keeping no accounts of his 
 expenditure he had not the remotest notion of the 
 amount of his eleemosynary expenses. You would 
 have far to go to meet a man more free from petty- 
 mindedness or vanity than Ephraim Quixtus. He was 
 mild, urbane, and, for all his scholarly reading, palae- 
 olithic knowledge, and wide travel, singularly modest. 
 If you contradicted him, instead of asserting himself, 
 as most men do, with increased vigour, he forthwith 
 put back to find, if possible, the flaw in his own argu- 
 ment. When complimented on his undoubted attain- 
 ments, he always sought to depreciate them. The 
 achievement of others, even in his own special depart- 
 ment of learning, moved his generous admiration. 
 Yet he had one extraordinary vanity which made 
 him fall short of the perfection of his prototype in 
 the Land of Uz the doctorial title which he possessed 
 by virtue of his Ph.D. degree from the University of 
 Heidelberg. Through signing his articles in learned 
 publications " Ephraim Quixtus, Ph.D.," his brethren 
 among the learned who rent him respectfully to pieces 
 in other learned publications, invariably alluded to him 
 as Dr. Quixtus. Through being thus styled by his 
 brethren both in print and conversation, he began to 
 give his name as Dr. Quixtus to the stentorian func- 
 tionary at the doors of banquets and receptions of 
 the learned, and derived infinite gratification from 
 hearing it loudly proclaimed to all assembled. From 
 that to announcing himself as "Dr. Quixtus" to the 
 parlour-maid or butler in the homes of the worldly 
 was but a step. 
 
 Now it may be questioned whether on the rolls 
 kept by the Incorporated Law Society there is a 
 solicitor who would style himself Doctor. It would 
 be as foreign to the ordinary solicitor's notions of
 
 38 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 professional propriety as to interview his clients in 
 a surplice. The title does not suggest a solicitor 
 any more than Oulxtus himself did in person. He 
 was a stranger, an anomaly, a changeling in the Cor- 
 poration. He ought never to have been a solicitor. 
 He was a very bad solicitor and that was what the 
 judge said, among other things of a devastating 
 nature, when he was giving evidence at a certain 
 memorable trial, which took place not long after he 
 had re-entered the stormy horizon of Clementina 
 Wing, and his portrait had been hung above the presi- 
 dential chair of the Anthropological Society. 
 
 It is but justice to say that Quixtus was a solicitor 
 not by choice, but by inheritance and filial affection. 
 His father had an old-fashioned lucrative family prac- 
 tice, into which, as it was his father's earnest desire, 
 his kindly nature allowed him to drift. When his 
 father died suddenly, almost as soon as his articles 
 were completed and he was admitted into partnership, 
 he stared in dismay at the prospect before him. He 
 could no more draw up a conveyance of land, or 
 administer a bankrupt estate, or prepare a brief for 
 a barrister, than he could have steered an Atlantic 
 liner into New York Harbour. And he had not the 
 faintest desire to know how to draw up a conveyance 
 or administer an estate. Beyond acquiring from text- 
 books the bare information requisite for the passing 
 f his examinations, he had never attempted to probe 
 deeper into the machinery of the law. His mind at- 
 tributed far greater importance to the sharp flint 
 instruments wherewith primitive men settled their 
 quarrels by whanging each other over the head than 
 to the miserable instruments on parchment which 
 adjusted the sordid wrangles of the present genera- 
 tion. By entering the profession he had merely grati- 
 fied a paternal whim. There had been a " Quixtus
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 39 
 
 and Son " in Lincoln's Inn for a hundred years, and 
 it was the dearest wish of the old man's heart that 
 " Quixtus and Son " should remain there in scecula 
 sceculorum. While his father was alive Ephraim had 
 scarcely thought of this desirable continuity. But his 
 father dead, it behooved him to see piously to its 
 establishment 
 
 The irksome part of the matter was that he had 
 no financial reason for proceeding with an abominated 
 profession. As hunger drives the wolves abroad, 
 according to Frangois Villon, so might hunger have 
 driven him from his palaeolithic forest. But there 
 was no chance of his being hungry. Not only did 
 his father and his mother each leave him a comfort- 
 able fortune, but he was the declared heir of an uncle, 
 his father's elder brother, who possessed large estates 
 in Devonshire, and had impressed Ephraim from his 
 boyhood up as one in advanced and palsied old age. 
 
 Yet " Quixtus and Son " had to be carried on. 
 How? He consulted the confidential clerk, Marrable 
 who had been in the office since boyhood. Marrable 
 at once suggested a solution of the difficulty which 
 almost caused Ephraim to throw himself into his arms 
 for joy. It was wonderful ! It was immense ! Quix- 
 tus welcomed it as Henry VIII. welcomed Cromwell's 
 suggestion for getting rid of Queen Katherine. The 
 solution was nothing less than that Ephraim should 
 take him into partnership on generous terms. The 
 deed of partnership was drawn up and signed, and 
 Quixtus entered upon a series of happy and prosperous 
 years. He attended the office occasionally, signed 
 letters and interviewed old family clients, whom he 
 entertained with instructive though irrelevant gossip 
 until they went away comforted. When they insisted 
 on business advice instead of comfort, he rang the 
 bell, and Marrable appeared like a djinn out of a
 
 40 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 bottle. Nothing could be simpler, nothing could work 
 more satisfactorily. Not only did clients find their 
 affairs thoroughly looked after, but they were flat- 
 tered at having bestowed upon them the concentrated 
 legal acumen and experience of the firm. You may 
 say that, as a solicitor, Quixtus was a humbug; that 
 he ought never to have accepted the position. But 
 show me a man who has never done that which he 
 ought not to have done, and you will show me either 
 an irresponsible idiot or an angel masquerading in 
 mortal vesture. I have my doubts whether Job him- 
 self before his trials was quite as perfect as he is made 
 out to be. Quixtus was neither idiot nor angel. At 
 the most he was a scholarly, ineffectual gentleman of 
 comfortable means, forced by filial tenderness into a 
 distasteful and bewildering pursuit. He had neither 
 the hard-heartedness to kill the one, nor the strength 
 of will to devote himself to the mastery of the other. 
 He compromised, you may say, with the devil. Well, 
 the devil is notoriously insidious, and Quixtus was 
 entirely unconscious of subscribing to a bargain. At 
 any rate, the devil had a hand in his undoing and 
 appointed a zealous agent of iniquity in the person of 
 Mr. Samuel Marrable. 
 
 When Quixtus went to Lincoln's Inn Fields one 
 morning and found, instead of his partner, a letter 
 from him stating that he had gone abroad and would 
 remain there without an address for an indefinite time, 
 Quixtus was surprised. When he had summoned the 
 managing clerk and together they had opened Mar- 
 rable's safe, both he and the clerk were bewildered; 
 and after he had spent an hour or two with a chartered 
 accountant, for whom he had hurriedly telephoned, 
 he grew sick from horror and amazement. Later in 
 the day he heard through the police that a warrant 
 was out for Samuel Marrable's arrest. In the course
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 41 
 
 of time he learned that Samuel Marrable had done 
 everything that a solicitor should not do. He had 
 misappropriated trust- funds; he had made away with 
 bearer-bonds ; he had falsified accounts ; he had forged 
 transfers; he had speculated in wild-cat concerns; he 
 had become the dupe of a gang of company promoters 
 known throughout the City as "Gehenna Unlimited." 
 He had robbed the widow ; he had robbed the orphan ; 
 he had robbed the firm; he had robbed with impunity 
 for many years; but when, in desperation, he had 
 tried to rob "Gehenna Unlimited," they were too much 
 for him. So Samuel Marrable had fled the country. 
 
 Thus fell the first thunderbolt. Quixtus saw the 
 fair repute of "Quixtus and Son" shattered in an 
 instant, his own name tarnished, himself and this 
 was the most cruel part of the matter betrayed and 
 fooled by the man in whom he had placed his bound- 
 less trust. Marrable, whom he had known since he 
 was a child of five ; with whom he had gone to panto- 
 mimes, exhibitions, and such like junketings when he 
 was a boy; \vho had first guided his reluctant feet 
 through the mazes of the law ; who had stood with him 
 by his father's death-bed; who was bound to him by 
 all the intimacies of a lifetime; on whose devotion he 
 had counted as unquestioningly as a child on his 
 mother's love Marrable to be a rogue and a rascal, 
 not a man at his wit's end yielding to a sudden tempta- 
 tion, but a deliberate, systematic villain it was all 
 but unthinkable. Yet here were irrefragable proofs, 
 as the law took its course. And all through the night- 
 mare time that followed until the trial for the poor 
 fugitive was soon hunted down and haled back to 
 London when his days were spent in helpless exam- 
 ination of confusing figures and bewildering trans- 
 actions, the insoluble human problem was uppermost 
 in his mind. How could the man have done these
 
 42 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 things? Marrable had sobbed over his father's grave 
 and had put his arm affectionately round his shoulders 
 and led him away to the mourning coach. Marrable 
 had stood with him by another open grave, that of his 
 dead wife, and had comforted him with affectionate 
 sympathy. To the very end not a sinister look had 
 appeared in his honest, capable eyes. On the very 
 day of his flight he had lunched with Quixtus in the 
 Savoy grill-room. He had laughed and jested and told 
 Quixtus a funny story or two. When they parted : 
 
 " Shall I see you at the office this afternoon? No? 
 Well, good-bye, Ephraim. God bless you." 
 
 He had smiled and waved a cheery hand. How 
 could a man shower upon another his tears, his sym- 
 pathy, his laughter, his implied loyalty, his blessings, 
 and all the time be a treacherous scoundrel working 
 his ruin? All his knowledge of Prehistoric Man 
 would not answer the question. 
 
 " I wonder whether there are many people in the 
 world like Marrable? " he questioned. 
 
 And from that moment he began to look at all clear- 
 eyed, honest folk and speculate, in a dreary way, 
 whether they were like Marrable. 
 
 The family honour being imperilled, duty sum- 
 moned him to an interview with Matthew Quixtus, his 
 father's elder brother, the head of the family, and 
 owner of a large estate at Croxton, in Devonshire, and 
 other vast possessions. He paid him a week-end visit. 
 The old man, nearly ninety, received him with every 
 mark of courtesy. He went out of his way to pay 
 deference to him as a man of high position in the 
 learned world. Instead of the " Mr. Ephraim," 
 which had been his designation in the house ever 
 since the " Master Ephraim " had been dropped in 
 the dim past, it was pointedly as " Dr. Quixtus " 
 that butler and coachman and the rest of the house-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 43 
 
 hold heard him referred to. Quixtus, who had always 
 regarded his uncle as a fiery ancient, hot with family 
 pride and quick to quarrel on the point of honour, 
 was greatly relieved by his unexpected suavity of 
 demeanour. He listened to his nephew's account of 
 the great betrayal with a kindly smile, and wasted 
 upon him bottles of the precious '54 port which the 
 butler, with appropriate ritual, only brought up for 
 the Inner Brotherhood of Dionysus. On all previous 
 occasions, Ephraim, at whose deplorably uncultivated 
 palate the old man had shrugged pitying shoulders, 
 had been treated to an unconsidered vintage put upon 
 the table after dinner rather as a convention than (in 
 the host's opinion) as a liquid fit for human throttle. 
 He was sympathetic over the disaster and alluded to 
 Marrable in picturesquely old-world terms of depre- 
 ciation. 
 
 " It'll cost you a pretty penny, one way or the 
 other," said he. 
 
 " I shall have to make good the losses. I dare say 
 I can make arrangements extending over a period of 
 years." 
 
 " Fly kites, eh ? Well, I shan't live for ever. But 
 I'm not dead yet. By George, sir, no ! " and his poor 
 old hand shook pitifully as he raised his glass to his 
 lips. " My grandfather your great grandfather 
 lived to be a hundred and four." 
 
 " It will be a matter of pride and delight to all who 
 know you," said Quixtus, smiling and bowing, glass 
 in hand, across the table, " if you champion the mod- 
 ern world and surpass him in longevity." 
 
 " The property will come in very handy, though, 
 won't it ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " I confess," said Quixtus, " that, if I pay the lia- 
 bilities out of my own resources, I may be somewhat 
 embarrassed."
 
 44 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " And what will you do with yourself when you've 
 shut up the shop ? " 
 
 " I shall devote myself more closely to my favourite 
 pursuits." 
 
 The old man nodded and finished his glass of port. 
 
 " A damned gentlemanly occupation," said he, 
 " without any confounded modern commercialism 
 about it." 
 
 Quixtus was pleased. Hitherto his uncle had not 
 regarded his anthropological studies with too sym- 
 pathetic an eye. He had lived, all his life, a country 
 gentleman, looking shrewdly after his estates, building 
 cottages, draining fields, riding to hounds and shooting 
 all things that were to be shot in their season. In 
 science and scholarship he took no interest. It was 
 therefore all the more gratifying to Quixtus to hear 
 his studious scheme of life so heartily commended. 
 The end of the visit was marked by the same amenity 
 as the beginning, and Quixtus returned to town some- 
 what strengthened for the ordeal that lay before him. 
 
 Up to the time of the trial he had met with nothing 
 but the kindly sympathy of friends and the courteous 
 addressing of those with whom he came into business 
 relations. His first battering against the sharp and 
 merciless edges of the world took place in open court. 
 He stood in the witness-box a lone, piteous spectacle, 
 a Saint Sebastian among witnesses, unsaved by mirac- 
 ulous interposition, like the lucky Sebastian, from per- 
 sonal discomfort. That he was an upright, sensitive 
 gentleman mattered nothing to judge and counsel; 
 just as the fact of Sebastian's being a goodly and 
 gallant youth did not affect his would-be executioners. 
 At every barb shot at him by judge and counsel he 
 quivered visibly. They were within their rights. In 
 their opinion, he deserved to quiver. At the back of 
 their legal minds they were all kindly gentlemen, and
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 45 
 
 out of court had human minds like yours and mine 
 but in their legal minds, Judge, Counsel for the Prose- 
 cution, Counsel for the Defence, all considered Quix- 
 tus a fortunate man in being in the witness-box at all ; 
 he ought to have been in the dock. There had never 
 ieen such fantastically culpable negligence. He did 
 not know this; he had not inquired into that; such a 
 transaction he had just been aware of, but never 
 understood; he had not examined the documents in 
 question. Everything brought him by Marrable for 
 signature, he signed as a matter of course, without 
 looking at it. 
 
 "If Mr. Marrable had brought you a cheque for 
 20,000 drawn in his favour on your own private 
 bankers, would you have signed it ? " asked Counsel. 
 
 " Certainly," said Quixtus. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I should not have looked at it." 
 
 " But supposing the writing on the cheque had, as 
 it were, leaped to your eyes ? " 
 
 " I should have taken it for granted that it had to 
 do with the legitimate business of the firm." 
 
 " If that is the case," remarked the judge, " I don't 
 think that men like you ought to be allowed to go 
 about loose." 
 
 Whereat there arose laughter in court, and sudden, 
 hellish hatred of judges in the heart of Quixtus. 
 
 " Can you give the court any reason why you 
 drifted into such criminal carelessness?" asked 
 Counsel. 
 
 " It never entered my head to doubt my partner's 
 integrity." 
 
 " Do you carry this childlike faith in human nature 
 into all departments of life? " 
 
 " Up to now I have had no reason to distrust my 
 fellow creatures."
 
 46 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I congratulate you as a solicitor on having had a 
 unique experience," said the judge acidly. 
 
 Counsel continued. " I put it to you suppose two 
 or three plausible strangers told you a glittering tale, 
 and one asked you to entrust him with a hundred 
 pounds to show your confidence in him would yoi* 
 doit?" 
 
 " I am not in the habit of consorting with vulgar 
 strangers," retorted Quixtus, with twitching lip. 
 
 " Which means that you are too learned and lofty a 
 person to deal with the common clay of this low 
 world?" 
 
 " I cannot deal with you," said Quixtus. 
 
 Counsel grew red and angry, as there was laughter 
 in which the judge joined. 
 
 " The witness," said the latter, " is not quite such a 
 fool as he would give us to imagine, Mr. Smithers." 
 
 Thus the only blow that Quixtus could give was 
 turned against him. Also, Counsel, smarting under 
 the hit, mishandled him severely, so that at the end 
 of his examination he stepped down from the witness- 
 box, less a man than a sentient bruise. He remained 
 in court till the very end, deathly pale, pain in his eyes, 
 and his mouth drawn into the lines of that of a child 
 about to cry. The trial proceeded. There was no 
 doubt of the guilt of the miserable wretch in the dock. 
 The judge summed up, and it was then that he said 
 the devastating things about Quixtus that inflamed 
 his newly born hatred of judges to such an extent 
 that it henceforth blackened his candid and benevo- 
 lent soul. The jury gave their verdict without retir- 
 ing, and Marrable, at the age of sixty, was condemned 
 to seven years' penal servitude. 
 
 Quixtus left the court dazed and broken. He was 
 met in the corridor by Tommy, who gripped him by 
 the arm, led him down into the street and put him
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 47 
 
 into a cab. He had not been in court, being a boy 
 of delicate feelings. 
 
 " You must buck up, you know/' he said to the 
 silent, grey-faced man beside him. " It will all come 
 right. What you want now is a jolly stiff brandy- 
 and-soda." 
 
 Quixtus smiled faintly. " I think I do," said 
 he. 
 
 A few minutes later Tommy superintended the 
 taking of his prescription in the dining-room in Rus- 
 sell Square, and eyed Quixtus triumphantly as he set 
 down the empty glass. 
 
 " There ! That'll set you straight. There's nothing: 
 like it." 
 
 Quixtus held out his hand. " You're a good boy, 
 Tommy. Thanks for taking care of me. I'll be all 
 right now." 
 
 " Don't you think I might be of some use if I 
 stayed ? It's a bit lonesome here." 
 
 " I have a big box of stuff from the valley of the 
 Dordogne, which I haven't opened yet," said Quixtus. 
 " I was saving it up for this evening, so I shan't be 
 lonesome." 
 
 " Well, be sure to have a good dinner and a bottle 
 of fizz," said Tommy. After which sage counsel he 
 went reluctantly away. 
 
 Just as Clementina was sitting down to dinner 
 Tommy rushed in with a crumpled evening newspaper 
 in his hand, incoherent with rage. Had she seen the 
 full report? What did she think of it? How dared 
 they say such things of a high-minded honourable 
 gentleman? Counsel on both sides were a disgrace 
 to the bar, the judge a blot on the bench. They ought 
 not to be allowed to cumber the earth. They ought 
 to be shot on sight. Out West they would never have 
 left the court ^alive. Had he lived in a simpler age,
 
 48 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 or in a more primitive society, the young Paladin 
 would have gone forth and slaughtered them in the 
 bosom of their families. Fortunately, all he could 
 do by way of wreaking his vengeance was to tear the 
 newspaper in half, throw it on the floor, and stamp 
 on it. 
 
 " Feel better? " asked Clementina, who had listened 
 to his heroics rather sourly. " If so, sit down and have 
 some food." 
 
 But Tommy declined nourishment. He was too 
 sore to eat. His young spirit revolted against the 
 injustice of the world. It clamoured for sympathy. 
 
 " Say you think it damnable." 
 
 " Anything to do with the law is always damnable," 
 said Clementina. " You shouldn't put yourself within 
 its clutches. Please pass me the potatoes." 
 
 Tommy handed her the dish. " I believe you're 
 as hard as nails, Clementina." 
 
 " All right, believe it," she replied grimly. And 
 she would not say more, for in what she thought was 
 her heart she agreed with the judge.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 QUIXTUS was still bowing his head over the 
 dishonoured grave of " Quixtus and Son " 
 when the second thunder-bolt fell. The 
 public disgrace drove a temperamentally hermit-like 
 nature into more rigid seclusion. He resigned his 
 presidency of the Anthropological Society. The 
 Council met and unanimously refused to accept 
 his resignation. They wrote in such terms that he 
 could not do otherwise than yield. But he gave up 
 his attendance at their meetings. To a man, his 
 friends among the learned professed their sympathy. 
 It hurt rather than healed. Those who wrote received 
 courteous and formal replies. Those who knocked 
 at his door were refused admittance. Even Clementina, 
 repenting of her harshness and pitying the lonely and 
 helpless man, pinned on a shameless thing that had 
 once resembled a hat, and went up by omnibus to 
 Russell Square, only to find the door closed against 
 her. The woman thus scorned became the fury which, 
 according to the poet, is unknown in Hades. She 
 expressed her opinion of Quixtus pretty freely. But 
 Quixtus shrank from her as he shrank from every one, 
 as he even shrank from his own servants. These he 
 dismissed, with the exception of Mrs. Pennycook, 
 his housekeeper, who, since the death of his wife had 
 held a high position of trust in his household, and a 
 vague female of humble and heterogeneous appearance, 
 who lived out, and had the air of apologising for in- 
 ability to squeeze through the wall when he passed by. 
 In view of he knew not what changes in his immediate 
 
 49
 
 50 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 financial circumstances, economy, he said, was desir- 
 able. He also shut up the greater part of the big house, 
 finding a dim sort of pleasure in such retrenchment. 
 He lived in his museum at the back, ate his meals 
 in the little dark room at the head of the kitchen 
 stairs, and changed his luxurious bedroom for a 
 murky, cheerless little chamber adjoining the museum. 
 When a man takes misery for a bride he may be for- 
 given for exaggeration in his early transports. 
 
 Only on Tuesday nights did he throw open dining- 
 room and drawing-room, where he received Huckaby, 
 Vandermeer, and Billiter as in the past. To them 
 his smile and his old self were given. Indeed he found 
 a newer sympathy with them. He, even as they, had 
 been the victim of outrageous fortune. He, too, had 
 suffered from the treachery of man and the insolence 
 of office. The three found an extra guerdon in their 
 great-coat pockets. 
 
 There were times, however, when the museum 
 grew wearisome through familiarity, when he fonnd 
 no novelty in the Quaternary skull from Silesia, or 
 the engraved reindeers on the neolithic axe-heads, 
 or the necklet of the lady o r the bronze age; when 
 he craved things nearer to his own time which could 
 give him some message of modernity. On such occa- 
 sions he would either walk abroad, or if the weather 
 were foul, take a childish pleasure in exploring the 
 sealed chambers of the house. For, shut up a room, 
 exclude from it the light of day, cover the furniture 
 with dust-sheets till you get the semblance of a morgue 
 of strange beasts, forget it for a while, and, on re- 
 entering it, you will have all the elements of mystery 
 which gradually and agreeably gives place to little 
 pleasant shocks of discovery of the familiar. The 
 neglected pictures that have hung on the walls, the 
 huddled knick-knacks on a table, the heap of books on
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 51 
 
 the floor, all have messages of gentle reproach. A 
 newspaper of years ago, wrapped round a cushion, 
 once opened by eager hands and containing in its 
 headlines world-shaking news (now so stale and for- 
 gotten) is a pathetic object. In drawers are garments 
 out of date, preserved heaven knows why, keepsakes 
 worked by fair hands, unused but negligently treas- 
 ured, faded curtains which will never be rehung a 
 thousand old stimulating things, down to ends of 
 sealing-wax and carefully rolled bits of twine. And 
 some drawers are empty, and from them rises the 
 odour of lavender poignant with memories of the 
 things that are no more. 
 
 It was a large, old-fashioned house which had been 
 his father's before him, in which he had been born; 
 and it was full of memories. In the recess of a dark 
 cupboard in one of the attics he found a glass jar, 
 which had escaped the vigilance or commanded the 
 respect of generations of housemaids, covered with a 
 parchment on which was written in his mother's hand, 
 " Damson Jam." His mother had died a quarter of a 
 century ago. 
 
 An old hair-trunk in the corner of the box-room, 
 such a hair-trunk as the boldest man during Quixtus's 
 lifetime would have shrunk from having attached 
 to him on his travels, contained correspondence of 
 his grandfather's and old daguerrotypes and photo- 
 graphs of stiff, staring, faded people long" since gone 
 to a (let us hope) more becomingly attired world. 
 There was a miniature on ivory, villainously painted, 
 of a chubby red-cheeked child, and on the back was 
 written " My Son Mathew, aged two years and six 
 months." Could the shrivelled, myriad-wrinkled, 
 palsied old man whom Ephraim had visited but a short 
 while since ever have remotely resembled this? The 
 hair-trunk also contained a pistol with a label " Car-
 
 52 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 ried by my father at Waterloo." That was the old 
 gentleman who had lived to a hundred and four. Why 
 had this relic of family honour remained hidden all 
 his life? 
 
 The more he searched into odd corners the more 
 did his discoveries stimulate his interest. Of his 
 own life he found records in unexpected places. A 
 bundle of school-reports. He opened it at random, 
 and his eye fell upon the Headmaster's Report at the 
 foot of a sheet ; " Studious but unpractical. It seems 
 impossible to arouse in him a sense of ambition, or 
 even of the responsibilities of life." He smiled some- 
 what wistfully and put the bundle in his pocket with 
 a view to the further acquisition of self-knowledge. 
 A set of Cambridge college bills tied with red tape, 
 a broken microscope, a case of geometrical drawing 
 instruments, a manuscript book of early poems, 
 mimetic echoes of Keats, Tennyson, Shelley, Swin- 
 burne, who were all clamouring together in his brain, 
 his college blazer, much moth-eaten, his Heidelberg 
 student's cap, ditto. . . . Ah! qu'ils sont loin ces 
 jours si regre tie's! . . . 
 
 Of his wife, too, there were almost forgotten relics. 
 An oak chest opened unexpectedly disclosed a pair 
 of little pink satin , slippers standing wistfully on the 
 top of the tissue paper that protected the dresses 
 beneath. The key was in the lock. He closed the 
 lid reverently, locked the chest, and put the key in 
 his pocket. They had had together five years of placid 
 happiness. She was a sweet, white-winged soul 
 Angela. Her little boudoir on the second floor had 
 not been used since her death, and was much as she 
 had left it. Only the dust-sheets and the gloom 
 invested it in a more ghostly atmosphere than other 
 less sacred chambers. Her work-basket stood by the 
 window. He opened it and found it still contained
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 53 
 
 a reel of thread and a needle-case stuck full of rusty 
 needles. On the wall hung an enlarged portrait of 
 himself at the age of thirty he was not quite so lan- 
 tern-jawed then, and his hair was thicker on the top. 
 A water-colour sketch of Angela hung over the oak 
 bureau, at which she used to write her dinner-notes 
 and puzzle her pretty head over household accounts. 
 He drew up the blind so as to see the picture more 
 clearly. Yes. It was like her. Dark-haired, fragile, 
 with liquid brown eyes. There was just that dimple 
 in her chin. . . . He remembered it so well ; but, 
 strangely, it had played no part in his customary 
 mental picture of her. In the rediscovery of the dim- 
 ple he found a vague melancholy pleasure. . . . Idly 
 he drew down the slanting lids of the bureau, and 
 pulled out the long narrow drawers that supported 
 it underneath. The interior was empty. He recol- 
 lected now that he had cleared it of its contents when 
 settling Angela's affairs after her death. He thrust 
 up the slanting lid, pushed back the long right-hand 
 drawer, pushed the left hand one. It stuck. He 
 tried to ease it in, but it was jammed. He pulled it 
 out with a jerk, and found that the cause of the jam 
 was a letter flat against the end of the drawer with 
 a corner turned over the edge. He took out the letter, 
 closed the drawers, and smiled sadly, glad to have 
 discovered a new relic of Angela in the bureau 
 probably a gossiping note from a friend, perhaps one 
 from himself. He went to the light of the window. 
 
 " My adored heart's dearest and most beloved 
 angel " so the letter began. He scanned the words 
 bewildered. Certainly in his wildest dreams he had 
 never imagined such a form of address. Besides, the 
 handwriting was not his. He turned the sheet rapidly 
 and glanced at the end; "God! How I love you. 
 WILL/'
 
 54 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 "Will? Will Hammersley. It was Will Ham- 
 mersley's handwriting. What did it mean? He 
 paused for a few moments, breathing hard, looking 
 with blind eyes through the window over the square. 
 At last he read the letter. Then he thrust it, a crum- 
 pled ball, into his pocket and reeled out of the room 
 like a drunken man, down the stairs of the lonely 
 house, and flung himself into a chair in his museum, 
 where he sat for hours staring before him, paralysed 
 with an awful dismay. 
 
 At five o'clock his housekeeper entered with the 
 tea-things. He did not want tea. At seven she came 
 again into the large dark room lit only by the red 
 glow of the fire. 
 
 " The gentlemen are here, sir." 
 
 It was a Tuesday evening. He had forgotten. 
 
 He stumbled to his feet. 
 
 " All right," he said. 
 
 Then he shivered, feeling a deadly sickness of soul. 
 No, he could not meet his fellow creatures to-night. 
 
 " Give them my compliments and apologies, and 
 say I am unwell and unable to dine with them this 
 evening. See that they have all they want, as 
 usual." 
 
 " Very good, sir but yourself ? Fm sorry you are 
 ill, sir. What can I bring you ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Quixtus harshly. " Nothing. And 
 please don't trouble me any more." 
 
 Mrs. Pennycook regarded him in some astonish- 
 ment, not having heard him speak in such a tone be- 
 fore. Probably no one else had, since he had learned 
 to speak. 
 
 " If you're not better in the morning, sir, I might 
 fetch the doctor." 
 
 He turned in his chair. " Go. I tell you. Go. 
 Leave me alone."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 55 
 
 Later he rose and switched on the light and, me-* 
 chanically descending to the hall, like a sleep-walker, 
 deposited his usual largesse in the pockets of the three 
 seedy, familiar overcoats. Then he went up to his 
 museum again. .The effort, however, had cleared his 
 mind. He reflected. He had not been very well 
 of late. There were such things as hallucinations, 
 to which men broken down by mental strain were 
 subject. Let him read the letter through once more. 
 He took the crumpled paper from his pocket, smoothed 
 it out and read. No. There was no delusion. The 
 whole story was there the treachery, the faithless- 
 ness, the guilty passion that gloried in its repeated con- 
 summation. His wife Angela, his friend Will Ham- 
 mersley the only woman and the only man he had 
 ever loved. A sudden memory smote him. He had 
 entrusted her to Hammersley's keeping times out of 
 number. 
 
 " My God ! " said he, beating his forehead with a 
 clenched fist. "My God!" 
 
 And so fell the second thunderbolt. 
 
 Towards midnight there came a heavy knocking at 
 his door. Startled by the unusual sound he cried : 
 
 " What's that ? Who's there ? " 
 
 The door opened and Eustace Huckaby lurched 
 solemnly into the room. His ruffled hair stood up 
 on end like a cockatoo's crest, and his watery eyes 
 glistened. He pulled his straggling beard. 
 
 " Sorry ole' man to hear you're seedy. Came to 
 know how getting on." 
 
 Quixtus rose, a new sternness on his face, and con- 
 fronted the intruder. 
 
 " Huckaby, you're drunk." 
 
 Huckaby laughed and waved a protesting hand, 
 thereby nearly losing his balance. 
 
 " No," said he. " Rid'klous. I'm not drunk.
 
 56 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Other fellows are drunk ash owls tha's why 
 couldn't come see you. They're not qui' sort of men 
 been acushtomed to assochate with I'm University 
 man like you Quishtus sometime Fellow Corpus 
 Christi College, Cambridge I first gave motto for 
 club didn't I? Procul, O procul este profani tha's 
 Latin. Other two lobsters don't know word of Latin 
 ignorant as lobsters lobsters tha's wha' I call 
 'em." He lurched heavily into a chair. " Awful 
 thirsty. Got a drink old f 'la ? " 
 
 " No," said Quixtus. " I haven't. And if I had, I 
 wouldn't give it to you." 
 
 The reprobate pondered darkly over the announce- 
 ment. Then he hiccoughed, and his face brightened. 
 
 " Look here, dear old frien' " 
 
 Quixtus interrupted him. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me those other men are drunk 
 too?" 
 
 " As owls you go down see 'em." 
 
 He threw back his head and broke out into sudden 
 shrill laughter. Then, checking himself, he said with 
 an awful gravity: 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Quishtus. Their conduc's dis- 
 grace humanity." 
 
 " You three have dined in this house once a week 
 for years, and no one has left it the worse for liquor. 
 And now, the first time I leave you to yourselves I 
 was really not able to join you to-night you take 
 advantage of my absence, and " 
 
 Huckaby staggered to his feet and tried to lay his 
 hand on Quixtus's shoulder. Having recovered him- 
 self, he put it on top of a case of prehistoric imple- 
 ments. 
 
 " That's just what I want explain to you. They're 
 lobsters, dear ole' friend just lobsters all claw and 
 belly and no heart. I'm a University man like you.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 57 
 
 Corpush Christi College, Cambridge They're not 
 friends of yours. They're lobsters. Ruddy lobsters. 
 I'm not drunk you know. I'm all right. I'm telling 
 you " 
 
 Quixtus took him by the arm. " I think you had 
 better go away, Huckaby." 
 
 " No. Send other fellows away. I'm your frien'," 
 said he, pointing a shaky forefinger. " I want to tell 
 you. I'm a University man and so are you, and I 
 don't care how much you made out of it. You're all 
 right Quishtus. I'm your frien'. Other lobsters said at 
 dinner that if justice were done you'd be in quod." 
 
 Quixtus took the gaunt sot by the shoulders and 
 shook him. " What the devil do you mean ? " 
 
 " Don't, don't don't upset good dinner," said 
 Huckaby wriggling away. " You won't believe I'm 
 your friend. Van and Billiter say you were in with 
 Parable Paramour wha's his name? all the time, 
 and it's just your rosy luck that you weren't doing 
 time too. Now I don't care if you did stand in with 
 Parachute 'tisn't my business. But I'll stan' by you. I, 
 Eustace Huckaby, Master of Arts, sometime Fellow 
 of Corpush Christi College, Cambridge. There'sh my 
 hand." 
 
 He extended it, but Quixtus regarded it not. 
 
 11 The three of you have not contented yourselves 
 wkh getting drunk, but you've been slandering me 
 behind my back foully slandering me." 
 
 He went to the door and flung it open. " I think it's 
 time, Huckaby, that we joined the others." 
 
 Huckaby shambled down the stairs, murmuring of 
 lobsters and parables, and turning every now and then 
 to assure his host that adverse circumstances made 
 no difference to his imperishable affection; and so 
 they reached the dining-room. Huckaby had spoken 
 truly. Billiter was sprawling back in his chair, his
 
 58 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 coat and waistcoat covered with cigar-ash; his bald 
 head was crowned by the truncated cone of a candle- 
 shade (a jest of Huckaby's) which gave him an ap- 
 pearance that would have been comic to a casual ob- 
 server, but to Quixtus was peculiarly obscene. His 
 dazed eyes were fixed stupidly on Vandermeer who, 
 the picture of woe, was weeping bitterly because he 
 had no one to love him. At the sight of Quixtus, 
 Billiter made an effort to rise, but fell back heavily on 
 to his seat, the candle-shade falling likewise. He mut- 
 tered hoarsely and incoherently that it was the con- 
 founded gout again in his ankles. Then he expressed 
 a desire to slumber. Vandermeer raised a maudlin 
 face. 
 
 " No one to love me," he whined, and tried to pour 
 from an empty decanter; it slipped from his hand 
 and broke a glass. " Not even a drop of consolation 
 left," he said. 
 
 " Disgrashful, isn't it?" said Huckaby with a hic- 
 cough. 
 
 Quixtus eyed them with disgust Humanity was 
 revolting. He turned to Huckaby and said with a 
 shudder : " For God's sake, take them away." 
 
 Huckaby summed them up with an unsteady but 
 practised eye. " Can't walk. Ruddy lobsters. Must 
 have cabs." 
 
 Quixtus went to the street-door and whistled up 
 a couple of four-wheelers from the rank; and eventu- 
 ally, by the aid of Huckaby and the cabmen whom 
 he had to bribe heavily to drive the wretches home, 
 they were deposited in some sort of sitting posture 
 each in a separate vehicle. As soon as the sound of 
 the departing wheels died away, Quixtus held out 
 Huckaby's overcoat. 
 
 " You're sober enough to walk," said he, helping 
 him on with it. " Good-night"
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 59 
 
 Huckaby turned on the doorstep. 
 
 " Want you to remember don't care damn what 
 a frien' has done ever want help, come to me, some- 
 time Fellow of Corp 
 
 Quixtus closed the street door in his face and heard 
 no more. These were his friends ; these the men who 
 had lived on his bounty, who, for years, for what 
 they could get, had controlled their knavery, their 
 hypocrisy. These were the men for whom he had 
 striven, these sots, these dogs, these vulgar-hearted, 
 slandering knaves! His very soul was sick. He 
 paused at the dining-room door and for a moment 
 looked at the scene of the debauch. Wine and coffee 
 were spilled; glasses broken; a lighted stump of 
 cigar had burned a great brown hole in the tablecloth. 
 He grimly imagined the tipsy scene. If he had been 
 with them, there would have been smug faces, depre- 
 cating hands upheld at the second round of the port, 
 talk on art, literature, religion, and what-not, and, 
 at parting, whispered blessings and fervent hand- 
 shakes; and all the time there would have been 
 slanderous venom in their hearts, and the raging 
 beast of drink within them cursing him for his re- 
 pressing presence. 
 
 " The canting rogues," he murmured as he went 
 back to his museum. " The canting rogues! " 
 
 He thrust his hands, in a gesture of anger and dis- 
 gust, deep into his jacket-pockets. His knuckles came 
 against the crumpled letter. He turned faint and 
 clung to the newel-post on the landing for support. 
 The smaller treachery coming close before his eyes had 
 for the time eclipsed the greater. 
 
 " My God," he said, " is all the world against me? " 
 
 Unfortunately there was a thunderbolt or two yet 
 to fall.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 * TTTIO my nephew Ephraim for his soul's good I 
 
 bequeath my cellar of wine which I adjure 
 
 -* him to drink with care, thought, diligence, 
 
 and appreciation, being convinced that a sound judge 
 
 of wine is, or is on the way to becoming what my 
 
 nephew is not, a judge of men and affairs." 
 
 Quixtus stared at the ironical words written in 
 Mathew Quixtus's sharp precise handwriting, and 
 turned with a grey face to the lawyer who had pointed 
 them out. 
 
 " Is that the only reference to me in the will, Mr. 
 Henslow ? " he asked. 
 
 " Unfortunately, yes, Dr. Quixtus. You can see for 
 yourself." He handed Quixtus the document. 
 
 Mathew Quixtus had bequeathed large sums of 
 money to charities, smaller sums to old servants, the 
 wine to Ephraim, and the residue of his estate to a 
 Quixtus unknown to Ephraim, save by hearsay, who 
 had settled thirty years before in New York. Even 
 Tommy Burgrave, with whom he had been on good 
 terms, was not mentioned. But he had quarrelled 
 years before with his niece, Tommy's mother, for 
 making an impecunious marriage, and, to do him jus- 
 tice, had never promised the boy anything. The will 
 was dated a few weeks back, and had been witnessed 
 by the butler and the coachman. 
 
 " I should like you to understand, Dr. Quixtus," 
 said Henslow, " that until we found that envelope 
 I had no idea that your uncle had made a fresh will. 
 
 60
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 61 
 
 I came here with the old one in my hand, which I 
 drew up and which has been in my office-safe for 
 fifteen years. Under that, I need not tell you, you 
 were, with the exception of a few trifling legacies, 
 the sole legatee. I am deeply grieved." 
 
 " Let me see that date again," said Quixtus. 
 
 He pressed his hands to his eyes and thought. It 
 was the day before his arrival on his last visit. 
 
 The telegram announcing Mathew Quixtus's sudden 
 death had brought a gleam of light into a soul which 
 for a week had been black with misery. It awakened 
 him to a sense of outer things. A sincere affection 
 for the old man had been a lifelong habit. It was 
 a shock to realise that lie was no longer alive. Besides 
 having always unconsciously taken a child's view of 
 death, he felt genuinely sorry, for his uncle's sake, 
 that he should have died. Impulses of pity, tender- 
 ness, regret, stirred in his deadened heart. He forth- 
 with set out for Devonshire, and when he arrived at 
 Croxton, stood over the pinched waxen face till the 
 tears came into his eyes. 
 
 He had summoned Tommy Burgrave, the only other 
 member of the family in England, but Tommy had not 
 been able to attend. He had caught cold while paint- 
 ing in the open air, and was in bed with a slight attack 
 of congestion of the lungs. Quixtus was alone in the 
 great house. With the aid of Henslow he made the 
 funeral arrangements. The old man was laid to rest 
 in the quiet churchyard of Croxton. Half the county 
 came to pay their tribute to his memory, and shook 
 Quixtus by the hand. Then he came back to the 
 house, and in the presence of one or two of the old 
 servants, the will was read. 
 
 It had been dated the day before his arrival on his 
 last visit. The thing had been written and signed 
 and witnessed and sealed, and was lying in that locked
 
 
 62 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 drawer in the library all the time that the old man 
 was welcoming him, flattering him, showing him 
 deference. All the suavity and deference had been 
 mockery. The old man had made him a notorious 
 geek and gull. 
 
 His pale blue eyes hardened, and he turned an 
 expressionless face to the lawyer. 
 
 " I'm afraid it would not be possible," said Hen- 
 slow, " to have the will set aside on the ground of, say 
 senility on the part of the testator." 
 
 " My uncle had every faculty at its keenest when 
 he wrote it," said Quixtus, " including that of merci- 
 less cruelty." 
 
 " It was a heartless jest," the lawyer agreed. 
 
 " If you will do me a service, Mr. Henslow, 
 you might be kind enough to instruct one of the 
 servants to pack up my bag and forward it to my 
 London address. I am going now to the railway sta- 
 tion." 
 
 The lawyer looked at his watch and put out a de- 
 taining hand. 
 
 " There's not a decent train for two or three hours." 
 
 " I would rather," said Quixtus, " ride a tortoise 
 home than stay in this house another moment." 
 
 He walked out of the room and out of the house, 
 and after waiting at the station whence he despatched 
 a telegram to his housekeeper, who was not expecting 
 him back for two or three days, took the first train 
 a slow one to London. 
 
 In his corner of the railway carriage the much- 
 afflicted man sat motionless, brooding. Everything 
 had happened that could shake to its foundations a 
 man's faith in humanity, and swallow it up in abysmal 
 darkness. Suddenly, as though by a prearranged 
 design as we know was the case with his forerunner 
 in the Land of Uz cataclysm after cataclysm had
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 63 
 
 revealed to him the essential baseness, treachery, 
 cruelty of mankind. For in his eyes these were proved 
 to be essential qualities. Had they not been revealed 
 to him, not by fitful gleams, but in one steady lurid 
 glare, in the nature of those who had been nearest 
 to him in the world Angela, Will Hammersley, 
 Marrable, Huckaby, Vandermeer, Billiter, Mathew 
 Quixtus? If the same hell-streak ran through the 
 souls of these, surely it must run through the souls 
 of all the sons and daughters of Adam. Now here 
 came the great puzzle. Why should he, Ephraim 
 Quixtus, (as far as he could tell) vary from the un- 
 kindly race of man? Why hitherto had baseness, 
 treachery, and cruelty been as foreign to his nature as 
 an overpowering inclination towards arson or homi- 
 cide ? Why had he been unequipped with these quali- 
 ties which appeared to serve mortals as weapons 
 wherewith to fight the common battle of life? The 
 why, he could not tell. That he had them not, was 
 obvious. That he had gone to the wall through lack 
 of them was obvious, too. Instead of the dagger of 
 baseness, the sword of cruelty, the shield of treachery, 
 all finely-tempered implements of war, he had been 
 fighting with the wooden lath of virtue and the brawn- 
 buckler of trust. Armed as he should have been, he 
 would have out manoeuvred Marrable at his own game, 
 kept his wife in chaste and wholesome terror of his 
 jealousy, sent Huckaby and Company long since to the 
 limbo where they belonged, deluded his uncle into the 
 belief that he was a devil of a fellow, and now be 
 standing with flapping wings and crowing voice tri- 
 umphant on this dunghill of a world. But he had been 
 hopelessly outmatched. Whoever had taken upon him- 
 self the responsibility of equipping him for the battle 
 of life had been g*tilty of incredible negligence. But 
 on whom could he call to remedy this defect? Men
 
 64 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 called on the Unknown God to make them good ; but 
 it would be idiotic as well as blasphemous to call on 
 Him to make one bad. How, then, were the essential 
 qualities of baseness, treachery, and cruelty to be cap- 
 tured and brought into his armoury? Perhaps the 
 Devil might help. But we are so matter-of-fact and 
 scientific in these days that even the simple soul of 
 Quixtus could not quite believe in his existence. If 
 he had lived in the Middle Ages (so in scholarly gloom 
 ran his fancy) he could have drawn circles and penta- 
 grams and things on the floor, and uttered the incanta- 
 tions, and all the hierarchy of hell would have been 
 at his command, Satanas, Lucifer, Mephistopheles, 
 Asmodeus, Samael, Asael, Beelzebub, Azazel, Maca- 
 thiel. . . . Quixtus rather leaned towards Maca- 
 thiel the name suggested a merciless, bowelless, high- 
 cheek-boned devil in a kilt 
 
 Impatiently he shook his thoughts free from the 
 fantastic channel into which they had wandered and 
 brought them back into the ever-thickening slough 
 of his soul. The train lumbered on, stopping at 
 pretty wayside stations where fresh-faced folk with 
 awkward gait and soft deep voices clattered cheerily 
 past Quixtus's windows on their way to or from the 
 third-class carriages, or at the noisier, bustling stations 
 of large towns. Now and then a well-dressed traveller 
 invaded his solitude for a short distance. But Quixtus 
 sat in his remote corner seeing, hearing nothing, 
 brooding on the baseness, treachery, and cruelty of 
 mankind. He had come to the end of love, the end 
 of trust, the end of friendship. When the shapes of 
 those who were still loyal to him flitted across his 
 darkened fancy he cursed them in his heart. They 
 were as corrupt as the rest. That they had not been 
 found out in their villainy only proved a thicker mask 
 of hypocrisy. He had finished with them all. If
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 65 
 
 he had been a more choleric man gifted with the power 
 of picturesque vehemence of language he might have 
 outrivalled Timon of Athens in the denunciations of 
 his fellows. It must be a relief to any one in such a 
 frame of mind to stand up and, with violent gestures, 
 express his views in terms of sciatica, itches, blains, 
 leprosy, venomed worms and ulcerous sores, and to 
 call upon the blessed breeding sun to draw from the 
 earth rotten humidity, and below his sister's orb to 
 infect the air. He knows exactly what he feels, gives 
 it full artistic expression, and finds himself all the 
 better for it. But Quixtus, inarticulate, had no such 
 comfort. Indeed, he could hardly have expressed the 
 welter of horror, hate, and misery that was his moral 
 being, in any form of speech whatever. As the train 
 rumbled on, the phrase " Evil be thou my good " wove 
 itself into the rhythm of the machinery. He let it 
 sing dully and stupidly in his ears, and his mind 
 worked subconsciously back to Macathiel. 
 
 As yet he had imagined no future attitude towards 
 life. His soul was in a state of negation. The in- 
 sistent invocation of Evil was but a catchword, 
 irritating his brain and having no real significance. 
 At the most he envisaged the future as a period of 
 inactive misanthropy and suspicion. He had as yet 
 no stirrings to action. On the other hand, he did not, 
 like Job, after the first series of afflictions, rend his 
 clothes, shave his head, and bear his reverses with 
 pious resignation. 
 
 The train arrived an hour late, as slow trains are 
 apt to do, and it was nearly half-past eleven when he 
 reached his house in Russell Square. He opened the 
 door with his latchkey. The hall was dark, contrary 
 to custom. He switched on the light, and, turning, 
 saw that the letter-box had not been cleared. 
 Mechanically he took out the letters, and beneath the
 
 66 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 hall lamp glanced at the outside of the envelopes. 
 Among them was the telegram he had sent from Dev- 
 onshire. 
 
 Even a man wallowing in the deepest abysses of 
 spiritual misery needs food; and when he finds that 
 a telegram ordering supper (for his return was un- 
 expected) has not been opened, he may be pardoned 
 purely material disappointment and irritation. Mrs. 
 Pennycook, the housekeeper, must have profited by 
 his absence to take a holiday. But what business had 
 she to take a holiday and leave the house uncared for 
 at that time of night? For, if she had returned, she 
 would have lit the hall-light, and cleared the letter- 
 box. He resigned himself peevishly to the prospect 
 of a biscuit and a whisky-and-soda in the little back 
 room where he ate his meals. 
 
 He strode down the passage to the head of the 
 kitchen stairs and opened the study door. A glare 
 of light met his eyes, and a moment afterwards some- 
 thing else. This was Mrs. Pennycook in an armchair, 
 sleeping a bedraggled sleep with two empty quart 
 bottles of champagne and an empty bottle of whisky 
 by her side. He shook her hard by the shoulders, 
 but beyond stertorous and jerky breaths the blissful 
 lady showed no signs of animation. 
 
 It was* then that a constricting thread snapped in 
 Quixtus's brain. It was then, as if by a trick of magic, 
 that all the vaguely billowing horrors, disillusions, 
 disgusts, resentments and hatreds co-ordinated them- 
 selves into a scheme of fierce vividness. 
 
 Just as the boils made Job, who had borne the an- 
 nihilation of his family with equanimity, open his 
 mouth and curse his day, so did a drunken servant, 
 who neglected to give him his supper, awaken 
 Ephraim Quixtus to the glorious thrill of a remorse- 
 less, relentless malignity.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 67 
 
 He threw up his hands and laughed aloud, peals of 
 unearthly laughter that woke the echoes of the empty 
 house, that woke the canary in its cage by the win- 
 dow, causing it to utter a few protesting " cheeps," 
 that arrested the policeman on his beat outside, that 
 did everything human laughter in the way of noise 
 can do, even stimulating the blissful lady to open half 
 a glazed eye for the fraction of a second. After his 
 paroxysm had subsided, he looked at the woman for a 
 moment, and then with an air of peculiar malevolence 
 took a sheet of note-paper from a small writing-table 
 beneath the canary's cage and wrote on it : 
 " Let me never see your face again. E. Q." 
 This, by the aid of a hairpin that had fallen into 
 her lap, he pinned to her apron. Then, with another 
 laugh, he left her beneath the glare of the light, and 
 went out into the street. He was thrilled, like a 
 drunken man, with a new sense of life. Years had 
 fallen from his shoulders. He had solved the riddle 
 of the world. Baseness, treachery, cruelty he felt 
 them pulsating in his heart with a maddening joy of 
 existence. Evil was his good. He was no longer 
 even a base, treacherous, cruel man. He was a devil 
 incarnate. The long exultant years in front of him 
 would be spent in deeds of shame and crime and un- 
 precedented wickedness. If there was a throne to be 
 waded to through slaughter, through slaughter would 
 he wade to it. He would shut the gates of Mercy on 
 mankind. He held out both hands in front of him 
 with stiffened outspread fingers. If only there was a 
 human throat between them, how they would close 
 around it, how he would gloat over the dying agony ! 
 Caligula was the man for him. He regretted his un- 
 timely death. What a colleague could have been made 
 of the fiend who wished that the whole human race 
 had one neck so that it could be severed at one blow !
 
 68 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 He had reached this stage in his exultant reflections 
 when he found himself outside a restaurant which he 
 had never entered, at the Oxford Street end of the 
 Tottenham Court Road. He remembered that he was 
 hungry; that a new-born spirit of wickedness must be 
 fed. He went in, unconscious of the company or the 
 surrounding's, and ordered supper. The waiter said 
 that it was nearly closing time. Quixtus called for a 
 plate of cold beef and a whisky-and-soda. He de- 
 voured the meat ravenously, forgetful of the bread by 
 his side, and drank the drink at a gulp. Having lit a 
 cigar, he threw half a sovereign on the table and 
 walked out. He walked along the streets heedless of 
 direction, down Shaftesbury Avenue, across Piccadilly 
 Circus blazing with light, through Leicester Square, 
 along the still hurrying Strand to Fleet Street noise- 
 less and empty, his brain on fire, weaving exquisite 
 fabrics of deviltry. Suddenly he halted on a glorious 
 thought. Why should he not begin there and then? 
 The whole of London, with its crime and sin and rot- 
 tenness, lay before him. He retraced his steps back 
 to the Babylon of the West. What could he do? 
 Where could he find adequate wickedness ? When he 
 reached Charing Cross again it was dark and deserted. 
 A square mile of London has every night about an 
 hour of tearing, surging, hectic life. Then all of a 
 sudden the thousands of folk are swept away to the 
 four corners of the mighty city, and all is still. A 
 woman, as Quixtus passed, quickened her pace and 
 murmured words. Here was a partner in wickedness 
 to his hand. But the flesh of the delicately fibred man 
 revolted simultaneously with the thought. No. That 
 did not come within his scheme of wickedness. He 
 slipped a coin into the woman's palm, because she 
 looked so forlorn, and went his way. She was useless 
 for his purpose. What he sought was some occasion
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 69 
 
 for pitilessness, for doing evil to his fellow-creatures. 
 A fine rain began to fall; but he heeded it not, burn- 
 ing with the sense of adventure. A reminiscence of 
 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde crossed his mind. Hyde, 
 like Caligula, was also the man for him. Didn't he 
 once throw a child down in a lonely street and stamp 
 on it? 
 
 He walked and walked through the now silent 
 places, and the more he walked the less opening for 
 wickedness did he see. The potentialities of Babylon 
 appeared to him overrated. After a wild and aimless 
 detour he found himself again at Charing Cross. He 
 struck down Whitehall. But in Whitehall and Parlia- 
 ment Street, the stately palaces on either side, vast 
 museums of an Empire's decorum, forbade the sug- 
 gestion of wickedness. The belated omnibuses and 
 cabs that passed along were invested with a momen- 
 tary hush of respectability. He turned up the 
 Thames Embankment and saw the mass of the great 
 buildings with here and there patches of lighted 
 windows showing above the tree-tops of the gardens, 
 the benches below filled with huddled sodden shapes 
 of human misery, the broad silent thoroughfares, the 
 parapet, the dimly flowing river below a black mirror 
 marked by streaks of light, reflections from lamps 
 on parapet and bridges, the low-lying wharves on 
 the opposite side swallowed up in blackness and no 
 attractive wickedness was apparent ; nor was there any 
 on the great bridge, disturbed only by the slow wag- 
 gons mountains high bringing food for the insatiable 
 multitude of London, and lumbering on in endless 
 trail with an impressive fatefulness; nor even at the 
 coffee-stall at the corner of the Waterloo Bridge 
 Road, its damp little swarm of frequenters clustering 
 to it like bees, their faces illuminated by the segment 
 of light cast by the reflector at the back of the stall,
 
 70 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 all harmlessly drinking cocoa or wistfully watching 
 others drink it. For a moment he thought of joining 
 the swarm, as some of the faces looked alluringly vile ; 
 but the inbred instinct of fastidiousness made him pass 
 it by. He plunged into the unsavoury streets beyond. 
 They were still and ghostly. All things diabolical 
 could no doubt be found behind those silent windows ; 
 but at two o'clock in the morning sin is generally 
 asleep, and sleeping sin and sleeping virtue are as 
 alike as two pins. Meanwhile the fine rain fell un- 
 ceasingly, and the Earnest Seeker after Wickedness 
 began to feel wet and chilly. 
 
 This is a degenerate age. A couple of centuries 
 ago Quixtus could have manned a ship with cut- 
 throats, hoisted the skull and cross-bones, and become 
 the Terror of the Seas. Or, at a more recent date, if 
 he had been a Corsican he could have taken his gun 
 and gone into the maquis and declared war on the 
 island. If he had lived in the fourteenth century he 
 could have become a condottiere after the fashion of 
 the gentle Duke Guarnieri, who, wearing on his breast 
 a silver badge with the inscription " The Enemy of 
 God, of Pity, and of Mercy," gained for himself en- 
 viable unpopularity in Northern Italy. As a Malay, 
 he could have taken a queerly curving, businesslike 
 knife and run amuck, to his great personal satisfac- 
 tion. In prehistoric times, he could have sat for a 
 couple of delicious months in a cave, polishing and 
 sharpening a beautiful axe-head, and, having fitted it 
 to its haft, have gone forth and (probably skulking 
 behind trees so as to get his victims in the rear) have 
 had as gorgeous a time as was given to prehistoric 
 man to imagine. But nowadays, who can do these de- 
 lightful, vindictive, and misanthropical things with 
 any feeling of security? If Quixtus, obeying a log- 
 ically developed impulse, had slaughtered a young man
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 71 
 
 in evening dress in Piccadilly, he most indubitably 
 would have been hung, to say nothing of being sut>- 
 jected to all the sordid procedure of a trial for murder. 
 
 Nor is this all. Owing to some flaw in our system 
 of education, Quixtus had not been trained to deeds of 
 violence ; no one had even set before him the theoreti- 
 cal philosophy of the subject. You may argue, I am 
 aware, that we use other weapons now than the cut- 
 lass of the pirate or the stone-axe of the quaternary 
 age; we have the subtler vengeance of voice and pen, 
 which can give a more exquisite finish to the devasta- 
 tion of human lives. But I would remind you that 
 Quixtus, through the neglect of his legal studies and 
 practice, was ignorant of the ordinary laws of chicane, 
 and of the elementary principles of financial dishon- 
 esty that guided the nefariousness of folk like "Ge- 
 henna, Unlimited." 
 
 It must be admitted, therefore, that Quixtus entered 
 on his career of depravity greatly handicapped. 
 
 The grey light of a hopeless May dawn was just 
 beginning to outline the towers and spires of West- 
 minster against the sky when Quixtus found himself 
 by the Westminster Hospital. He was damp and chill, 
 somewhat depressed. The thrill of adventure had 
 passed away, leaving disappointment and a little dis- 
 illusion in its place. He was also physically fatigued, 
 and his shoulders and feet ached. One ghostly han- 
 som-cab stood on the rank, the horse drooping its de- 
 jected head into a lean nosebag, the driver asleep in- 
 side. Quixtus resolved to arouse the man from his 
 slumbers, and, abandoning the pursuit of evil for the 
 night, drive home to Russell Square. But as he was 
 crossing the road towards the vehicle, a miserable ob- 
 ject, starting up from the earth, ran by his side and 
 addressed him in a voice so hoarse that it scarcely rose 
 above a whisper.
 
 72 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " For Cord's sake, guv'nor, spare a poor man a 
 copper or two. I've not tasted food for twenty-four 
 hours." 
 
 Quixtus stopped, his instinctive fingers diving into 
 his pence-pocket. Suddenly an idea struck him. 
 
 " You must have led a very evil life," said he, " to 
 have come to this stage of destitution." 
 
 "Watcher gettin' at?" growled the applicant, one 
 eye fixed suspiciously on Quixtus's face, the other on 
 the fumbling hand. 
 
 " I'm not going to preach to you far from it," said 
 Quixtus ; " but I should like to know. You must have 
 seen a great deal of wickedness in your time." 
 
 " If you arsk me," opined the man, " there's noth- 
 ing but wickedness in this blankety blank world." 
 
 He did not say " blankety blank," but used other 
 and more lurid epithets which; though they were not 
 exactly the ones that Quixtus himself would have 
 chosen, at least showed him that his companion and 
 himself were agreed on their fundamental conception 
 of the universe. 
 
 "If you will tell me where I can find some," he 
 said, " I will give you half a crown." 
 
 A glimmer of astonished interest lit up the man's 
 dull eyes. " Whatcher want to know for ? " 
 
 " That's my business," said Quixtus. 
 
 The cabman, suddenly awakened, saw the possibility 
 of a fare. He clambered out of the vehicle. 
 
 " Cab, sir ? " he called across the road. 
 
 " Yes," said Quixtus. 
 
 " 'Arf a crown ? " said the battered man. 
 
 " Certainly," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Then I'll tell yer, guv'nor. I've been a bookie's 
 tout, see? Not a slap-up bookie in the ring but an 
 outside one one what did a bit of welshing when he 
 could, see ? and what I say is, that I seed more wick-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 73 
 
 edness there than anywhere else. If you want to see 
 blankety blank wickedness you go on the turf." He 
 cleared his throat, but his whisper had grown almost 
 inaudible. " I've gone and lost my voice," he said. 
 
 Quixtus looked at the drenched, starved, voiceless, 
 unshorn horror of a man standing outcast and dyingf 
 of want and wickedness in the grey dawn, under the 
 shadow of the central symbols of the pomp and ma- 
 jesty of England. 
 
 " You look very ill," said he. 
 
 " Consumpshon," breathed the man. 
 
 Quixtus shivered. The cabman, who had hastily 
 dispossessed the dejected horse of the nosebag, had 
 climbed into his dicky and was swinging the cab 
 round. 
 
 " I thank you very much for your information," 
 said Quixtus. " Here's half a sovereign." 
 
 Voicelessness and wonder provoked an inarticulate 
 wheeze like the spitting of a cat. The man was still 
 gaping at the unaccustomed coin in his hand when 
 the cab drove off. But Quixtus had not been many 
 minutes on his way when a thought smote him like 
 a sledge-hammer. He brought his fist down furiously 
 on the leathern seat. 
 
 " What a fool ! What a monumental fool I've 
 been ! " he cried. 
 
 He had just realised that the devil had offered him 
 as pretty a little chance of sheer wickedness as could 
 be met with on a May morning, which he had not 
 taken. Instead of giving the man ten shillings, he 
 ought to have laughed in his face, taunted him with 
 his emaciation and driven off without paying the half- 
 crown he had promised. To have let the very first op- 
 portunity slip through his fingers! He would have 
 to wear a badge like that of the gentle Duke Guarnieri 
 to keep his wits from wandering.
 
 74 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 When he reached home he looked for a moment into 
 the little room at the head of the kitchen stairs. The 
 Blissful One still slept, a happy smile on her face, and 
 the paper pinned to her apron. 
 
 There was surely some chance of wickedness here. 
 Quixtus furcns scratched an inventive head. Suppose 
 he carried her outside and set her on the doorstep. He 
 regarded her critically. She was buxom about 
 twelve stone. He was a spare and unathletic man. A 
 great yawn interrupted his speculations, and turning 
 off the light he stumbled off sleepily and wearily to 
 bed.
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 HE Blissful One carried out her master's writ- . 
 ten injunction. He did not see her face 
 again. She packed up her trunks the next 
 morning and silently stole away with a racking head- 
 ache and a set of gold teaspoons which she took in 
 lieu of a month's wages. The vague female awakened 
 Quixtus and prepared his breakfast. When he asked 
 her whether she could cook lunch, she grew pale but 
 said that she would try. She went to the nearest 
 butcher, bought a fibrous organic substance which he 
 asserted to be prime rump-steak, and coming back did 
 something desperate with it in a frying pan. After 
 the first disastrous mouthful, Quixtus rose from the 
 table. 
 
 " I give' it to you for yourself, my good woman," 
 said he, priding himself on his murderous intent. " I'll 
 get lunch elsewhere." 
 
 He went to his club, for the first time for many 
 days. And this marked his reappearance in the great ( 
 world. 
 
 He was halfway through his meal when a man,- 
 passing down the room from pay-desk to door, caught 
 sight of him and approached with extended hand. 
 
 " My dear Quixtus. How good it is to see you 
 again." 
 
 He was a bald, pink-faced little man, wearing great 
 round gold spectacles that seemed to be fitted on to his 
 smiles. Kindliness and the gladness of life emanated 
 from him, as perfume does from a jar of attar of 
 
 75
 
 76 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 roses. His name was Wonnacott, and he was a mem- 
 ber of the council of the Anthropological Society. 
 Quixtus, who had known him for years, scanned his 
 glad cherubic face, and set him down as a false-hearted 
 scoundrel. With this mental reservation he greeted 
 him cordially enough. 
 
 " We want you badly," said Wonnacott. " Things 
 aren't all they should be at the Society." 
 
 " The monkey's tail peeping out between their coat 
 tails ? " Quixtus asked eagerly. 
 
 " No. No. It's only Griffiths." Griffiths was the 
 Vice-President. " He knows his subject as well as 
 anybody, but he's a perfect fool in the chair. We 
 want you back." 
 
 " Very good of you to say so," replied Quixtus, 
 " but I'm thinking of resigning from the Society al- 
 together, giving up the study of anthropology and 
 presenting my collection to a criminal lunatic asylum." 
 
 Wonnacott, laughing, drew a chair from the vacant 
 table next to Quixtus's and sat down. 
 
 "Why What?" 
 
 " We know how Primitive Man in most of the 
 epochs slew his enemies, cooked his food, and adorned 
 or disfigured his person; but of the subtle workings of 
 his malignant mind we are hopelessly ignorant." 
 
 " I don't suppose his mind was more essentially ma- 
 lignant than yours or mine," said Wonnacott. 
 
 " Quite so," Quixtus agreed. " But we can study 
 the malignancy, the brutality and bestiality of the 
 minds of us living people. We are books open for 
 each other to read. Historic man too we can study 
 from documents Nero, Alexander the Sixth, Titus 
 Oates, Sweeny Tod the Barber " 
 
 " But, my dear man," smiled Wonnacott, " you are 
 getting into the province of criminology." 
 
 " It's the only science worth studying," said Quix-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 77 
 
 tus. Then, after a pause, during which the waiter 
 put the Stilton in front of him and handed him the 
 basket of biscuits, " Do you ever go to race meet- 
 ings?" 
 
 " Sometimes Yes," laughed the other, startled at 
 the unexpectedness of the question. " I have my little 
 weaknesses like other people." 
 
 " There must be a great deal of wickedness to be 
 found on race-courses." 
 
 " Possibly," replied Wonnacott, apologetically, " but 
 I've never seen any myself." 
 
 Quixtus musingly buttered a piece of biscuit. 
 " That's a pity. A great pity. I was thinking of 
 going on the turf. I was told that nowhere else could 
 such depravity be found." 
 
 One or two of Wonnacott's smiles dropped, as it 
 were, from his face and he looked keenly at Quixtus. 
 He saw a hard glitter in the once mild, china-blue 
 eyes, and an unnatural hardness in the setting of the 
 once kindly lips. There was a curious new eagerness 
 on a face that had always been distinguished by a 
 gentle repose. The hands, too, that manipulated the 
 knife and biscuits, shook feverishly. 
 
 " I'm afraid you're not very well, my dear fellow," 
 said he. 
 
 " Not well ? " Quixtus laughed, somewhat harshly. 
 " Why I feel ten times younger than I did this time 
 yesterday. I've never been so well in my life. Why, 
 I could " he stopped short and regarded Wonna- 
 cott suspiciously " No. I won't tell you what I 
 
 could do." 
 
 He drank the remainder of his glass of white wine, 
 and threw his napkin on the table. 
 
 " Let us go and smoke," said he. 
 
 In the smoking-room, Wonnacott, still observing 
 him narrowly, asked him why he was so interested in
 
 78 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 the depravity of the turf. Quixtus met his eyes with 
 the same suspicious glance. 
 
 " I told you I was going to take up the study of 
 criminology. It's a useful and fascinating science. 
 But as the subject does not seem to interest you," he 
 added with a quick return to his courteous manner, 
 " let us drop it. You mustn't suppose I've lost all in- 
 terest in the Society. What especially have you to 
 complain of about Griffiths? " 
 
 Wonnacott explained, and for the comfortable half- 
 hour of coffee and cigarettes after lunch they dis- 
 cussed the ineffectually of Griffiths and, as all good 
 men will, exchanged views on the little foibles of their 
 colleagues on the Council of the Anthropological So- 
 ciety. Quixtus discoursed so humanly, that Wonna- 
 cott, on his way office-wards, having lit a cigar at the 
 spirit-lamp in the club-vestibule, looked at the burning 
 end meditatively and said to himself: 
 
 " I must have been mistaken after all." x 
 
 But Quixtus remained for some time in the club 
 deep in thought, scanning a newspaper with unseeing 
 eyes. He had been injudicious in his conversation 
 with Wonnacott. He had almost betrayed his secret. 
 It behooved him to walk warily. In these days the 
 successful serpent has to assume not only the voice, 
 but the outer semblance and innocent manners of the 
 dove. If he went crawling and hissing about the 
 world, proclaiming his venomousness aloud like a rat- 
 tle-snake, humanity would either avoid him altogether, 
 or hit him over the head out of self -protection. He 
 must ingratiate himself once more with mankind, and 
 only strike when opportunity offered. For that reason 
 he would simulate a continued interest in Prehistoric 
 Man. 
 
 On the other hand, the newly born idea of the study 
 of criminology hovered agreeably and comfortingly
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 79 
 
 over his mind. So much so, that he presently left the 
 club, and, walking to a foreign library, ordered the 
 works of Cesare Lombroso, Ottolenghi, Ferri, Topin- 
 ard, Corre and as many other authorities on criminol- 
 ogy as he could think of, and then, having ransacked 
 the second-hand bookshops in Charing Cross Road, 
 drove home exultant with an excellent set of " The 
 Newgate Calendar." 
 
 Thus he entered upon a new phase of life. He be- 
 gan to mingle again with his fellows, hateful and 
 treacherous dogs though they were. He was no 
 longer morose and solitary. At the next meeting of 
 the Anthropological Society he occupied the Presiden- 
 tial Chair, amid a chorus of (hypocritical) welcome. 
 He accepted invitations to dinner. Also, finding in- 
 tense discomfort in the ministrations of the vague fe- 
 male, and realising that after making good all Mar- 
 rable's defalcations, he was still the possessor of a large 
 fortune, he procured the services of a cook and re- 
 instated his former manservant luckily disengaged 
 in office, and again inhabited the commodious apart- 
 ments which he had abandoned. In fact, he not only 
 resumed his former mode of life, but exceeded it on 
 the social side, walking more abroad into the busy 
 ways of men. In all of which he showed wisdom. 
 For it is manifestly impossible for a man to pursue 
 a successful career of villainy if he locks himself up 
 in the impregnable recesses of a gloomy house and 
 meets no mortal on whom to practise. 
 
 One afternoon, after deep and dark excogitation, 
 he proceeded to Romney Place and called upon 
 Tommy Burgrave whom he had not seen since the day 
 of the trial. Tommy, just recovering from the attack 
 of congestion of the lungs, which had prevented him 
 from attending his great-uncle's funeral, was sitting- 
 in his dressing-gown before the bedroom fire, while
 
 8o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Clementina, unkempt as usual, was superintending his 
 consumption of a fried sole. 
 
 Tommy greeted him boyishly. He couldn't rise, as 
 his lap was full of trays and fat things. His uncle 
 would find a chair somewhere in the corner. It was 
 jolly of him to come. 
 
 " You might have come sooner," snapped 
 Clementina. " The boy has been half dead. If 
 it hadn't been for me, he would have been quite 
 dead." 
 
 " You nursed him through his illness ? " 
 
 " What else do you suppose I meant? " 
 
 " He could have had a trained nurse," said Quixtus. 
 '"' There are such things." 
 
 " Trained nurses ! " cried Clementina, in disdain. 
 " I've no patience with them. If they're ugly, they're 
 brutes because they know that a good-looking boy 
 like Tommy won't look at them. If they're pretty, 
 they're fools, because they're always hoping that he 
 will." 
 
 " I say, Clementina," Tommy protested. " Nurses 
 are the dearest people in the world. A fellow crocked 
 up is just a ' case ' for them, and they never think of 
 anything but pulling him through. 'Tisn't fair of you 
 to talk like that." 
 
 " Isn't it? " said Clementina, conscious of a greater 
 gap than usual in the back of her blouse, and strug- 
 gling with one hand to reconcile button and hole. 
 " What on earth do you know about it ? Just tell me, 
 are you a woman or am I ? " 
 
 Tommy laid down his fork with a sigh. " You're 
 an angel, Clementina, and this sole was delicious ; and 
 I wish there were more of it." 
 
 She took the tray from his knees and put it on a 
 side table. Tommy turned to Quixtus who sat Sphinx- 
 like on a straight-back chair, and expressed his regret
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 81 
 
 at not having been able to attend his great-uncle's 
 funeral. 
 
 " You missed an interesting ceremony," said 
 Quixtus. 
 
 Tommy laughed. " I suppose the old man didn't 
 leave me anything? " 
 
 He had heard nothing privately about the will, and, 
 as probate had not yet been taken out, the usual sum- 
 mary had not been published in the newspapers. 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Quixtus. " Did you expect 
 anything? " 
 
 " Oh Lord, no ! " laughed Tommy, honestly. 
 
 " Then more fool you, and more horrid old man 
 he," said Clementina. 
 
 There was a pause. Quixtus, not feeling called 
 upon to defend his defunct and mocking kinsman, said 
 nothing. Clementina drew the crumpled yellow packet 
 of Maryland tobacco and papers from a pocket in her 
 skirt (she insisted on having pockets in her skirts) and 
 rolled a cigarette. When she had licked it, she turned 
 to Quixtus. 
 
 " I suppose you know that I came like a fool to your 
 house and was refused admittance." 
 
 " Well trained servants," said Quixtus, " have a 
 knack of indiscriminate obedience." 
 
 " You might have said something more civil," she 
 said, taken aback. 
 
 "If you will dictate to me a formula of politeness 
 I will repeat it with very great pleasure," he retorted. 
 " Put a little honey on my tongue and it will wag as 
 mellifluously as that of any hypocrite who wins for 
 himself the adulation of mankind." 
 
 " Mercy's sake man! " exclaimed Clementina, in her 
 astonishment allowing the smoke to mingle with her 
 words. " Where on earth did you learn to talk like 
 that?"
 
 82 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Their eyes met, and Clementina suddenly screwed 
 up her face and looked at him. She saw in those 
 blue eyes something, she could not tell what, but some- 
 thing which had not been in the eyes of the gentle, 
 sweet-souled man she had painted. Her grimace, al- 
 though familiar through the sittings, somewhat dis- 
 concerted him. She made the grim sound that with 
 her represented laughter. 
 
 " I was only wondering whether I had got you 
 right after all." 
 
 "Of course, you got him right," cried Tommy the 
 ingenuous. " It's one of the rippingest pieces of work 
 you've ever done." 
 
 " The Anthropological Society find it quite satis- 
 factory," said Quixtus stiffly. 
 
 " Flattered, I'm sure," said Clementina. 
 
 Tommy, dimly aware now of antagonism, diplo- 
 matically introduced a fresh topic of conversation. 
 
 " You haven't told him, Clementina," said he, " of 
 the letter you got the other day from Shanghai." 
 
 " Shanghai ? " echoed Quixtus. 
 
 " Yes, from Will Hammersley," said Clementina, 
 her voice softening. " He's in very bad health, and 
 hopes to come home within a year. I thought you, 
 too, might have heard from him." 
 
 Quixtus shook his head. For a moment he could 
 not trust himself to speak. The sudden mention of 
 that detested name stunned him like a blow. At last 
 he said: " I never realised you were such friends." 
 
 " He used to come to me in my troubles." 
 
 Quixtus passed his hand between neck and collar, as 
 if to free his throat from clutching fingers. His voice, 
 when he spoke, sounded hoarse and far away in his 
 ears. 
 
 " You were in his confidence, I suppose." 
 
 " I think so," said Clementina, simply.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 83 
 
 To the sorely afflicted man's unbalanced and sus- 
 picious mind this was a confession of complicity in 
 the wrong he had suffered. He controlled himself 
 with a great effort, and turned his face away so that 
 she should not see the hate and anger in his eyes. 
 She, too, had worked against him. She, too, had 
 mocked him as the poor blind fool. She, too, he 
 swore within himself, should suffer in the general de- 
 vastation he would work upon mankind. As in a 
 dream he heard her summarise the letter which she had 
 received. Hammersley had of late been a victim to 
 the low Eastern fever. Once he had nearly died, but 
 had recovered. It had taken hold, however, of his 
 system and nothing but home would cure him. In 
 Shanghai he had made fortune enough to retire. Once 
 in England again he would never leave it as long as 
 he lived. 
 
 " He writes one or two pages of description of what 
 May must be in England the fresh sweet green of 
 the country lanes, the cool lawns, the old grey churches 
 peeping through the trees, the restful, undulating 
 country, the smell of the hawthorn and blackthorn at 
 dawn and eve those are his words the poor man's 
 so sick for home that he has turned into a twopenny 
 ha-penny poet " 
 
 " I think it's damned pathetic," said Tommy. 
 " Don't you, Uncle Ephraim ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Quixtus with a start. 
 
 " Don't you think it's pathetic for a chap stranded 
 sick in a God-forsaken place in China, to write that 
 high falutin' stuff about England? Clementina read 
 it to me. It's the sort of thing a girl of fifteen might 
 have written as a school essay all the obvious things 
 you know and it meant such a devil of a lot to him 
 everything on earth. It fairly made me choke. I 
 call it damned pathetic."
 
 84 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Quixtus said in a dry voice, " Yes, it's pathetic 
 it's comic it's tragic it's melodramatic it's nos- 
 talgic it's climatic Yes," he added, absently, 
 
 " it's climatic." 
 
 " I wonder you don't say it's dyspeptic and psychic 
 and fantastic," said Clementina, snatching an old hat 
 from the bed. " Do you know you've talked nothing 
 but rubbish ever since you entered this room?" 
 
 " Language, my dear Clementina," he quoted, " was 
 given to us to conceal our thoughts." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Clementina. She held out her hand 
 abruptly. " Good-bye. I'll run in later, Tommy, and 
 see how you're getting on." 
 
 Quixtus opened the door for her to pass out and 
 returned to his straight-backed chair. Tommy handed 
 him a box of cigarettes. 
 
 " Won't you smoke ? I tried one cigarette to-day 
 for the first time, but the beastly thing tasted horrid 
 just as if I were smoking oatmeal." 
 
 Quixtus declined the cigarette. He remained silent, 
 looking gloomily at the young, eager face which 
 masked heaven knows what faithlessness and guile. 
 Being in league with Clementina, whom he knew now 
 was his enemy, Tommy was his enemy too. And yet, 
 for the life of him, he could not carry out the ma- 
 lignant object of his visit. For some time Tommy di- 
 rected the conversation. He upbraided the treacher- 
 ous English climate which had enticed him out of 
 doors, and then stretched him on a bed of sickness. 
 It was rough luck. Just as he was beginning to find 
 himself as a landscape painter. It was a beautiful 
 little bit of river all pale golden lights and silver 
 greys now that May was beginning and all the trees 
 in early leaf he could not get that spring effect again 
 could not, in fact, finish the picture. By the way, 
 his uncle had not heard the news. The little picture
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 85 
 
 that had got (by a mistake, according to Clementina) 
 into a corner of the New Gallery, had just been sold. 
 Twenty-five guineas. Wasn't it ripping? A man 
 called Smythe, whom he had never heard of, had 
 bought it. 
 
 " You see, it wasn't as if some one I knew had 
 bought it, so as to give a chap some encouragement," 
 he remarked naively. " It was a stranger who had the 
 whole show to pick from, and just jumped at my land- 
 scape." 
 
 Quixtus, who had filled up by monosyllables the 
 various pauses in Tommy's discourse, at last rose to 
 take his leave. He had tried now and then to say 
 what he had come to say; but his tongue had grown 
 thick and the roof of his mouth dry, and his words 
 literally stuck in his throat. 
 
 " It's awfully good of you, Uncle Ephraim," said 
 Tommy, " to have come to see me. As soon as I get 
 about again, I'll try to do something jolly for you. 
 There's a bit of wall in your drawing-room that's 
 just dying for a picture. And I say" he twisted his 
 boyish face whimsically and looked at him with a 
 twinkle in his dark blue eyes " I don't know how in 
 the world it has happened but if you could let me 
 draw my allowance now instead of the first of the 
 month " 
 
 This was the monthly euphemism. Against his will 
 Quixtus made the customary reply. 
 
 " I'll send you a cheque as usual." 
 
 " You are a good sort," said Tommy. " And one 
 of these days I'll get there and you won't be ashamed 
 of me." 
 
 But Quixtus went away deeply ashamed of himself, 
 disgusted with his weakness. He had started out with 
 the fixed and diabolical intention of telling the lad that 
 he was about to disinherit him.
 
 86 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 He had schemed this exquisite cruelty in the cool- 
 ness of solitude. In its craft and subtlety it appeared 
 peculiarly perfect. He had come fully prepared to 
 perform the deed of wickedness. Not only had Clemen- 
 tina's gentle presence not caused him to waver in his 
 design, but his discovery of her complicity in his great 
 betrayal had inflamed his desire for vengeance. Yet 
 when the time came for the wreaking thereof, his 
 valour was of the oozing nature lamented by Bob 
 Acres. He was shocked at his pusillanimity. In the 
 middle of Sloane Square he stopped and cursed him- 
 self, and was nearly run over by a taxi-cab. As it was 
 empty he hailed it, and continued his maledictions in 
 the security of its interior. 
 
 Manifestly there was something wrong in his 
 psychological economy which no reading of Lombroso 
 or the Newgate Calendar could remedy. Or was he 
 merely suffering from a lack of experience in evil 
 doing? Did he not need a guide in the Whole Art 
 and Practice of Wickedness? 
 
 He walked up and down his museum in anxious 
 thought At last a smile lit up his gaunt features. 
 He sat down and wrote notes of invitation to Huck- 
 aby, Vandermeer, and Billiter to dinner on the follow- 
 ing Tuesday.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 QUIXTUS received them in the museum, a long 
 room mainly furnished with specimen cases 
 whose glass tops formed a double inclined 
 plane, diagrams of geological formations, and book- 
 cases full of pakeontological literature a cold, in- 
 human, inhospitable place. The three looked more 
 dilapidated than ever. Huckaby's straggling whiskers 
 had grown deeper into his cheek; Vandermeer's face 
 had become foxier, Billiter's more pallid and puffy. 
 No overcoats hung on the accustomed pegs, for the 
 cessation of the eleemosynary deposits had led, among 
 other misfortunes, to the pawning of these once in- 
 dispensable articles of attire. The three wore, the-* 4 .- 
 fore, the dismally apologetic appearance of the man 
 who had no w r edding garm_ * The only one of them 
 who put on a simulated heartiness of address was Bil- 
 liter. He thrust out a shaky hand 
 
 " My dear Quixtus, how delightful " 
 
 But the sight of his host's unwelcoming face chilled 
 his enthusiasm. Quixtus bowed slightly and motioned 
 them, with his grave courtesy, to comfortless seats. 
 He commanded the situation. So might a scholar 
 prince of the school of Maccjiiavelli have received 
 his chief poisoner, strangler, and confidential abductor. 
 They went down to dinner. It was not an hilarious 
 meal. The conversation which used to flow now fell 
 in spattering drops amid a dead silence. 
 
 " It's a fine day/' said Quixtus. 
 
 " Very," said Huckaby. 
 
 87
 
 <J8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Finer than yesterday," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " It promises well for to-morrow," said Billiter. 
 
 " It always breaks its promise," said Quixtus 
 
 " H'm," said Huckaby. 
 
 They made up for the lacking feast of reason by 
 material voracity. A microscopic uplifting of Sprig^o 
 the butler's eyebrows betokened wonder at their Gar- 
 gantuan helpings. Vandermeer, sitting at the foot 
 of the table opposite to Quixtus, bent his foxy face 
 downwards till the circumference of the plate became 
 the horizon of his universe. Billiter ate with stolid 
 cynicism ; Huckaby, with a faint air of bravado. Once 
 he said: 
 
 " I'm afraid Quixtus we got a bit merry the last 
 time." 
 
 " It's to the memory of that," replied Quixtus, 
 " that I owe the pleasure of your company to-night." 
 
 " I'm beastly sorry " began Billiter. 
 
 " Pray don't mention it," Quixtus interrupted 
 blandly. " I hope the quails are to your liking." 
 
 " Fine," said Vanderrrrcr, without raising his eyes 
 from his plate. 
 
 Once more reigned the spell of silence which op- 
 pressed even the three outcast men ; but Quixtus, hard- 
 ened by his fixed idea, felt curiously at his ease. He 
 sat in his chair with the same sense of security and 
 confidence as he had done before delivering his Presi- 
 dential Address at the meeting of the Anthropological 
 Society, while the secretary went through the prelimi- 
 nary formal business. The preliminary business here 
 was the meal. As soon, ho t wever, as the port had been 
 sent round and Spriggs had retired, Quixtus addressed 
 his guests. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, and met in turns the three 
 pairs of questioning eyes. " You may wonder perhaps 
 why I have invited you to dinner to-night, and why,
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 89 
 
 you being thus invited, the meal has not been warmed 
 by its accustomed glow of geniality. It is my duty 
 and my pleasure now to tell you. Hitherto at these 
 dinners we have let us say worn the comic mask. 
 Beneath its rosy and smiling exterior we have dissimu- 
 lated our own individual sentiments. We have been 
 actors, without realising it, in an oft-repeated comedy. 
 Only on the occasion of our last meeting did we put 
 aside the mask and show to each other what we were." 
 
 " I've already apologised," murmured Billiter. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Quixtus, raising his long 
 thin hand, " that's the last thing I want you to do. In 
 this world of fraud and deceit no man ought to regret 
 having bared his soul honestly to the world. Now, 
 gentlemen, I have not asked you here to insult you at 
 my own table. I have gathered you around me be- 
 cause I need your counsel and your services for which 
 I hope adequately to remunerate you." 
 
 A quiver of animation passed over the three faces. 
 "Remunerate" was a magic word; the master-word 
 of an incantation. It meant money, and money meant 
 food and drink especially alcoholic drink. 
 
 " I know I am speaking for my two friends," said 
 Huckaby, " when I say that our hearts are always at 
 your service." 
 
 " The heart," replied Quixtus, " is a physiological 
 organ and a sentimental delusion. There are no hearts 
 in that sense. You know as well as I do, my dear 
 fellow, that there are no such things as love, affection, 
 honour, loyalty in the world. Self-interest and self- 
 indulgence are the guiding principles of conduct. Gov- 
 erned by a morbid and futile tradition, we refuse to 
 regard the world in the malevolent light of day, but 
 see it artificially through the hypocritical coloured 
 glasses of benevolence." 
 
 Huckaby and Vandermeer, who retained the rudi-
 
 90 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA, 
 
 ments of an intellect, looked at their once simple- 
 minded and tender-hearted host in blank bewilder- 
 ment. They hardly knew whether to wince under a 
 highly-educated gentleman's cutting irony, or to accept 
 these remarkable propositions as honest statements of 
 opinion. But the ironical note was not perceptible. 
 Quixtus spoke in the same gentle tone of assurance 
 as he would have used when entering on a dissertation 
 upon the dolichocephalic skulls in his collection which 
 had been found in a long barrow in Yorkshire. He 
 was the master of a subject laying down incontroverti- 
 ble facts. So Huckaby and Vandermeer, marvelling 
 greatly, stared at him out of speculative eyes. Billiter, 
 before whom the incautious decanter of port had 
 halted, lost the drift of his host's philosophic utter- 
 ances. 
 
 " The time has now come/* continued Quixtus, 
 relighting (unsophisticated soul!) the cigar which he 
 had allowed to go out " the time has now come for 
 us four to be honest with one another. Up to a 
 recent date I was a slave to this optical delusion of tra- 
 dition. But things have happened to clear my eyes, 
 and to make me frankly confess myself no better than 
 yourselves an entirely unscrupulous man." 
 
 " Pray remember that I'm a sometime Fellow " 
 
 began Huckaby. 
 
 " I'm a gentleman of good family " began Bil- 
 liter, who had understood the last sentence. 
 
 " Yes. Yes," replied Quixtus, interrupting them. 
 " I know. That's why your assistance will be valu- 
 able. I need the counsels of men of breeding and edu- 
 cation. I find from my reading that the vulgar crimi- 
 nal would be useless for my purpose. Now, you all 
 have trusted men who have failed you. So have I. 
 You have felt the cowardly blows of Fortune. So 
 have I. You have no vestige of faith in your fellow
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 911 
 
 man you even believed me to be a party to my late 
 partner's frauds you can have, I say, no faith left in 
 humanity. Neither have I. You are Ishmaels, your 
 hand against every man. So am I. You would like 
 to be revenged upon your fellow creatures. So would I. 
 You have passed your lives in pursuing evil rather 
 than good. You, in a word, are entirely unscrupulous. 
 If you will acknowledge this we can proceed to busi- 
 ness. If not, we will part finally as soon as this agree- 
 able evening is at an end. Gentlemen, what do you 
 say?" 
 
 Billiter, looking upon the wine while it was red 
 there was not much left to show the colour laughed 
 wheezily and shortly. 
 
 " I suppose we're wrong 'uns," said he. " At least 
 I am. I own up." 
 
 Vandermeer said bitterly : " When a man is hunted 
 by poverty he can't run straight, for at the end of the 
 straight path is death." 
 
 "And you, Huckaby?" 
 
 " I also have bolted into a drain or two in my 
 time." 
 
 " Good," said Quixtus. " Now we understand one 
 another." 
 
 " You may understand us," said Huckaby, tugging 
 at his untidy beard, " but I'm hanged, drawn, and 
 quartered if we understand you." 
 
 " I thought I had made myself particularly clear," 
 said Quixtus. 
 
 " For my part," said Billiter, " I can't make out 
 what you're getting at except to make us confess that 
 we're wrong 'uns." 
 
 " Dear, dear," said Quixtus. 
 
 " I can't understand it," said Vandermeer, looking 
 intently at him across the table out of his little sharp 
 eyes. " I can't understand it, unless it is that you
 
 92 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 have some big scoop on and want us to come into it, 
 so as to do the dirty work. If that's so I'm on, so 
 long as it's safe. But I've steered clear of the law up 
 to now and have no desire to run the risk of penal 
 servitude." 
 
 " Oh Lord no ! " cried Billiter with a shiver. 
 
 Quixtus pressed the burning stump of his cigar 
 against his plate and looked up with a smile. 
 
 " Please make your minds easy on that score. I 
 have been reading criminology lately with consider- 
 able interest, and I have gone through a volume or two 
 of the Newgate Calendar, and the result of my reading 
 is the conviction that crime is folly. It is a disease. 
 It is also vulgar. No, I have no desire to increase my 
 personal possessions in any way; neither do I contem- 
 plate the commission of acts of violence against the 
 person or the destruction of property. Anything there- 
 fore that comes within the category of crime may be 
 dismissed from our consideration." 
 
 " Then in the name of Gehenna," exclaimed Huck- 
 aby, " what is it that you want us to do ? " 
 
 " It is very simple," said Quixtus. " I may plot out 
 an attractive scheme of wickedness, but the circum- 
 stances of my early training have left me without the 
 power to execute it. I should like to call on any one 
 of you for guidance, perhaps practical assistance. I 
 may want to see and hear of wickedness going on 
 around me. I would count on you to gratify my curi- 
 osity. Lastly, not having an inventive mind, it being 
 rather analytic than synthetic, I should welcome any 
 suggestions that you might bring me." 
 
 " It's a rum go," said Billiter, " but I'm on, so long 
 as there's money in it." 
 
 " There will be money in it," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Then I'm on, too," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " You will find us, my dear Quixtus," said Huck-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 93 
 
 aby r " your very devoted Familiars your Oliviers le 
 Daim, your Eminences Crises, your ames -damnees. 
 We'll be your ministering evil spirits, your genii from 
 Eblis. It's a new occupation for a Fellow of Corpus 
 Christi College, Cambridge, but it's not unalluring. 
 And now, as Billiter has finished the decanter, may I 
 take the liberty of asking for another bottle, so that 
 Vandermeer and I can drink to the health of our 
 chief." 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life," said Quixtus. 
 
 As soon as the three newly constituted Evil Genii 
 were out of earshot of the house, they stopped on the 
 pavement with one accord and burst into unseemly 
 laughter. 
 
 "Did you ever hear anything like it?" cried 
 Billiter. 
 
 " He's as mad as Bedlam," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " A sort of inverted Knight of the Round Table," 
 said Huckaby. " He yearns to ride abroad commit- 
 ting human wrongs." 
 
 " Are we to call for orders every day like the 
 butcher, the baker, and the greengrocer?" said Van- 
 dermeer. 
 
 *' He was so sane at first," said Vandermeer, " that 
 I really thought he had some definite scoop in view. 
 But it all turns out to be utter moonshine." 
 
 " If he doesn't want to thieve or murder or paint the 
 town red," said Billiter, " what the blazes in the way 
 of wickedness is left for him to do? " 
 
 " It's moonshine," repeated Vandermeer. 
 
 "If it wasn't," said Huckaby, " none of us would 
 touch it. We can't take the matter seriously. We're 
 just lending ourselves to a farce, that's all." 
 
 " Naturally," Billiter agreed. " We must humour 
 him."
 
 94 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 They walked on slowly, discussing the unprece- 
 dented situation. They were unanimous in the opinion 
 that the poor gentleman had gone distraught. They 
 had all noticed signs of his affliction on the last occa- 
 sion of their dining at his table. If he had been in 
 his right senses then, he would surely not have be- 
 haved with such discourtesy. They agreed to forgive 
 him for turning them out of doors. 
 
 " It's lucky for him," said Huckaby, " that he has 
 three old friends like ourselves. He might have got 
 into other hands, and then God help him. My only 
 reason for falling in with his mood was in order to 
 protect him from himself and from sharks and blood 
 suckers." 
 
 Billiter and Vandermeer declared that they, too, had 
 acted only out of a sense of loyalty to their old and 
 distracted friend. They protested so hard that their 
 tongues clave to the roofs of their mouths, and each 
 acknowledged his thirst. They turned into the bar- 
 parlour of the first public-house, where they called for 
 whisky, and, each man having found a hat as good a 
 substitute for the sacks of Joseph's brethren as an 
 overcoat, they continued to call for whisky, and to 
 drink it until the tavern closed for the night. By that 
 time they glowed with conscious virtue. Huckaby 
 swore that he would permit no ruddy lobsters to dig 
 their claws into Quixtus's sacred person. 
 
 " Here's poor dear old chap's health, drunk in very 
 last drop," cried Billiter, enthusiastically draining his 
 last glass. 
 
 The tragedy of Quixtus's loss of reason reduced 
 Vandermeer to tears. He was sorrowful in his cups. 
 He, Vandermeer, had no one to love him ; but Quixtus 
 should never find himself in that desolate predicament, 
 as he, Vandermeer, would love him like a friend, a 
 brother, like a silver-haired maiden aunt.
 
 95 
 
 " I've had a silver-haired maiden aunt myself," he 
 wailed. 
 
 While Billiter comforted him, Huckaby again 
 warned them against ruddy lobsters. If they would 
 swear to join him in a league to defend their patron 
 and benefactor, he would accept their comradeship. If 
 they preferred to be ruddy lobsters, he would wash his 
 hands of them. They repudiated the crustacean sug- 
 gestion. They were more Quixtus's friends than he. 
 A quarrel nearly broke out, each claiming to be the 
 most loyal and disinterested friend Quixtus ever had 
 in his life. Finally they were reconciled and wrung 
 each other warmly by the hand. The barman called 
 closing time and pushed them gently into the street. 
 They staggered devio.usly to their several garrets and 
 went to bed, each certain that he had convinced the 
 two others of his beauty and nobility of soul. 
 
 Vandermeer was the first of the Evil Genii to be 
 summoned. Quixtus laid before him the case of 
 Tommy and the failure of his diabolical project. 
 Vandermeer listened attentively. There was method 
 after all in his patron's madness. He wished to do 
 some hurt to his nephew for the sheer sake of evil- 
 doing. As far as the intention went he was seriously 
 trying to carry out his malevolent principles. It was 
 not all moonshine. Vandermeer thought quickly. He 
 was the craftiest of the three, and that perhaps was 
 why Quixtus had instinctively chosen him for the first 
 adventure. He saw profit in humouring the misan- 
 thrope, though he smiled inwardly at the simplicity of 
 his idea. 
 
 " There's nothing particularly diabolical in telling a 
 young fellow with a brilliant career before him that 
 you're going to cut him out of your will." 
 
 " Isn't there ? " said Quixtus, with an air of
 
 96 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 disappointment. " What then would you suggest ? " 
 
 " First," answered Vandermeer, " what do you think 
 would be a fair price for a suggestion ? " He regarded 
 him with greedy eyes. " Would twenty pounds be out 
 of the way?" 
 
 " I'll give you twenty pounds," said Quixtus. 
 
 Vandermeer drew in his breath quickly, as a man 
 does who wins a bet at long odds. 
 
 " There are all sorts of things you can do. The 
 obvious one would be to stop his allowance. But I 
 take it you want something more artistic and subtle. 
 Wait let me think " He covered his eyes with his 
 hand for a moment. " Look. How will this do ? It 
 strikes me as infernally wicked. You say he is de- 
 voted to his art. Well, make him give it up " 
 
 "Excellent! Excellent!" cried Quixtus. "But 
 how?" 
 
 " Can you get him into any business office in the 
 City?" 
 
 " Yes. My friend Griffiths of the Anthropological 
 Society is secretary of the Star Assurance Coy. A 
 word from me would get the boy into the office." 
 
 " Good. Then tell him that unless he accepts this 
 position within a month and promises never to touch 
 a paint-brush again, he will not receive a penny from 
 you either during your lifetime or after your death. 
 In this way you will bring him up against am infernal 
 temptation, and whichever way he decides he'll be 
 wretched. I call that a pretty scheme." 
 
 " It's an inspiration of genius," exclaimed Quixtus 
 excitedly. " I'll write the cheque now." He sat down 
 to his desk and pulled out his cheque-book. " And 
 you will go at once to my nephew I'll give you a 
 card of introduction and acquaint him with my de- 
 cision." 
 
 " What ? " cried Vandermeer.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 97 
 
 Quixtus calmly repeated the last sentence. Vander- 
 meer's face went a shade paler. He wrung his hands, 
 which were naturally damp, until they grew as blood- 
 less as putty. He had never done any wanton harm 
 in his life. All the meanness and sharp-dealing he had 
 practised were but a poor devil's shifts to fill an empty 
 belly. Ouixtus's behest covered him with dismay. It 
 was unexpected. It is one thing to suggest to a crazy 
 and unpractical patron a theoretical fantasia of wicked- 
 ness, and another to be commanded -to put it oneself 
 into execution. It was less moonshine than ever. 
 
 " Don't you want to do it ? " asked Quixtus, unwit- 
 tingly balancing temptation, in the form of a fat 
 cheque-book, in his hand. 
 
 Vandermeer fell. What wolf-eyed son of Hagar 
 would have resisted? 
 
 " I think," said he, with a catch in his throat, " that 
 if the suggestion alone is worth twenty pounds, the 
 carrying out of it is worth say ten more." 
 
 " Very well," said Quixtus ; " but," he added drily, 
 " the next time I hope you'll give an estimate to cover 
 the whole operation." 
 
 The second of the three to receive a summons from 
 the Master was Billiter. 
 
 " You know something about horse-racing," re- 
 marked Quixtus. 
 
 " What I don't isn't worth knowing. I've chucked 
 away a fortune in acquiring the knowledge." 
 
 " I want you to accompany me to race-meetings and 
 show me the wickedness of the turf," said Quixtus. 
 
 " So that's my little job, is it? " 
 
 " That's your little job." 
 
 " I think I can give you a run for your money," 
 remarked Billiter, a pale sunshine of intelligence over- 
 spreading his puffy features. " But " he paused. 
 
 "But what?"
 
 98 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I can't go racing with you in this kit." 
 
 " I will provide you," said Quixtus, " with whatever 
 costume you think necessary for the purpose." 
 
 Billiter went his way exulting and .spent the re- 
 mainder of the afternoon in tracking a man down 
 from his office in Soho, his house in Peckham, several 
 taverns on the Surrey side of the river, to a quiet cafe 
 in Regent Street. The man was a red- faced, thick- 
 necked, hard, fishy-eyed villain with a mouth like the 
 slit of a letter-box, and went by the name (which he 
 wore inscribed on his hat at race-meetings) of Old 
 Joe Jenks. Billiter drew him into a corner and whis- 
 pered gleeful tidings into his ear. After which Old 
 Joe Jenks drew Billiter to a table and filled him up 
 with the most seductive drinks the cafe could provide. 
 
 Before the lessons in horse-racing under Billiter's 
 auspices began for gorgeous raiment, appropriate to 
 Sandown and Kempton, like Rome, is not built in a 
 day Quixtus sent for the remaining Evil Genius. 
 
 " What have you to suggest ? " he asked after some 
 preliminary and explanatory conversation. 
 
 A humorous twinkle came into Huckaby's eye, and 
 a smile played round his lips beneath the straggling 
 brushwood of hair. 
 
 " I have a great idea," he said. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Break a woman's heart," said Huckaby. 
 
 Quixtus reflected gravely. It would indeed be a 
 charming, enticing piece of wickedness. 
 
 " I shouldn't have to marry her? " he asked in some 
 concern. 
 
 " Heaven forbid." 
 
 " I like it," said Quixtus, leaning back in his chair 
 and smoothing his scrappy moustache with his lean 
 fingers. " I like it very much. The only difficulty is : 
 where can I find the woman whose heart I can break ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 99 
 
 'Take a tour abroad," said Huckaby. "On the 
 Continent of Europe there are thousands of English 
 women only waiting- to have their hearts broken." 
 
 " That may be true," said Quixtus; " but how shall 
 I obtain the necessary introductions ? " 
 
 " I," cried Huckaby, raising a bony hand that pro- 
 truded through a very frayed and dirty shirt-cuff. " I, 
 Eustace Huckaby, will reassume my air of academical 
 distinction and will accompany you into the pays du 
 tendre and introduce you to any woman you like. In 
 other words, my dear Quixtus, although I may not 
 look like a Lothario at the present moment, I have 
 had considerable experience in amatory adventures 
 and I'm sure you would find my assistance valuable." 
 
 Quixtus reflected again. Aware of his limitations, 
 he recognised the futility of going alone on a heart- 
 breaking expedition among strange even though ex- 
 pectant females. But would Huckaby be an ideal com- 
 panion? Huckaby was self-assertive, not to say im- 
 pudent, in manner ; and Huckaby had certain shocking 
 habits. On the other hand, perhaps the impudence 
 was the very quality needed in the quest; and as for 
 the habits He decided. 
 
 " Very well. I accept your proposal on one con- 
 dition. What that is you doubtless can guess." 
 
 " I can," said Huckaby. " I give you my word of 
 honour that you will never see me otherwise than 
 sober." 
 
 An undertaking which would not preclude him from 
 taking a bottle of whisky to bed whenever he felt so 
 inclined. 
 
 " We had better start at once," said Huckaby, after 
 some necessary discussion of the question of wardrobe. 
 
 " I must wait," replied Quixtus, " until I've attended 
 some race-meetings with Billiter." 
 
 Huckaby frowned. He was not aware that to
 
 ioo THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Billiter had already been assigned a sphere of action. 
 
 " I don't want to say anything unfriendly. But if 
 I were you I shouldn't trust Billiter too implicitly. 
 He's a " he paused being sober and serious, he 
 rejected the scarlet epithet which, when used in allu- 
 sion to his friends, had given colour to his gayer 
 speech " He's a man who knows too much of the 
 game." 
 
 " My dear Huckaby," said Quixtus. " I shall never 
 trust another human being as long as I live." 
 
 That evening, somewhat wondering that he had 
 heard no news of Tommy or of Vandermeer, he un- 
 locked the iron safe in his museum and took out his 
 will. He lit a candle and set it by the hearth. Now 
 was the time to destroy the benevolent document. He 
 put it near the flame; then drew it back. A new 
 thought occurred to him. To practise on his nephew 
 the same trick as his uncle had played upon him was 
 mere unintelligent plagiarism. He felt a sudden dis- 
 dain for the merely mimetic in wickedness. 
 
 " I will be original," said he. " Yes, original." He 
 repeated the word as a formula both of consolation 
 and incentive, and, blowing out the candle, put the 
 will back into the safe.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 1 IT ORD, have mercy upon us ! " cried Clementina. 
 
 I The pious ejaculation was in the nature 
 
 * J of a reply to Miss Etta Concannon, the 
 fragile slip of a girl whose portrait she had painted 
 and in whose cornflower-blue eyes she had caught 
 the haunting fear. There was no fear, however, in 
 the eyes to-day. They were bright, direct, and abnor- 
 mally serious. She had just announced her intention 
 of becoming a hospital nurse. Whereupon Clementina 
 had cried : " Lord, have mercy upon us ! " 
 
 Now it must be stated that Etta Concannon had 
 bestowed on an embarrassed Clementina her young 
 and ardent affection; secretly, during the sittings for 
 the portrait which her father had commissioned Clem- 
 entina to paint as a wedding present, and openly, when 
 the sittings were ended and she called upon Clemen- 
 tina as a friend. In the first flush of this avowed 
 adoration she would send shy little notes, asking 
 whether she might come to the studio to tea. As she 
 lived quite close by, the missives were despatched by 
 hand. Clementina, disturbed in the midst of her paint- 
 ing, would tear a ragged corner from the first bit of 
 paper her eyes fell upon note-paper, brown-paper, 
 cartridge-paper once it was sand-paper scribble 
 " Yes " on it with a bit of charcoal and send it out 
 to the waiting messenger. At last she was driven to 
 desperation. 
 
 " My good child," she said, "can't you drop in to 
 tea without putting me to this elaborate correspond- 
 ence?" 
 
 101
 
 102 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Etta Concannon thought she could, and thencefor- 
 ward came to tea unheralded, and, eventually such 
 were her powers of seduction that she enticed Clem- 
 entina to her own little den in her father's house in 
 Cheyne Walk a fairy den all water-colour and gossa- 
 mer very much like herself, in which Clementina gave 
 the impression of an ogress who had blundered in by 
 mistake. It was on the visit that Clementina repudi- 
 ated the name of Miss Wing. She hated and loathed 
 it. On Etta's lips it suggested a prim, starched gov- 
 erness the conventional French caricature of the 
 English Old Maid with long teeth and sharp elbows. 
 She might be an old maid, but she wasn't a prim 
 governess. Everybody called her Clementina. Upon 
 which, to her professed discomfort, Etta threw her 
 arms round her neck and kissed her and called her a 
 darling. Why Clementina wasted her time over this 
 chit of a girl she was at a loss to conjecture. She was 
 about as much use in the world as a rainbow. Yet 
 for some fool reason (her own expression) Clemen- 
 tina encouraged her, and felt less grim in her com- 
 pany. The odd part of their intercourse was that the 
 one thing under heaven they did not talk about was 
 the bullet-headed, bull-necked young man to whom 
 Etta was engaged not until one day when, in response 
 to the following epistle, Clementina brusquely dis- 
 missed her sitter, skewered on a battered hat, and 
 rushed round to Cheyne Walk. 
 
 " MY DEAREST, DEAREST CLEMENTINA, Do come 
 to me. I am in abject misery. The very worst has 
 happened. I would come to you, but I'm not fit to be 
 seen. Your own unhappy 
 
 " ETTA." 
 
 " My poor child," cried Clementina, as she entered 
 the bower and beheld a very dim and watery fairy
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 103 
 
 sobbing on a couch. " Who has been doing this to 
 you?" 
 
 " It's R-Raymond," said Etta, chokingly. 
 
 To her astonishment Clementina found herself sit- 
 ting on the couch with her arms round the girl. Now 
 and then she did the most idiotic things without 
 knowing in the least why she did them. In this posi- 
 tion she listened to Etta's heartrending story. It was 
 much involved, here and there incoherent, told with 
 singular disregard of chronological sequence. When 
 properly pieced together and shorn of irrelevance, this 
 is what it amounted to : 
 
 Certain doings of the bullet-headed young man, 
 doings not at all creditable mean and brutal doings, 
 indeed had reached the ears of Etta's father. Now 
 Etta's father was a retired admiral, and Etta the be- 
 loved child of his old age. The report of Captain 
 Hilyard's doings had wounded him in his weakest 
 spot. In a fine fury he telephonically commanded the 
 alleged wrongdoer to wait upon him without delay. 
 Captain Hilyard obeyed. The scene of the interview 
 was a private room in the service club to which Ad- 
 miral Concannon belonged. Admiral Concannon went 
 straight to the point it is an uncomfortable charac- 
 teristic of British admirals. The bullet-headed young 
 man not being able to deny the charges brought against 
 him, Admiral Concannon expressed himself in such 
 terms as are only polished to their brightest perfection 
 on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war. The young 
 man showed resentment amazing impudence, accord- 
 ing to the Admiral whereupon the Admiral con- 
 signed him to the devil and charged him never to 
 let him (the Admiral) catch him (the bullet-headed 
 young man) lifting his scoundrelly eyes again to an 
 innocent young girl. Admiral Concannon came home 
 and told his daughter as much of the tale of turpitude
 
 io 4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 as was meet for her ears. Captain Hilyard repaired 
 forthwith in unrighteous wrath to his quarters and 
 packed off Etta's letters, with a covering note in which 
 he insinuated that he was not sorry to have seen the 
 last of her amiable family. It had all happened that 
 day. 
 
 Hence the tears. 
 
 " I thought you wrote me that the worst had hap- 
 pened," said Clementina. 
 
 "Well, hasn't it?" 
 
 " Good Lord ! " cried Clementina. " It's the very 
 best thing that ever happened to you in all your born 
 days." 
 
 In the course of a week Clementina brought the 
 sorrowing damsel round to her own way of think- 
 ing. 
 
 " Do you know," said Etta, " I used to be rather 
 afraid of him." 
 
 " Any fool could see that," said Clementina. 
 
 " Did you guess ? " This with wide-open corn- 
 flower eyes. 
 
 " Look at your portrait and you'll see," said Clem- 
 entina, mindful of the avalanche of memories which 
 the portrait of Tommy Burgrave's rough-and-ready 
 criticism of the bullet-headed young man had started 
 on its overwhelming career. " Have you ever looked 
 at it?" 
 
 " Of course I have." 
 
 " To look at a thing and to see it," remarked Clem- 
 entina, " are two entirely different propositions. For 
 instance, you looked at that young man, but you didn't 
 see him. Yet your soul saw him and was afraid. 
 Your father, too I can't understand what he was 
 about when he consented to the engagement." 
 
 " Captain Hilyard's father and he were old mess- 
 mates," said Etta.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 105 
 
 "Old messmakers!" snapped Clementina. "And 
 what made you accept him ? " 
 
 Etta looked mournful. " I don't know." 
 
 " The next time you engage yourself to a young 
 man, just be sure that you do know. I suppose this 
 one said, ' Dilly, dilly, come and be killed/ and you 
 went like the foolish little geese in the nursery rhyme." 
 
 " They were ducks, dear," laughed Etta, taking 
 Clementina's grim face between her dainty hands. 
 " Ducks like you." 
 
 Clementina suffered the caress with a wry mouth. 
 
 " I think you're getting better," she said. " And 
 I'm jolly glad of it. To have one young idiot on my 
 hands ill with congestion of the lungs and another 
 ill with congestion of the heart both at the same time 
 is more than I bargained for. I suppose you think 
 I'm a sort of Sister of Charity. Why don't you do 
 as your father tells you and go down to your Aunt 
 What's-her-name in Somersetshire? " 
 
 Etta made a grimace. " Aunt Elmira would drive 
 me crazy. You're much more whoksome for me. 
 And as for father" she tossed her pretty head " he 
 has to do what he's told." 
 
 So Etta remained in town, her convalescence syn- 
 chronising with that of Tommy Burgrave. Clemen- ! 
 tina began to find time to breathe and to make up 
 arrears of work. As soon as Tommy was able to take 
 his walks abroad, and Etta to seek distraction in the 
 society of her acquaintance, Clementina shut herself 
 up in her studio, forbidding the young people to come 
 near her, and for a week painted the livelong day. 
 At last, one morning two piteous letters were smug- 
 gled almost simultaneously into the studio. 
 
 " . . . I haven't seen you for months and 
 months. Do let me come to dinner to-night. . . . 
 TOMMY/'
 
 106 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 "... Oh, darling, DO come to tea this after- 
 noon. . . . ETTA." 
 
 " I shall go and paint in the Sahara," cried Clemen- 
 tina. But she seized two dirty scraps of paper and 
 scrawled on them: 
 
 " Lord, yes, child, come to dinner." 
 
 " Lord, yes, child, I'll come to tea." 
 And having folded them crookedly despatched them 
 to her young friends. 
 
 It was during this visit of Clementina to the fairy 
 bower in Cheyne Walk that Etta informed her of her 
 intention of becoming a hospital nurse. 
 
 " Lord, have mercy upon us ! " cried Clementina. 
 
 " I don't see why I shouldn't," said Etta. 
 
 " The idea is preposterous," replied Clementina. 
 " What need have you to work for your living? " 
 
 " I want to do something useful in the world." 
 
 ''' You'll do much better by remaining ornamental," 
 said Clementina. " It's only when a woman is as ugly 
 as sin and as poor as charity that she need be useful ; 
 that's to say while she's unmarried. When she's mar- 
 ried she has got as much as she can do to keep her 
 husband and children in order. A girl like you with 
 plenty of money and the devil's own prettiness has got 
 to stay at home and fulfil her destiny." 
 
 Etta, sitting on the window seat, looked at the 
 Thames, seen in patches of silver through the fresh 
 greenery of the Embankment trees. 
 
 " I know what you're thinking of, dear," she said, 
 with the indulgent solemnity of the Reverend Mother 
 of a Convent, " but I shall never marry." 
 
 " Rubbish," said Clementina. 
 
 " I've made up my mind, quite made up my mind." 
 
 Clementina sighed. Youth is so solemn, so futile, 
 so like the youth of all the generations that have 
 passed away. The child was suffering from one of the
 
 (I.KMEXTIXA LOOKED AT HER FOR FULL TEX SECONDS WITH THE 
 EYES OF A MOSES OX MOUXT XEBO.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 107 
 
 natural sequelae of a ruptured engagement. Once 
 maidens in her predicament gat them into nunneries 
 and became nuns and that was the end of them. 
 Whether they regretted their rash act or not, who can 
 say? Nowadays they rush into philanthropic or polit- 
 ical activity, contriving happy evenings for coster- 
 mongers or unhappy afternoons for Cabinet Ministers. 
 The impulse driving them to nunnery, Whitechapel, or 
 Caxton Hall has always been merely a reaction of sex; 
 and the duration of the period of reaction is propor- 
 tionate to the degree of brokenness of the heart. As 
 soon as the heart is mended, sex has her triumphant 
 way again and leaps in response to the eternal foolish- 
 ness that the maiden blushes to read in the eyes of a 
 comely creature in trousers. This Clementina knew, as 
 all those and only those whose youth is behind them 
 know it; and so, when Etta with an air of cold finality 
 said that she had made up her mind, Clementina 
 sighed. It was so ludicrously pathetic. Etta's heart 
 had not even been broken; it had not sustained the 
 wee-est, tiniest fracture ; it had been roughly handled ; 
 that was all. In a month's time she would no more 
 yearn to become a hospital nurse than to follow the 
 profession of a chimney-sweep. In a month's time 
 she would be flirting with merry, whole-hearted out- 
 rageousness. In a month's time, if the True Prince 
 came along, she might be in love. Really in love. 
 What a wonderful gift to a man would be the love 
 of this fragrant wisp of womanhood! 
 
 " I've quite made up my mind, dear," she repeated. 
 
 " Then there's nothing more to be said," replied 
 Clementina. 
 
 A shade of disappointment spread over the girl's 
 face, like a little cloud over a May morning. She 
 jumped from the window-seat and slid to a stool by 
 Clementina's chair.
 
 io8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " But there's lots to be said. Lots. It's a tremen- 
 dously important decision in life." 
 
 " Tremendous," said Clementina. 
 
 " It means that I'll die an old maid." 
 
 " Like me," said Clementina. 
 
 " If I'm like you I won't care a bit ! " 
 
 " Lord, save us," said Clementina. 
 
 The girl actually took it for granted that she en- 
 joyed being an old maid. 
 
 " I'll have a little house in the country all covered 
 with honeysuckle, and a pony-trap and a dog and a 
 cat and you'll come and stay with me." 
 
 " I thought you were going to be a hospital nurse," 
 said Clementina. 
 
 " So I am ; but I'll live in the house when I'm off 
 duty." 
 
 Clementina rolled a cigarette. Etta knelt bolt up- 
 right and offered a lighted match. Now when a 
 lissom-figured girl kneels bolt upright, with a shapely 
 head thrown ever so little back, and stretches out her 
 arm, there are few things more adorable in this world 
 of beauty. Clementina looked at her for full ten 
 second with the eyes of a Moses on Mount Nebo 
 supposing (a bewildering hypothesis) that Moses had 
 been an artist and a woman and then, disregarding 
 cigarette and lighted match, she laid her hands on the 
 girl's shoulders and shook her gently so that she sank 
 back on her heels, and the match went out. 
 
 " Oh, you dear, delightful, silly, silly child." 
 
 She rose abruptly and went to the mantelpiece and 
 lit the cigarette for herself. Etta laughed in blushing 
 confusion. 
 
 " But, darling, nurses do have times off now and 
 then." 
 
 " I wasn't thinking about nurses at all," said Clem- 
 entina.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 109 
 
 " Then what were you thinking of?" asked Etta, 
 still sitting on her heels and craning her head round. 
 
 " Never mind," said Clementina. " But what will 
 you want an old frump like me in your house for? " 
 
 " To listen to my troubles," said the girl. 
 
 Clementina walked home through the soft May sun- 
 shine, a smile twinkling in her little beady eyes, and 
 the corners of her lips twisted into an expression of 
 deep melancholy. If she had been ten years younger 
 there would have been no smile in her eyes. If she 
 had been ten years older a corroborative smile would 
 have played about her lips. But at thirty-five a woman 
 in Clementina's plight often does not know whether 
 to laugh or to cry, and if she is a woman with a sense 
 of humour she does both at once. The eternal prom- 
 ise, the eternal message vibrated through the air. The 
 woman of five-and-thirty heard it instinctively and 
 rejected it intellectually. She hurried her pace and 
 gripped her umbrella-^Clementina always carried a 
 great, untidy, bulging umbreJla as if to assure her- 
 self that it would rain to-morrow from leaden skies. 
 But the day laughed at her, and the gardens \vhich 
 she passed flaunted lilac and laburnam and pink may 
 and springtide and youth before her, and buttercups 
 looked at her with a mocking air of innocence. 
 Forget-me-nots in 'window-boxes leaned forward and 
 whispered, " See how fresh and young we are." A 
 very young plane tree looked impudently green ; in its 
 dainty fragility it suggested Etta. 
 
 " Drat the child," said Clementina, and she walked 
 along, shutting her eyes to the immature impertinences 
 of the spring. But outside the window of a fruiterer's 
 in the Royal Hospital Road she stopped short, with a 
 little inward gasp. A bunch of parrot-tulips great 
 riotous gold things splashed all over with their crimson 
 hearts' blood, flared like the sunset flames of a tropical
 
 no THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 summer. As a hungry tomtit flies straight to a shred 
 of meat, she went in and bought them. 
 
 When she reached her house in Romney Place she 
 peeped for the last (and the hundredth) time into the 
 open mouth of the twisted white paper cornet. 
 
 " They'll make a nice bit of colour on the dinner- 
 table for Tommy," she said to herself. 
 
 O Clementina ! O Woman ! What in the name of 
 Astarte had the gold and crimson reprobates to do 
 with Tommy ? 
 
 She let herself in with her key, traversed her Shera- 
 ton drawing-room, and opening the door leading on to 
 the studio gallery. Tommy was below, walking up 
 and down like a young wild beast in a cage. His us- 
 ually tidy hair was ruffled, as though frenzied fingers 
 had disturbed its calm. Clementina called out : 
 
 " You asked if you could come to dinner. Six 
 o'clock isn't dinner-time." 
 
 " I know," he cried up at her. " I've been here for 
 an hour." 
 
 She went down the spiral staircase and confronted 
 him. 
 
 " What have you been doing to your hair ? It's 
 like Ferdinand's in The Tempest. And" noticing a 
 new note of violence in the customary peaceful chaos 
 of the studio, " why have you been kicking my cush- 
 ions about ? " 
 
 " My uncle has gone stick, stark, staring, raving, 
 lunatic mad," said Tommy. 
 
 He turned on his heel and strode to the other end 
 of the studio. Clementina threw the parrot-tulips on 
 a chair and drew off her left-hand old cotton glove, 
 which she cast on the tulips. Then for a while, during 
 Tommy's retreat and approach, she gazed thoughtfully 
 at the thumb-tip which protruded from the right-hand 
 glove.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA in 
 
 " I'm not at all surprised," she said, when Tommy 
 joined her. 
 
 " How else can you account for it? " cried Tommy, 
 flinging his arms wide. 
 
 " Account for what ? " 
 
 " What he has done. Listen. A week ago he came 
 to see me, as jolly as could be. You were there " 
 
 " About as jolly as a slug," said Clementina. 
 
 " Anyway, he was all right. I told the dear old chap 
 I had unaccountably exceeded my allowance and he 
 sent me a cheque next day, just as he always does. 
 This afternoon a card is brought up to me my uncle's 
 card. Written on it in his handwriting : ' To intro- 
 duce Mr. Theodore Vandermeer.' ' 
 
 " What name ? " asked Clementina, pricking her 
 ears. 
 
 " Vandermeer." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " I tell the servant to show him in and in comes a 
 dilapidated devil looking like a mangy fox " 
 
 " That's the man." 
 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 "All right. Goon." 
 
 " who squirms and wriggles and beats about the 
 
 bush, and at last tells me that he is commissioned by 
 my uncle to inform me that unless I give up. painting 
 and go into some infernal city office within a month 
 he'll stop my allowance and cut me out of his will." 
 
 Clementina worked the thumb-tip through the hole 
 in the right hand glove until the entire thumb was 
 visible. 
 
 " What are you going to do? " she asked. 
 
 Tommy waved his arms. " I must try to see my 
 uncle and ask him what's the meaning of it. Of 
 course, I've no claim on him but he's a rich man 
 and fond of me and all that and, when my poor
 
 ii2 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 mother died, he sort of adopted me and gave me to 
 understand that I needn't worry. So I haven't wor- 
 ried. And when I took up with painting he encour- 
 aged me all he knew. It's damnable ! " He paused, 
 and strode three or four paces up the studio and three 
 or four back, as though to work oft the dangerous 
 excess of damnability in the situation. " It isn't as if 
 I were an idle waster going to the devil. I've worked 
 jolly hard, haven't I? I've put my back into it, .and 
 I'm beginning to do something. Only last week I 
 was telling him about the New Gallery picture he 
 seemed quite pleased and now, without a minute's 
 warning, he sends this foxy-faced jackal to tell me to 
 go into an office. It's it's God knows what it 
 isn't!" 
 
 " I believe," said Clementina, looking at her thumb, 
 " that there are quite worthy young men in city 
 offices." 
 
 " I would sooner go into a stoke-hole," cried 
 Tommy. " Oh, it's phantasmagorical ! " 
 
 He sat down on the platform of the throne and 
 buried his head in his hands. 
 
 " Cheer up," said Clementina. "The world hasn't 
 come to an end yet and we haven't had dinner." 
 
 She opened a door at the back of the studio that 
 communicated with the kitchen regions and, calling out 
 for Eliza, was answered by a distant voice. 
 
 " Go to the grocer's and fetch a bottle of cham- 
 pagne for dinner." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said the voice, coming nearer. 
 " What kind of champagne ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Clementina. " But tell him to 
 send the best bottle he has got." 
 
 " What a good sort you are," said Tommy. 
 
 Neither were alarmed by the prospective quality of 
 this vaguely selected vintage. How holy is simplicity !
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 113 
 
 It enables men and woman to face and pass through 
 terrors without recognising them. 
 
 Clementina took off her hat and right-hand glove, 
 and rolled a cigarette. Tommy burst out again : 
 
 " Why didn't he send for me and tell me so himself? 
 Why didn't he write ? Why did he charter this seedy, 
 ugly scoundrel? I asked the wretch. He said my 
 uncle thought that such a delicate communication had 
 better be made through a third party. But what's my 
 uncle doing associating with such riff-raff? Why 
 didn't he choose a gentleman? This chap looks as if 
 he'd murder you for tuppence." 
 
 The young are apt to exaggerate the defects of 
 those who have not gained their esteem. As a matter 
 of fact, acknowledged afterwards by Tommy, Vander- 
 meer had accomplished his unpleasant mission with 
 considerable tact and delicacy. Tommy was an up- 
 standing, squarely built young Saxon, with a bright 
 blue eye, and there was a steep flight of stairs leading 
 down from his studio. 
 
 " Once I fed him on ham and beef round the cor- 
 ner," said Clementina. 
 
 " The devil you did," said Tommy. 
 
 Clementina related the episode and her subsequent 
 conversation with Quixtus. 
 
 " I give it up," said Tommy. " I knew that my 
 uncle was greatly upset by the trial and I have been 
 thinking that perhaps it has rather unhinged his mind 
 and that was why he took up with such a scare- 
 crow. But he has apparently been a friend of his 
 for years. It shows you how little we know of our 
 fellow creatures," he moralised. " If there ever was 
 a chap I thought I knew inside out it was my Uncle 
 Ephraim." Then pity smote him. " If he's really off 
 his head, it's tragic. He was the best and dearest and 
 kindest-hearted fellow in the world."
 
 H4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Did you ask the man whether your uncle had gone 
 mad?" 
 
 " Of course I did in so many words. Man seemed 
 to look on it as an astonishing suggestion. He said 
 my uncle had long disapproved of my taking up paint- 
 ing as a profession, and now had arrived at the convic- 
 tion that the best thing for me was a commercial 
 career a commercial career ! " 
 
 So do Thrones and Dominations, I imagine, speak 
 of the mundane avocations of a mere Angel. 
 
 " If you refuse, you'll be giving up three hundred a 
 year now and heaven knows how much afterwards," 
 said Clementina. 
 
 " And if I accepted I would be giving up my self- 
 respect, my art, my dreams, everything that makes for 
 Life Life with the biggest of capital L's. By George, 
 no ! If my uncle won't listen to reason I'll not listen 
 to unreason, and there's an end of it. I'll pull through 
 somehow." 
 
 " Good," said Clementina, who had remained re- 
 markably silent. " I was waiting to hear you say that. 
 If you had hesitated I should have told you to go 
 home and dine by yourself. A little starvation and 
 struggle and fringe to your trousers will be the mak- 
 ing of you. As for your uncle, if he's crazy he's 
 crazy, and there's an end of it, as you say. Let's talk 
 no more about it. What made you beg to come to 
 dinner this evening? " she asked, with a resumption of 
 her aggressive manner. 
 
 " The desire of the moth for the star," he laughed. 
 
 She responded in her grim way, and bade him amuse 
 himself while she went upstairs to wash her face and 
 hands. Clementina did wash her face, literally, scrub- 
 bing it with Old Brown Windsor soap and towelling it 
 vigorously afterwards, thereby accomplishing, as her 
 feminine acquaintances asserted, the ruin of her skin.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 115 
 
 She rose and went to the foot of the stairs. Tommy's 
 eye fell on the parrot-tulips in their white cornet. 
 
 " What are you going to do with those gaudy 
 things ? " 
 
 Clementina had forgotten them. The curious im- 
 pulse of the blood that had led to their purchase had 
 been spent. Tommy's news had puzzled her and had 
 taken her mind off foolishness. She glanced at them 
 somewhat ashamedly. 
 
 " Stick them in water, of course," she replied. 
 " You don't suppose I'm going to wear them? " 
 
 "Why not?" cried Tommy, and, snatching out a 
 great gold and crimson bloom, he held it against her 
 black hair and swarthy brow. " By jove. You look 
 stunning! " 
 
 Clementina, in a tone of some asperity, told him 
 not to be a fool, and mounted the stairs with unac- 
 countably burning cheeks. 
 
 At dinner, Tommy, inspired by more than three- 
 fourths of the grocer's best bottle of champagne, 
 talked glowingly of his prospects in the event of his 
 uncle's craziness not being a transitory disorder. 
 After all, the world was his oyster, and he knew the 
 trick of opening it. Most people bungled, and jabbed 
 their fingers through trying to prize it open at the 
 wrong end. THe wise man, said he, in the tone of an 
 infant Solon, was he who not only made a mock of 
 misfortune, but bent it to his own use as an instru- 
 ment for the attainment of happiness. When chal- 
 lenged, he confessed that he got this gem of sapience 
 out of a book. But it was jolly true, wasn't it? 
 Really, he was looking forward to poverty. He was 
 sick of silk hats and patent leather boots and the young 
 women he met at tea-parties. Nature beat the lot. 
 Nature for him. Thoreau " The boy's going as 
 cracked as his uncle ! " cried Clementina Thoreau, he
 
 n6 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 insisted, had found out the truth. He would give up 
 his studio, take a labourer's cottage in the country at 
 two shillings a week, live on lentils, paint immortal 
 though perhaps not instantaneously remunerative 
 landscapes by day and do all sorts of things with his 
 pencil for the sake of a livelihood by night. He knew 
 of a beautiful cottage, two rooms and a kitchen, near 
 Hagbourne, in Berkshire. The place was a forest of 
 cherry-trees. Nothing more breathlessly beautiful on 
 the earth than the whole of a country-side quivering 
 with cherry-blossom except the same countryside 
 when it was a purple mist of cherries. Geoffrey King 
 had the cottage last summer. There was a bit of a 
 garden which he could cultivate cherry-trees in it, 
 of course; also flowers and vegetables. He would 
 supply Clementina with pansies and potatoes all the 
 year round. There was a pigstye, too useful in case 
 he wanted to run a pig. When Clementina was tired 
 of London, she could come to the cottage and he 
 would sleep in the pigstye. 
 
 For the second time that day she asked : 
 
 " What will you want an old frump like me in the 
 house for ? " 
 
 " To look at my pictures," said Tommy. 
 
 Clementina sniffed. " I thought as much," she said. 
 " Really, the callous selfishness of old age is saintlike 
 altruism compared with the fresh, spontaneous ego- 
 tism of youth." 
 
 Tommy, accustomed to her sharp sayings, only 
 laughed boyishly. How was he to guess the history 
 of the parrot-tulips? He was mildly surprised, how- 
 ever, when she decided to spend the evening, not in 
 the studio, but in the stiff, Sheraton drawing-room. 
 He protested. It was so much jollier in the studio. 
 She asked why. 
 
 " This place has no character, no personality. It
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 117 
 
 looks like a show drawing-room in a furniture deal- 
 er's window. It has nothting to do with you. It 
 means nothing." 
 
 " That's just why I want to sit in it," said Clemen- 
 tina. "You can go to the studio, if you like." 
 ' That wouldn't be polite," said Tommy. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and sat down at the 
 piano and played scraps of Mozart, Beethoven, and 
 Grieg memories of girlhood with the inexpert mu- 
 sician's uncertainty of touch. Tommy wandered rest- 
 lessly about the room examining the Bartolozzis and 
 the backs of the books in the glass-protected cases. 
 At last he became conscious of strain. He leant over 
 the piano, and waited until she had broken down hope- 
 lessly in a fragment of Peer Gynt. 
 
 " Have I said or done anything wrong, Clementina? 
 If so, I'm dreadfully sorry." 
 
 She shut the piano with a bang. 
 
 " You poor, motherless babe," she cried. "Who 
 would you go to with your troubles, if you hadn't 
 got me ? " 
 
 Tommy smiled vaguely. 
 
 " Deuce knows," said he. 
 
 " Then let us go down to the studio and talk about 
 them," said Clementina.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 AFTER leaving Clementina, Tommy went for a 
 long brisk walk in order to clear his mind, and 
 on his homeward way along the Embankment, 
 branched off to the middle of old Chelsea Bridge in 
 order to admire the moonlight view ; he also took off 
 his hat in order to get cool. The treacherous May 
 wind cooled him effectually and sent him to bed for 
 three days with a chill. 
 
 Clementina sat by his rueful bedside and rated him 
 soundly. The idea of one just recovering from pneu- 
 monia setting his blood boiling hot and then cooling 
 himself on a bridge at midnight in the bitter north- 
 east wind ! He was about as sane as his uncle. They 
 were a pretty and well-matched pair. Both ought to 
 be placed under restraint. A dark house and a whip 
 would have been their portion in the good old times. 
 
 " I've got 'em both now," said Tommy, grinning. 
 " This confounded bedroom is my dark house and your 
 tongue is the whip." 
 
 " I hope it hurts like the devil," said Clementina. 
 
 Tommy wrote from his sick bed a dignified and 
 manly letter to his uncle, and, like Brutus, paused for a 
 reply. None came. Quixtus read it, and his warped 
 vision saw ingratitude and hypocrisy in every line. 
 He had already spoken to Griffiths about the office- 
 stool in the Star Insurance Company. Tommy's em- 
 phatic refusal to sit on it placed him in an awkward 
 position with regard to Griffiths. Openings in a large 
 insurance office are not as common as those for hop- 
 pickers in August. Griffiths, a sour tempered man at 
 
 118
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 119 
 
 times, would be annoyed. Quixtus, encouraged by 
 Vandermeer, regarded himself as an ill used uncle, 
 and not only missed all the thrill of his deed of 
 wickedness, but accepted Tommy's decision as a rebuff 
 to his purely benevolent intentions. He therefore 
 added the unfortunate Tommy to the list of those 
 whom he had tried and found wanting. He had a 
 grievance against Tommy. Such is the topsy-turvey- 
 dom of man after a little thread has snapped in his 
 brain. 
 
 Now, it so happened that, on the selfsame day that 
 Tommy crawled again into the open air, Clementina, 
 standing before her easel and painfully painting drap- 
 ery from the lay figure, suddenly felt the whole studio 
 gyrate in a whirling maelstrom, into whose vortex of 
 unconsciousness she was swiftly sucked. She fell in a 
 heap on the floor, and remained there until she came 
 to with a splitting headache and a sensation of carry- 
 ing masses of bruised pulp at various corners of her 
 body instead of limbs. Her maid, Eliza, finding her 
 lying white and ill on the couch to which she had 
 dragged herself, administered water there was no 
 such thing as smelling-salts in Clementina's house 
 and, on her own responsibility, summoned the nearest 
 doctor. The result of his examination was a diag- 
 nosis of overwork. Clementina jeered. Only idlers 
 suffered from overwork. Besides, she was as strong 
 as a horse. The doctor reminded her that she was a 
 woman, with a woman's delicately adjusted nervous 
 system. She also had her sex's lack of restraint. A 
 man, finding that he was losing sleep, appetite, control 
 of temper and artistic grip, would abandon work and 
 plunge utterly unashamed into hoggish idleness. A 
 woman always feels that by fighting against weakness 
 she is upholding the honour of her sex, and struggles 
 on insanely till she drops.
 
 120 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I'm glad you realise I'm a woman," said Clemen- 
 tina. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you're the first man who has done so for 
 many years." 
 
 The doctor, a youngish man, very earnest, of the 
 modern neuropathic school, missed the note of irony. 
 This was the first time he had ever seen Clementina. 
 
 " You're one of the most highly strung women I've 
 ever come across," said he, gravely. " I want you to 
 appreciate the fact and not to strain the tension to 
 breaking-point." 
 
 " You wrap it up very nicely," said Clementina ; 
 " but, to put it brutally, your honest opinion is that 
 I'm just a silly, unreasonable, excitable, sex-ridden fool 
 of a female like a million others. Isn't that so? " 
 
 The young doctor bore the scrutiny of those glit- 
 tering, ironical points of eyes with commendable pro- 
 fessional stolidity. 
 
 " It is," said he, and in saying it he had the young 
 practitioner's horrible conviction that he had lost an 
 influential new patient. But Clementina stretched out 
 her hand. He took it very gladly. 
 
 " I like you," she said, " because you're not afraid 
 to talk sense. Now I'll do whatever you tell me." 
 
 " Go away for a complete change anywhere will 
 do and don't think of work for a month at the very 
 least." 
 
 " All right," said Clementina. 
 
 When Tommy, looking very much the worse for his 
 relapse, came in the next day to report himself in 
 robust health once more, Clementina acquainted him 
 with her own bodily infirmities. It was absurd, she 
 declared, that she should break down, but absurdity 
 was the guiding principle of this comic planet. Holi- 
 day was ordained. She had spent a sleepless night
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 121 
 
 thinking how she should make it. Dawn had brought 
 solution of the problem. Why not make it in fantastic 
 fashion, harmonising with the absurd scheme of 
 things ? 
 
 "What are you going to do?" asked Tommy. 
 " Spend a frolicsome month in Whitechapel, or put 
 on male attire and go for a soldier? " 
 
 " I shall hire an automobile and motor about 
 France." 
 
 " It's sporting enough," said Tommy, judicially, 
 " but I should hardly call it fantastic." 
 
 " Wait till you've heard the rest," said Clementina. 
 " I had originally intended to take Etta Concannon 
 with me; but since you've come here looking like 
 three-ha'porth of misery, I've decided to take you." 
 
 "Me?" cried Tommy. "My dear Clementina, 
 that's absurd." 
 
 " I thought you would agree with me," said Clem- 
 entina, " but I'm going to do it. Wouldn't you like 
 to come? " 
 
 " I should think so ! " he exclaimed, boyishly, " It 
 would be gorgeous. But " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " How can I afford to go motoring abroad ? " 
 
 " You wouldn't have to afford it. You would be my 
 guest." 
 
 "It's delightful of you, Clementina, to think of it 
 but it's impossible." 
 
 Whereupon an argument arose such as has often 
 arisen between man and woman. 
 
 " I'm old enough to be your grandmother, or at 
 least you think so, which comes to the same thing/* 
 said Clementina. 
 
 Tommy's young pride would not allow him to accept 
 largesse from feminine hands, however elderly and un- 
 romantic.
 
 12* THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " If I had a country house and hosts of servants and 
 several motor-cars and asked you to stay, you'd come 
 without hesitation." 
 
 " That would be different. Don't you see for your- 
 self?" 
 
 Clementina chose not to see for herself. Here was 
 a dolorous baby of a boy disinherited by a lunatic 
 uncle, emaciated by illness and unable to work, refus- 
 ing a helping hand just because it was a woman's. It 
 was preposterous. Clementina grew angry. Tommy 
 held firm. 
 
 " It's merely selfish of you. Don't you see I want a 
 companion? " 
 
 Tommy pointed out the companionable qualities of 
 Etta Concannon. But she would not hear of Etta. 
 The sight of Tommy's wan face had decided her, and 
 she was a woman who was accustomed to carry out 
 her decisions. She was somewhat, dictatorial, some- 
 what hectoring. She had taken it into her head to 
 play fairy godmother to Tommy Burgrave, and she 
 resented his repudiation of her godmotherdom. Be- 
 sides, there were purely selfish reasons for choosing 
 Tommy rather than Etta, which she acknowledged 
 with inward candour. Tommy was a man who would 
 fetch and carry and keep the chauffeur up to the mark, 
 ,and inspire gendarmes and custom-house officials and 
 maitres-d'hotel with respect, and, although Clementina 
 feared neither man nor devil, she was aware of the 
 value of a suit of clothes filled with a male entity as a 
 travelling adjunct to a lone woman. With Etta the 
 case would be different. Etta would fetch her motor- 
 veil and carry her gloves with the most adoringly sub- 
 missive grace in the world; but all the real fetching 
 and carrying for the two of them would have to be 
 done by Clementina herself. Therein lay the differ- 
 ence between Clementina and the type generally known
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 123 
 
 as the emancipated woman. She had no exaggerated 
 notions of the equality of the sexes, which in feminine 
 logic generally means the high superiority of women. 
 Circumstance had emancipated her from dependence 
 upon the other sex, but on the circumstance and the 
 emancipation she cast not too favourable an eye. She 
 had a crystal clear idea of the substantial usefulness 
 of men in this rough and not always ready cosmic 
 scheme. Therefore, for purposes of utility, she 
 wanted Tommy. In her usual blunt manner she told 
 him so. 
 
 ' You run in here at all hours of the day and night, 
 and it's Clementina this and Clementina that until I 
 can't call my soul my own and now, the first time I 
 ask you to do me a service you fall back on your silly 
 little prejudices and vanity and pride, and say you 
 can't do it." 
 
 " I'm very sorry," said Tommy, humbly. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Clementina, with a 
 curiously vicious feminine stroke, " you'd come if I 
 was a smart-looking woman with fine clothes who 
 could be a credit to you but you won't face going 
 about with an animated rag-and-bone shop like me." 
 
 Tommy flushed as pink as only a fair youth can 
 flush; he sprang forward and seized her wrists and, 
 unwittingly, hurt her in his strong and indignant 
 grip. 
 
 " What you're saying is abominable and you ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself. If I thought anything like 
 that I'd be the most infernal cur that ever trod the 
 earth. I'd like to shake you for daring to say such 
 things about me." 
 
 He flung away her hands and stalked off to the 
 other end of the studio, leaving her with tingling 
 wrists and unfindable retort. 
 
 " If you really think I can be of service to you," he
 
 124 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 said, in a dignified way, having completed the return 
 journey, " I shall be most happy to come." 
 
 " I don't want you to make a martyr of yourself," 
 she snapped. 
 
 Tommy considered within himself for a moment or 
 two, then broke into his boyish laugh. 
 
 " I'm an ungrateful pig, and I'll follow you all 
 over the world. Dear old Clementina," he added, 
 more seriously, putting his hand on her shoulder, 
 " forgive me." 
 
 Clementina gently removed his hand. She pre- 
 ferred the grip on the wrists that hurt. But, mollified, 
 she forgave him. 
 
 So in a few days they started on their travels. 
 
 The thirty-five horse-power car whirled them, a 
 happy pair, through the heart of summer. Above the 
 blue sky blazed, and beneath the white road gleamed 
 a shivering streak. The exhilarating wind of their 
 motion filled their lungs and set their tired pulses 
 throbbing. Now and then, for miles, the great plane 
 trees on each side of the way formed the never-ending 
 nave of an infinite cathedral, the roof a miracle of 
 green tracery. Through quiet, sun-baked villages they 
 passed, at a snail's pace, hooting children and dogs 
 from before their path and because they proceeded 
 slowly and Tommy was goodly to look upon, the 
 women smiled from their doorways, or from the run* 
 ning laundry stream where they knelt and beat the wet 
 clothes, or from the fountain in the cool, flagged 
 little square jutting out like a tiny transept from the 
 aisle of the street. Babies stared stolidly. Here and 
 there a bunch of little girls, their hair tied in demure 
 pigtails, the blue sarrau over their loud check frocks 
 would laugh and whisper, and one more daring than 
 the rest would wave an audacious hand, and when
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 125] 
 
 Tommy blew her a kiss from his fingers there came 
 the little slut's gracious response, amid mirth and 
 delight unspeakable. Men would look up from their 
 dusty, bare, uneven bowling-alley beneath the trees 
 and watch them as they went by. An automobile, in 
 spite of its frequency, is always an event in a French 
 village. If it races mercilessly through, there is rea- 
 sonable opportunity to curse, which always gladdens 
 the heart of man. If it proceeds slowly and shows 
 deference to the inhabitants, it is an event rare enough 
 to command their admiration. Instead of shutting 
 their eyes against a sort of hell-chariot in a whirlwind, 
 they can observe the gracefully built car and its 
 stranger though human occupants, which is something 
 deserving a note in the record of an eventless day. 
 If they stopped and quitted the car so as to glance 
 at leisure at old church or quaint fountain and in 
 many an out-of-the-way village in France the water 
 of the community gushes forth from a beautiful work 
 of art all the idlers of the sunny place clustered 
 round the car, while the British chauffeur stood by the 
 radiator, impeccably vestured and unembarrassed as a 
 Fate. At noon came the break for dejeuner; prefer- 
 ably in some little world- forgotten townlet, where, 
 after the hors-d'ceuvre, omelette, cutlet, chicken, and 
 fruit and where is the sad, plague-stricken hamlet of 
 France that cannot, in the twinkling of an eye, pro- 
 vide such a meal for the hungry wayfarer? they 
 loved to take their coffee beneath the awning of a 
 cafe on the shady side of the great, sleepy square, 
 and absorb the sleepy, sunny, prosperous spirit of the 
 place; the unpainted bandstand in the centre, the low- 
 lying houses with sleepy little shops and cafes 
 Heavens! how many cafes! around it, the modern, 
 model-built Hotel de Ville, the fine avenue of plane 
 trees without which no Grande Place in France could
 
 126 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 exist, and, above the roofs of the houses, the weather- 
 beaten, crumbling Gothic tower of the church sur- 
 mounted by its extinguisher-shaped leaden belfry 
 alive with vivid yellows and olives. And then the 
 road again past the rapidly becoming familiar objects; 
 the slow ox-carts ; the herd of wayside goats in charge 
 of a dirty, tow-headed child; the squad of canvas- 
 suited soldiers ; the great lumbering waggons drawn by 
 a string of three gaudily and elaborately yoked horses, 
 the driver fast asleep on the top of his mountainous 
 load ; the mongrel dogs that sought, and happily found 
 not, euthanasia beneath the wheels of the modern car 
 of Juggernaut; the sober-vested peasant women bend- 
 ing beneath their burdens with the calm, unexpressive 
 faces of cariatides grown old and withered. Towards 
 the later afternoon was reached the larger town where 
 they would halt for the night: first came the eternal, 
 but grateful, outer boulevard cool with foliage, run- 
 ning between newly built, perky houses and shops and 
 then leading into the heart of the older city, grey, 
 narrow-streeted, picturesque. As the automobile clat- 
 tered through the great gateway of the hotel into the 
 paved courtyard, out came the decent landlord and 
 smiling landlady, welcomed their guests, summoned 
 unshaven men in green-baize aprons who, at dinner, 
 were to appear in the decorous garb of waiters, and 
 in the morning, by a subtle modification of costume 
 (dingy white aprons instead of green-baize) were to 
 do uncomplaining work as housemaids to take down 
 the luggage, and showed the travellers to their clean, 
 bare rooms. After the summary removal of the jour- 
 ney's dust came the delicious saunter through the 
 strange old town; the stimulus of the sudden burst 
 into view of the west front of a cathedral, with its 
 deeply recessed and sculptured doorways, and its great,
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 127 
 
 flamboyant window struck by the westering sun; the 
 quick, indrawn breath of delight when, in a narrow, 
 evil-smelling, cobble-paved street, they came unexpect- 
 edly upon some marvel of an early Renaissance fagade, 
 with its refined riot of ornament, its unerring propor- 
 tions, its laughing dignity laughing all the more and 
 with all the more dignity, as became its mocking, 
 aristocratic soul, because the ground floor was given 
 up to a dingy tinsmith and its upper storeys to the 
 same class of easy-going, slatternly folk who sat at 
 the windows of the other unconsidered houses in the 
 sallow and homely street; the gay relief of emerging 
 from such unsavoury and foot-massacring byways 
 into the quarter of the town on which the Syndicat 
 d'Initiative prides itself the wide, well-kept thorough- 
 fare or place with its inevitable greenery, its flourish- 
 ing cafes thick with decorous folk beneath the awn- 
 ings, its proud and prosperous shops, its Municipal 
 Theatre, Bourse, Hotel de Ville, its generously spout- 
 ing fountain, its statue of the great son poet, artist, 
 soldier of the locality; its crowd of well-fed saun- 
 terers fat and greasy citizens, the supercilious aris- 
 tocrat and the wolf-eyed anarchist might perhaps join 
 together in calling them but still God's very worthy 
 creatures; its general expression, not of the joy of life, 
 for a provincial town is, as a whole, governed by 
 conditions which affect only a part of a great capital, 
 but of the undeniable usefulness and pleasurableness 
 of human existence. Then, after dinner, out again to 
 the cool terrace of a cafe in provincial France no one 
 lounges over coffee and tobacco in an hotel and lastly 
 to bed, with wind and sun in their eyes and in their 
 hearts the peace of a beautiful land. 
 
 They had planned the first part of their route 
 Boulogne, Abbeville, Beauvais, Sens, Tonnerre, Dijon,
 
 128 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 through the Cote d'Or and down the valley of the 
 Rhone to Avignon. After that the roads of France 
 were open to them to go whithersoever they willed. 
 The ground, the experience, the freedom, all were 
 new to them. To Clementina France had practically 
 been synonymous with Paris not Paris of the Grands 
 Boulevards, Montmartre, and expensive restaurants, 
 but Paris of the Left Bank, of the studios, of struggle 
 and toil a place not of gaiety but grimness. To 
 Tommy it meant Paris, too Paris of the young artist- 
 tourist, a museum of great pictures the Louvre, the 
 Luxembourg, the Pantheon immortalised by Puvis de 
 Chavannes ; also Dieppe, Dinard, and such-like depend- 
 encies of Britain. But of the true France such as they 
 beheld it now they knew nothing, and they beheld it 
 with the wide-open eyes of children. 
 
 After a few days the weariness fell from Clemen- 
 tina's shoulders; new life sped through her veins. Her 
 hard lips caught the long- forgotten trick of a smile. 
 She almost lost the art of acid speech. She grew 
 young again. 
 
 Tommy held the money-bag. 
 
 " I'm not going to look like a maiden aunt treating 
 a small boy to buns at a confectioner's," she had de- 
 clared. " I'm going to be a real lady for once and 
 see what it's like." 
 
 So Clementina did nothing in the most ladylike 
 manner, while Tommy played courier and carried 
 through all arrangements with the impressive air of 
 importance that only a young Briton in somebody 
 else's motor-car can assume. He had forgotten the 
 little sacrifice of his pride ; he had forgotten, or at 
 least he disregarded, with the precious irresponsibility 
 of three-and-twenty, the fact that his income was re- 
 duced to the negligible quantity of a pound a week; 
 he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the passing
 
 a < 
 S 
 
 S 2
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 129 
 
 hour, and if ever he did cast a forward glance at the 
 clouded future, behold ! the clouds were rosy with the 
 reflections of the present sunshine. 
 
 He was proud of his newly discovered talent as a 
 courier, and boasted in his boyish way : 
 
 " Aren't you glad you've got me to take care of 
 \yoti?" 
 
 " It's a new sensation for me to be taken care of." 
 
 " But you don't dislike it? " 
 
 He was arranging at the bottom of the car a pile of 
 rugs and wraps as a footstool for Clementina, at the 
 exact height and angle for her luxurious comfort. 
 
 Clementina sighed. She was beginning to like it 
 very much indeed.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WHEN they swung round the great bend of 
 the Rhone, and Vienne came in sight, 
 Tommy uttered a cry of exultation. 
 
 " Oh Clementina, let us stay here for a week ! " 
 
 When they stood an hour afterwards on the great 
 suspension bridge that connects Vienne with the little 
 town of Sainte-Colombe, and drank in the afternoon 
 beauty of the place, Tommy amended his proposition. 
 
 " Oh Clementina," said he, " let us stay here for 
 ever!" 
 
 Clementina sighed, and watched the broad blue river 
 sweeping in its majestic curve between the wooded 
 mountains from whose foliage peeped a myriad 
 human habitations, the ancient Chateau-Fort de la 
 Batie standing a brave and mutilated sentinel on its 
 dominating hill, the nestling town with its Byzantine 
 towers and tiled roofs, the Gothic west front of the 
 Cathedral framed by the pylons of the bridge, the 
 green boulevarded embankment and the fort of Sainte- 
 Colombe in its broader and more smiling valley, 
 guarded it, too, by its grim square tower, the laughing 
 peace of the infinite web of afternoon shadow and 
 afternoon sunlight. Away up the stream a barge 
 moved slowly down under a sail of burnished gold. 
 A few moments afterwards coming under the lee of 
 the mountains, the sail turned into what Tommy, who 
 had pointed it out, called a dream-coloured brown. 
 From which it may be deduced that Tommy was grow- 
 ing poetical. 
 
 130
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 131 
 
 In former times Clementina would have rebuked so 
 nonsensical a fancy. But now, with a nod, she ac- 
 quiesced. Nay, more, she openly agreed. 
 
 " We who live in a sunless room in the midst of 
 paint-pots, know nothing- of the beauty of the world." 
 
 " That's true," said Tommy. 
 
 " We hope, when we're tired, that there is such a 
 place as the Land of Dreams, but we imagine it's 
 somewhere east of the sun, and w r est of the moon. We 
 don't realise that all we've got to do to get there is to 
 walk out of our front door." 
 
 " It all depends upon the inward eye, doesn't it ? " 
 said the boy. " Or, perhaps, indeed, it needs a double 
 inward eye two personalities, you know, harmonised 
 in a subtle sort of way, so as to bring it into focus. 
 You see what I mean? I don't think I could get the 
 whole dreamy adorableness of this if I hadn't you 
 beside me." 
 
 " Do you mean that, Tommy ? " she asked, with 
 eyes fixed on the Rhone. 
 
 "Of course I do," he replied, earnestly. 
 
 Her lips worked themselves into a smile. 
 
 " I never thought my personality could harmonise 
 with any other on God's earth." 
 
 ' You've lived a life of horrible, rank injustice." 
 
 She started, as if hurt. " Ah ! don't say that." 
 
 ''' To yourself, I mean, dearest Clementina. You've 
 never allowed yourself a good quality. Now you're 
 beginning to find out your mistake." 
 
 " When it's pointed out that I can harmonise with 
 your beautiful nature! " 
 
 At the flash of the old Clementina, Tommy laughed. 
 
 " I'm not going to deny that there's good in me. 
 Why should I? If there wasn't, I shouldn't be here. 
 You wouldn't have asked me to be your companion," 
 he added quickly, fearing lest she might put a wrong
 
 132 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 construction on his words. " When a good woman 
 does a man the honour of admitting him to her inti- 
 mate companionship, he .knows he's good and it 
 makes him feel better." 
 
 Her left elbow rested on the parapet of the bridge, 
 and her chin rested on the palm of her hand. Without 
 looking at him she stretched out the other hand and 
 touched him. 
 
 " Thank you for saying that, Tommy," she said in 
 a low voice. 
 
 Their mutual relations had modified considerably 
 during the journey. The change, in the first place, 
 had come instinctively from Tommy. Hitherto, Clem- 
 entina had represented little to his ingenuous mind 
 but the rough-and-ready comrade, the good sort, the 
 stunning portrait-painter. With many of his men 
 friends he was on practically the same terms. Quite 
 unconsciously he patronised her ever so little, as the 
 Prince Charmings of life's fairy-tale are apt to patron- 
 ise those who are not quite so charming or quite so 
 princely as themselves. When he had dined with the 
 proud and gorgeous he loved to strut before her aure- 
 oled in his reflected splendour; not for a moment re- 
 membering that had Clementina chosen to throw off 
 her social nonconformity she could have sat in high 
 places at the houses of such a proud and gorgeous 
 hierarchy as he, Tommy Burgrave, could not hope, 
 for many years, to consort with. Sometimes he 
 treated her as an old family nurse, who spoiled him, 
 sometimes as a bearded master ; he teased her, chaffed 
 her, laid traps to catch her sharp sayings ; greeted her 
 with " Hullo," and parted from her with an airy wave 
 of the hand. But as soon as they set off on their 
 travels the subtle change took place, for which the 
 fact of his being her guest could only, in small degree, 
 account. Being in charge of all arrangements, and
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 133 
 
 thus asserting his masculinity, he saw Clementina in a 
 new light. For all her unloveliness she was a woman ; 
 for all her lack of convention she was a lady born and 
 bred. She was as much under his protection as any 
 dame or damsel of the proud and gorgeous to whom 
 he might have had the honour to act as escort; and 
 without a moment's self-consciousness he began to 
 treat Clementina with the same courteous solicitude as 
 he would have treated such dame or damsel, or, for 
 the matter of that, any other woman of his acquaint- 
 ance. Whereas, a month or two before he would have 
 tramped by her side for miles without the thought of 
 her possible fatigue entering his honest head, now her 
 inability to stroll about the streets of these little pro- 
 vincial towns, without physical exhaustion, caused him 
 grave anxiety. He administered to her comfort in a 
 thousand ways. He saw to the proper working of the 
 shutters in her room, to the smooth opening of the 
 drawers and presses; put the fear of God into the 
 hearts of chamber-maids and valets through the me- 
 dium of a terrific lingua franca of his own invention; 
 supplied her with flowers; rose early every morning 
 to scour the town for a New York Herald so that it 
 could be taken up to Clementina's room with her 
 coffee, and petit croissant. His habit of speech, too, 
 became more deferential, and his discourse gained in 
 depth and sincerity what it lost in picturesque ver- 
 nacular. To sum up the whole of the foregoing in a 
 phrase, Tommy's attitude towards Clementina grew to 
 be that of an extremely nice boy towards an extremely 
 nice maiden aunt. 
 
 This change of attitude acted very powerfully on 
 Clementina. As she had remarked, it was a new sensa- 
 tion to be taken care of: one which she liked very 
 much indeed. All the sternly repressed feminine in 
 her all that she called the silly fool woman re-
 
 134 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 sponded to the masculine strength and delicacy of 
 touch. She, on her side, saw Tommy in a new light. 
 He had developed from the boy into the man. He was 
 responsible, practical, imperious in his frank, kindly, 
 Anglo-Saxon way. It was a new joy for the woman, 
 who, since girlhood, had fought single-handed for her 
 place in the world, to sit still and do nothing while 
 difficulties vanished before his bright presence just as 
 the crests of alarming steeps vanished before the irre- 
 sistible rush of the car. 
 
 Once when a loud report and the grinding of the 
 wheels announced a puncture, she cried involuntarily : 
 
 "I'm so glad!" 
 
 Tommy laughed. " Well, of all the feminine rea- 
 sons for gladness!" Clementina basked in her fem- 
 ininity like a lizard in the sun. " I suppose it's because 
 you can sit in the shade and watch Johnson and me 
 toiling and broiling like niggers on the road." 
 
 She blushed beneath her swarthy skin. That was 
 just it. She loved to see him throw off his coat and 
 grapple like a young Hercules with the tyre. For 
 Johnson's much more efficient exertions she cared not 
 a scrap. 
 
 Her heart was full of new delights. It was a new 
 delight to feel essentially what she in her irony used 
 to term a lady; to be addressed with deference and 
 tenderness, to have her desires executed just that in- 
 stant before specific formulation which gives charm 
 and surprise. Every day she discovered a new and 
 unsuspected quality in Tommy, and every evening she 
 dwelt upon the sweetness, freshness, and strength of 
 his nature. The lavender fragrance, the nice maiden- 
 aunt-ity of her relations with Tommy, I am afraid 
 she missed. 
 
 It gave her an odd little thrill of pleasure when 
 Tommy propounded his theory of the perfect focal
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 135 
 
 adjustment of the good in their natures. When he 
 implicitly gave her rank as angel she was deeply 
 moved. So she stretched out her hand and touched 
 him and said, " Thank you." 
 
 " You said nothing about my proposal to stay here 
 for ever," he remarked, after a while. 
 
 " I'm quite ready," she replied absently. " Why 
 shouldn't we ? " 
 
 Tommy pointed out a white chateau that flashed 
 through the greenery of the hill behind the cathedral. 
 
 "That's the place we'll take. We'll fill it with 
 books chiefly sermons, and flowers chiefly poppies, 
 and we'll smoke hashish instead of tobacco, and we'll 
 sleep and paint dream-pictures all the rest of our 
 lives." 
 
 " I suppose you can't conceive life even a dream 
 life without pictures to paint in it ? " 
 
 " Not exactly," said he. " Can you? " 
 
 " I shouldn't be painting pictures in my dream- 
 life." 
 
 " What would you be doing?" 
 
 But Clementina did not reply. She looked at the 
 brave old sentinel fort glowing red in the splendour 
 of the westering sun. Tommy continued "I'm sure 
 you would be painting. How do you think a musician 
 could face an existence without music? or a golfer 
 without golf?" and he broke into his fresh laugh. 
 " I wonder what dream-golf would be like? It would 
 be a sort of mixed arrangement, I guess, with 5tars 
 for balls and clouds for bunkers and meads of aspho- 
 dels for putting greens." He suddenly lifted his 
 .hands, palm facing palm, and looked through them at 
 the framed picture. " Clementina dear, if I don't get 
 that old Tour de la Batie with the sunset on it, I'll 
 die. It will take eternity to get it right, and that's 
 why we must stay here forever."
 
 136 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " We'll stay as long 1 as you like," said Clementina, 
 " and you can paint to your heart's content." 
 
 " You're the dearest thing in the world," said 
 Tommy. 
 
 Dinner time drew near. They left the bridge re- 
 luctantly, and mounted the great broad flight of forty 
 steps that led to the west door of the Cathedral. A 
 few of the narrow side streets brought them into the 
 Place Miremont, where their hotel was situated. In 
 the lazy late afternoon warmth it looked the laziest 
 and most peaceful spot inhabited by man. The square, 
 classic Town Library, hermetically closed, its inner 
 mysteries hidden behind drawn blinds, stood in its 
 midst like a mausoleum of dead and peaceful 
 thoughts. Nothing living troubled it save a mongrel 
 dog asleep on the steps. No customer ruffled the tran- 
 quillity of the shops around the Place. A red-trou- 
 sered, blue-coated little soldier so little that he looked 
 like a toy soldier and an old man in a blouse, who 
 walked very slowly in the direction of the cafe, were 
 the only humans on foot. Even the hotel omnibus, 
 rattling suddenly into the square, failed to break the 
 spell of quietude. For it was empty, and its empti- 
 ness gave a pleasurable sense" of distance from the 
 fever and the fret of life. 
 
 It is even said that Pontius Pilate found peace in 
 Vienne, lying, according to popular tradition, under 
 a comparatively modern monolith termed the Aiguille. 
 
 " Are you quite sure this place isn't too dead-and- 
 alive for you? " Clementina asked, as they approached 
 the hotel. 
 
 He slid his hand under her arm. 
 
 " Oh no ! " he cried, with a little reassuring squeeze. 
 " It's heavenly." 
 
 While she was cleansing herself for dinner, Clemen- 
 tina looked in the glass. Her hair, as usual, straggled
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 137 
 
 untidily over her temples. She wore it bunched up 
 anyhow in a knot behind, and the resentful hair-pins 
 invariably failed in their office. This evening she re- 
 moved the faithful few, the saving remnant that for 
 the world's good remains in all communities, even of 
 hair-pins, and her hair thick and black fell about her 
 shoulders. She combed it, brushed it, brought it up 
 to the top of her head and twisting it into a neat coil 
 held it there with her hand, and for a moment or two 
 studied the effect somewhat dreamily. Then, all of a 
 sudden, a change of mood swept over her. She let 
 the hair down again, almost savagely wound it into its 
 accustomed clump into which she thrust hair-pins at 
 random, and turned away from the mirror, her mouth 
 drawn into its old grim lines. 
 
 Tommy found her rather uncommunicative at din- 
 ner which was served to them at a separate side table. 
 At the table d'hote in the middle of the room, eight 
 or nine men, habitues and commercial travellers fed 
 in stolid silence. She ate little. Tommy, noticing it, 
 openly reproached himself for having caused her fa- 
 tigue. The day in the open air and open air pumped 
 into the lungs at the rate of thirty or forty miles an 
 hour was of itself tiring. He ought not to have 
 dragged her about the town. Besides, he added with 
 an appearance of great wisdom, a surfeit of beauty 
 gave one a soul-ache. They had feasted on notning 
 but beauty since they had left Chalon-sur-Saone that 
 morning. He, too, had a touch of soul-ache; but 
 luckily it did not interfere with his carnal appetite. 
 It ought not to interfere with Clementina's. Here 
 was the whitest and tenderest morsel of chicken that 
 ever was and the crispest bit of delectable salad. He 
 helped her from the dish which she had refused at the 
 hands of the waiter, and she ate meekly. But after 
 dinner, she sent him off to the cafe by himself, saying
 
 138 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 that she would read a novel in the salon and go to 
 bed early. 
 
 The loneliness of the salon, instead of resting her, 
 got on her nerves, which angered her. What busi- 
 ness had she, Clementina Wing, with nerves? Or 
 was Tommy right? Perhaps it was soul-ache from 
 which she was suffering. Certainly, one strove to pack 
 away into oneself anything of beauty, making it a 
 part of one's spiritual being. One could be a glutton 
 and suffer from the consequences. The soul-ache, if 
 such it were, had nothing of origin in the emotions 
 that had prompted her touch on Tommy's arm, or 
 the coiling of her hair on the top of her head. Noth- 
 ing at all. Besides, it was a very silly novel, a modern 
 French version of Daphnis and Chloe, in which Daph- 
 nis figured as a despicable young neuropath whom 
 Tommy would have kicked on sight, and Chloe, a de- 
 mure hussy whom a sensible mother would have 
 spanked. She threw it into a corner and went to her 
 room to brace her mind with Tristram Shandy. 
 
 She had not been long there, however, when there 
 came a knocking at her door. On her invitation to 
 enter, the door opened and Tommy stood breathless 
 on the threshold. His eyes were bright and he was 
 quivering with excitement. 
 
 " Do come out. Do come out and see something. 
 I hit upon it unawares, and it knocked me silly. I've 
 run all the way back to fetch you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Something too exquisite for words." 
 
 " What about the soul-ache? " 
 
 " Oh! Let us have an orgy while we're about it," 
 he cried recklessly. " It's worth it. Do come. I 
 want you to feel the thing with me." 
 
 The appeal was irresistible. It was spirit summon- 
 ing spirit. Without thinking, but dimly conscious of
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 139 
 
 a quick throbbing of the heart, Clementina put on her 
 hat and went with Tommy out of the hotel. The full 
 moon blazed from a cloudless sky, flooding the little 
 silent square. She paused on the pavement. 
 
 " Yes, it's beautiful," she said. 
 
 " Oh that's only the silly old moon," cried Tommy. 
 " I've got something much better for you than that." 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked again. 
 
 " You wait," said he. 
 
 He took her across the square, through two or three 
 turns of narrow cobble-paved streets, whirled her 
 swiftly round a corner and said: 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 Clementina looked, and walked straight into the liv- 
 ing heart of the majesty that once was Rome. There, 
 in the midst of an open space, the modern houses 
 around it obscured, softened, de-characterised by the 
 magic-working moon, stood in its proud and perfect 
 beauty the Temple of Augustus and Livia. Twenty 
 centuries, with all their meaning, vanished in a sec- 
 ond. It was the heart of Rome. There was the great 
 Temple, perfect, imperishable, with its fluted Corin- 
 thian columns, its entablature, its pediment, its noble 
 cornice throwing endless mysteries of shadow. No ( 
 ruin, from which imagination flogged by scholarship , 
 might dimly picture forth what once had been; but 
 the Temple itself, untouched, haughty, defying Time, 
 the companion for two thousand years of the moon 
 that now bathed it lovingly, as a friend of two thou- 
 sand years' standing must do, in its softest splendour, 
 and sharing with the moon its godlike scorn of the 
 hectic and transitory life of man. 
 
 Clementina drew a sharp breath of wonder. Mois- 
 ture clouded her eyes. She could not speak for the 
 suddenness of the shock of beauty. Tommy gently 
 took her arm, and they stood for a long time in si-
 
 i 4 o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 lence, close together. In their artists' sensitiveness 
 they were very near together, too, in spirit. She 
 glanced at his face in the moonlight, alive with the 
 joy of the thing, and her heart gave a sudden leap. 
 All the beauty of the day translated itself into some- 
 thing even more radiant that flooded her soul, caus- 
 ing the rows of fluted columns to swim before her 
 eyes until she shut them with a little sigh of content. 
 
 At last they moved and walked slowly round the 
 building. 
 
 " I just couldn't help fetching you," said Tommy. 
 
 " Oh, I'm glad you did. Oh, so glad. Why didn't 
 we know of this before we came." 
 
 " Because we are two thrice-blessedly ignorant cock- 
 neys, dear. I hate to know what I'm going to see. 
 It's much better to be like stout Cortez and his men 
 in the poem and discover things, isn't it? By Jove, 
 I shall never forget running into this." 
 
 " Nor I," said Clementina. 
 
 " The moment the car turned the bend to-day I 
 knew something was going to happen here." 
 
 More had happened than Tommy dreamed of in hrs 
 young philosophy. Nor did Clementina enlighten him. 
 She slid his arm from under hers and took it, and 
 leaned ever so little on it, for the first time for many, 
 many years a happy woman. 
 
 When they left the Temple she pleaded for an ex- 
 tension of their walk. She was no longer tired. She 
 could go on forever beneath such a moon. 
 
 " A night made for lovers," said Tommy, " and we 
 aren't the only ones look ! " 
 
 And indeed there were couples sauntering by, head 
 to head, talking of the things the moon had heard so 
 many million times before. 
 
 " I suppose they take us also for lovers," said Clem- 
 entina foolishly.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 141 
 
 " I don't care if they do," said Tommy. " Let us 
 pretend." 
 
 " Yes," said Clementina. " Let us pretend." 
 
 They wandered thus lover-like through the town, 
 and came on the quay where they sat on the coping of 
 the parapet, and watched the moonlit Rhone and the 
 brave old Chateau-Fort on the hill. 
 
 " Are you glad you came with me? " she asked. 
 
 " It has been a sort of enchanted journey," he re- 
 plied, seriously. " And to-night well, to-night is just 
 to-night. There are no words for it. I've never 
 thanked you there are things too deep for thanks. 
 In return I would give you everything I've got in 
 myself, you know if you wanted it. In fact," he 
 added, with a boyish laugh, " I've given it to you al- 
 ready whether you want it or not." 
 
 " I do want it, Tommy," she said, with a catch in 
 her voice. " You don't know how much I want it." 
 
 " Then you have a devoted, devoted, devoted slave 
 for the rest of your life." 
 
 " I do believe you are fond of me." 
 
 "Fond of you!" he cried. "Why, of course, I 
 am. There's not another woman like you in the 
 world." He took her hand and kissed it. " Bless 
 you," he said. Then he rose. " We've sat out here 
 long enough. Your hands are quite cold and you've 
 only that silly blouse on. You'll catch a chill." 
 
 "I'm quite warm," said Clementina mendaciously; 
 but she obeyed him with surprising meekness. 
 
 If any one had had a sufficiently fantastic imagina- 
 tion and sufficient audacity to prophesy to Clementina 
 before she started from London the effect upon her 
 temperament of a Roman Temple and moonshine, she 
 would have said things in her direct way uncompli- 
 mentary to his intelligence. She would have forgot- 
 ten her own epigram to the effect that woman always
 
 142 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 has her sex hanging round the neck of her spirit. But 
 her epigram had proved its truth. She was feeling a 
 peculiar graciousness in the focal adjustment above 
 considered, was letting her spirit soar with its brother 
 to planes of pure beauty, when lo! suddenly, spirit 
 was hurled from the empyrean into the abyss by the 
 thing clinging round its neck, which took its place 
 on the said planes with a pretty gurgle of exulta- 
 tion. 
 
 That is what had happened. 
 
 And is it not all too natural? There are plants 
 which will keep within them a pallid life in a coal- 
 cellar but put in the sun and the air and the rain 
 will break magically into riotous leaf and bud and 
 flower. Love, foolish, absurd, lunatic, reprehensible 
 what you will had come into the sun and the air and 
 the rain, and it had broken magically into blossom. 
 Of course, she had no business to bring it into the air; 
 she ought to have kept it in the coal-cellar ; she ought 
 not to have let the door be opened by the wheedlings 
 of a captivating youth. In plain language, a woman 
 of six-and-thirty ought never to have fallen in love 
 with a boy of twenty-three. Of course not. A vehe- 
 ment passionate nature is the easiest thing in the world 
 to keep under control. A respectable piece of British 
 tape ought to be strong enough leash for any tiger 
 of the jungle. 
 
 That Clementina, ill-favoured and dour, should have 
 given herself up, in the solitude of her room, to her 
 intoxication is, no doubt, a matter of censure. It was 
 mad and bad and sad, but it was sweet. It was hu- 
 man. The rare ones from whom no secrets of a 
 woman's pure heart are hid might say that it was 
 divine. But the many who pity let them not grudge 
 her hour of joy to a woman of barren life. 
 
 But it was only an hour. The grey dawn crept into
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 143 
 
 the sleepless room, and the glamour of the moonlight 
 had gone. And there was a desperate struggle in the 
 woman's soul. The boy's words rang in her ears. 
 He was fond of her, devoted to her, would give up 
 his life to her. He spoke sincerely. Why should she 
 not take the words at a little above their face-value? 
 No strong-natured woman of six-and-thirty, with 
 Clementina's fame and wealth and full great sym- 
 pathy need fear rebuff from a generous lad who pro- 
 fesses himself to be her devoted, devoted, devoted 
 slave. All she has to do is to put up the barms. 
 Whether ultimate bliss will be achieved is another mat- 
 ter. But to marry him out of hand is as easy as lying. 
 It did not need Clementina's acute intelligence for her 
 to be fully aware of this. And another temptation 
 crept over her pillow to her ear, peculiarly insidious. 
 The boy would be free to pursue his beloved art with- 
 out sordid cares. There would be no struggle and 
 starvation and fringed hems to his trousers. A woman 
 who really loves a man would sooner her heart were 
 frayed than his trouser-hems. 
 
 She rose and threw wide the shutters. The little 
 Place Miremont looked ghostly in the white light, 
 and the classic Bibliotheque, with its round-headed 
 windows, more than ever a calm mausoleum of hu- 
 man wisdom. It is strange how coldly suggestive of 
 death is the birth of day. 
 
 Clementina crept back to bed and, tired out, fell 
 asleep. The waiter bringing in the breakfast tray 
 awakened her. On the New York Herald which 
 Tommy had gone to the railway station to procure, 
 lay a dewy cluster of red and yellow roses ; on a plate 
 a pile of letters, the top one addressed in Etta Concan- 
 non's great girlish scrawl. 
 
 Why in the world should a bunch of parrot-tulips 
 have flared before her eyes? They did. They had
 
 144 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 marked the beginning of it. The red and yellow roses 
 marked the end. 
 
 " Attendee un moment," she said to the waiter, 
 while she tore open the envelope and glanced through 
 Etta's unimportant letter. " Bring me a telegraph 
 form." 
 
 He produced one from his pocket. If you ask a 
 waiter in a good French provincial hotel for anything 
 a copy of Buckle's History of Civilisation or a boot- 
 jack he will produce it from his pocket. He also 
 handed her a pencil. 
 
 This she bit musingly for a few seconds. Then she 
 scribbled hastily on a telegraph form : 
 
 " Join me at once. Book straight through to Lyons. 
 Wire train. Will meet you at station. Promise you" 
 Her lips twisted into a wry smile as the word she 
 sought entered her head " heavenly time. My guest 
 of course. Clementina. Hotel du Nord, Vienne." 
 
 " By the way, garqon" she said, handing him the 
 telegram, " why is this called the Hotel du Nord ? " 
 
 " Parceque, Madame, c'est id, a Vienne, que com" 
 mence le Midi" replied the waiter. 
 
 He bowed himself out. A courtier of Versailles at 
 the levee of the Pompadour could not have made his 
 speech and exit with better grace. 
 
 Later in the day Clementina received the reply from 
 Etta. 
 
 " You darling, starting to-morrow. Arrive Lyons 
 seven o'clock morning Thursday." 
 
 Tommy, fired by the picture made by the bend of 
 the Rhone and the Chateau-Fort de la Batie, spent 
 most of the day on the quay, with the paraphernalia 
 of his trade, easel and canvas and box of colours and 
 brushes, painting delightedly, while Clementina, be- 
 neath an uncompromising white umbrella with a green 
 lining, bought on her travels, sat near by reading
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 145 
 
 many tales out of one uncomprehended novel. Just 
 before dinner she informed him of the almost imme- 
 diate arrival of Etta Concannon. 
 
 "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed in an injured voice. 
 " That spoils everything." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Clementina.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CLEMENTINA motored to Lyons by herself, 
 dined in gaunt and lonely splendour at the 
 Grand Hotel, and met Etta Concannon's train 
 very early the next morning. Etta, dewy fresh after 
 her all-night train journey, threw her arms round her 
 neck and kissed her effusively. She was a heaven- 
 born darling, a priceless angel, and various other hy- 
 perbolical things. Yes, she had had a comfortable 
 journey; no trouble at all; all sorts of nice men had 
 come to her aid at the various stages. She had been 
 up since five standing in the corridor and looking at 
 the country which was fascinating. She had no idea 
 it was so full of interest. 
 
 " And did one of the nice men get up at five, too, 
 and stand in the corridor ? " asked Clementina. 
 
 The girl flushed and laughed. " How did you guess? 
 I couldn't help it. How could I? And it was quite 
 safe. He was ever so old." 
 
 " I'm glad I've got you in charge now," said Clem- 
 entina. 
 
 " I'll be so good, dear," said the girl. 
 
 The* luggage secured, they drove off. Etta's eyes 
 sparkled, as they went through the ugly, monotonous, 
 clattering streets of Lyons. 
 
 " What an adorable town ! " 
 
 As it was not even lit by the cheap glamour of the 
 sun, for the sky was overcast and threatening, it 
 looked peculiarly depressing to normal vision. But 
 youth found it adorable. O thrice blessed blindness 
 of youth! 
 
 " What has happened to Mr. Burgrave ? " she asked 
 146
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 147 
 
 after a while. " I suppose his time was up and he had 
 to go back." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Clementina coolly. " He's at 
 Vienne." 
 
 " Oh-h ! " said Etta, with a little touch of reproach. 
 " I thought it was just going to be you and I and us 
 two." 
 
 " We'll put him in front next to Johnson and have 
 the back of the car all to ourselves. But I thought you 
 liked Tommy Burgrave." 
 
 " He's quite harmless," said Etta carelessly. 
 
 " And he thinks of nothing in the world but his 
 painting, so he won't bother his head much about you," 
 said Clementina. 
 
 Etta fell at once into the trap. " I'm not go- 
 ing to let him treat me as if I didn't exist," she 
 cried. " I'm afraid you've been spoiling him, darling. 
 Men ought to be shown their place and taught how 
 to behave." 
 
 His behaviour, however, on their first meeting was 
 remarkably correct. The car, entering Vienne, drew 
 up by the side of the quay where he had pitched his 
 easel. He rose and ran to greet its occupants with the 
 most welcoming of smiles, which were not all directed 
 at Clementina. Etta had her share. It is not in the 
 nature of three-and-twenty to look morosely on so 
 dainty a daughter of Eve all the daintier by con- 
 trast with the dowdy elder woman by her side. Tom- 
 my had spoken truly when he had professed his down- 
 right honest affection for Clementina ; truly also when 
 he had deprecated the summoning of the interloping 
 damsel. But he had not counted on the effect of con- 
 trast. He had seen Etta in his mind's eye as just an 
 ordinary young woman who would disturb that har- 
 monious adjustment of artistic focus on whose discov- 
 ery he had prided himself so greatly. Now he realised
 
 i 4 8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 her freshness and dewiness and goodness to look upon. 
 She adorned the car; made quite a different vehicle of 
 it. Standing by the door he noticed how passers-by 
 turned round and glanced at her with the frank ad- 
 miration of their race. Tommy at once felt himself to 
 be an enviable fellow; he was going to take a great 
 pride in her; at the lowest, as a mere travelling ad- 
 junct, she did him credit. Clementina watched him 
 shrewdly, and the corners of her mouth curled in an 
 ironical twist. 
 
 " It isn't my fault, Miss Concannon, that I didn't 
 come to Lyons to meet you. Clementina wouldn't let 
 me. You know what a martinet she is. So I was here 
 all last evening simply languishing in loneliness." 
 
 " Why wouldn't you let poor Mr. Burgrave come to 
 Lyons, Clementina ? " laughed Etta. 
 
 "If you begin to pester me with questions," replied 
 Clementina, " I'll pack you off to England again." 
 
 " All enquiries to be addressed to the courier," said 
 Tommy. 
 
 " And you'll answer them ? " 
 
 " Every one," said Tommy. 
 
 Thus the freemasonry of youth was at once estab- 
 lished between them. Etta smiled sweetly on him as 
 the car drove off to the hotel, and Tommy returned to 
 his easel with the happy impression that everything, 
 especially the intervention of interloping damsels, was 
 for the best in this best of all possible worlds. 
 
 They met shortly afterwards at dejeuner, the 
 brightest of meals, whereat Etta talked her girlish 
 nonsense, which Tommy took for peculiarly sparkling 
 discourse. Clementina, wearing the mask of the in- 
 dulgent chaperon, let the babble flow unchecked. 
 
 "Do you think Etta will spoil everything?" she 
 asked him as soon as they were alone for a moment.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 149 
 
 " Oh, no," cried the ingenuous Tommy. " She's 
 going to be great fun." 
 
 "H'm!" said Clementina, feeling as though she 
 might make the historic reply of the frog at whom the 
 boys threw stones. But she had deliberately brought 
 about the lapidation. She winced; but she could not 
 complain. 
 
 It must not be imagined, however, that Tommy 
 transferred his allegiance in youth's debonair, thought- 
 less way to the newer and prettier princess. On the 
 contrary, in all the little outward shows of devotion 
 he demonstrated himself more zealously than ever to 
 be Clementina's vassal. In the excursions that they 
 made during the next few days keeping Vienne as a 
 base to La Tour du Pin, Grenoble, Saint-Marcellin, 
 Mont-Pilat it was to Clementina that he turned and 
 pointed out the beauties of the road, and her unsteady 
 footsteps that he guided over rough and declivitous 
 paths. To her he also turned for serious conversa- 
 tion. The flowers and The New York Herald came to 
 her room as unfailingly as the morning coffee. He 
 manifested the same tender solicitude as to her possible 
 sufferings from hunger, drought, dust or fatigue. He 
 paid her regal honour. In this he was aided and abet- 
 ted by Etta Concannon, who had her own pretty ways 
 of performing homage. In fact, the care of Clemen- 
 tina soon became at once a rivalry and a bond between 
 them, and Clementina, so far from being neglected, 
 found herself the victim of emulous and sometimes 
 embarrassing ministrations. As she herself phrased it 
 in a moment of bitter irony, they were making love 
 over her live body. 
 
 They left Vienne, Tommy having made sufficient 
 studies for immortal studio paintings, and took up their 
 quarters at Valence. There is a spaciousness about
 
 150 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Valence rare in provincial towns of France. You 
 stand in the middle of wide boulevards, the long vista 
 closed at one end by the far blue tops of the moun- 
 tains of the Vivarais, and at the other by the distant 
 Alps, and you think you are dwelling in some sweet 
 city in the air. In the clear sunshine it is as bright 
 and as crisp as a cameo. 
 
 " I love Vienne, but I adore Valence," said Etta 
 Concannon. " Here I can breathe." 
 
 They were sitting on the terrace of a cafe in the 
 Place de la Republique in front of the great monu- 
 ment to Emile Augier. It was the cool of the even- 
 ing, and a fresh breeze came from the mountains. 
 
 " I, too, am glad to get out of Vienne," said Clem- 
 entina. 
 
 Tommy protested. " That's treason, Clementina. 
 We had such ripping times there. Do you remember 
 the evening I fetched you out to see the Temple of 
 Augustus and Livia ? " 
 
 Clementina gave one of her non-committal grunts. 
 She did indeed remember it. But for that night the 1 
 three of them would not have been sitting together 
 over coffee at Valence. 
 
 " Tommy's so sentimental," Etta remarked. 
 
 " Since when have you been calling him ' Tom- 
 my ' ? " asked Clementina. 
 
 " We fixed that up this afternoon," he said cheer- 
 fully. " ' Mr. Burgrave ' suggests an afternoon party 
 where one carts tea and food about not a chummy 
 motor tour." 
 
 " We agreed to adopt each other as cousins," said 
 Etta. 
 
 " We were kind of lonely, you know," laughed 
 Tommy. " We happen to have no cousins of our own, 
 and, besides, you deserted us to-day, and we felt like 
 two abandoned babes in the car."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 151 
 
 " I don't think you were much to be pitied," said 
 Clementina. 
 
 In pursuance of her scheme of self-annihilation she 
 had several times sent them out on jaunts together, 
 while she herself went for a grim walk in the dust and 
 heat. This afternoon Etta had returned radiant. She 
 had had the time of her life, and Tommy was the dear- 
 est thing that ever happened. Etta was addicted to 
 the hyperbole of her generation. At dinner Tommy 
 had admitted the general amenity of their excursion 
 to Valence Crest and now came the avowal of the 
 establishment of their cousinly and intimate relations. 
 The scheme was succeeding admirably. How could it 
 fail ? Throw together two bright, impressionable and 
 innocent young humans of opposite sexes, and of the 
 same social position, link them by a common tie, let 
 them spend hours in each other's company, withdraw 
 the ordinary restrictions that limit the intercourse of 
 such beings in everyday society, bathe them in sun- 
 shine and drench their souls with beauty, and you 
 have the Garden of Eden over again, the Serpent be- 
 ing replaced by his chubby and winged successor. The 
 result is almost inevitable. But you can withdraw with 
 certainty the qualifying adverb, when one of the po- 
 tentially high contracting parties has been suffering 
 from heart-scratch, and has announced her intention 
 of becoming a hospital nurse. 
 
 I am quite aware that in the eyes of the world 
 Clementina's conduct was outrageous. Etta was the 
 only child of a wealthy admiral ; Tommy, a penniless 
 painter. Admiral Concannon had confidently en- 
 trusted his daughter to her care and had not the least 
 idea of what was going on. When the disastrous story 
 should reach his ears, he would foam righteously at 
 the mouth, and use, with perfect justification, the most 
 esoteric of quarter-deck language. I do not attempt
 
 .152 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 to defend Clementina. All the same, you must re- 
 member that in Tommy Burgrave she was giving to 
 Etta as a free gift her most priceless possession. 
 Tommy in her eyes was the real Prince Charming 
 at present, as often happens in fairy tales, under a 
 cloud, but destined in real life, as in the fairy tales, to 
 come, by a speedy wave of the magic wand, into his 
 principality. As to the waving of the magic wand, 
 she had her own ideas. She was quite prepared to 
 weather the admiral's storm. 
 
 " There was never anything so sudden but the fight 
 of two rams," is Rosalind's startling description of the 
 courtship between Oliver and Celia. These lovers, 
 however, were Elizabethans who did things in a large, 
 splendid and unhesitating way. The case with Tommy 
 and Etta, who were moderns, governed by all kinds of 
 subtleties and delicacies, three centuries' growth, was 
 not quite so instantaneous. The ordinary modern 
 youth and maiden, of such clean upbringing, walk 
 along together, hand in hand in perfect innocence, for 
 a long time, never realising that they are in love with 
 one another till something happens. The maiden may 
 be sent into the country by an infuriated mother. 
 Hence revelation with anguish. The indiscreet jest- 
 ing of a friend, a tragedy causing both to come hard 
 against the bed-rock facts of life, may shatter the 
 guileless shell of their love. I know of two young 
 things who came by the knowledge through bumping 
 their heads together beneath a table while searching- 
 for a fallen penny. A shock, a jar is afl that is needed. 
 But with Tommy and Etta nothing yet had happened. 
 They walked along together sweetly imagining them- 
 selves to be fancy-free. If the truth were known it 
 would be found that the main subject of their conver- 
 sation was Clementina. 
 
 When the time came for them to leave the cafe.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 1531 
 
 Tommy helped both ladies to put on their jackets. 
 The human warmth of the crowded terrace sheltered 
 from the mountain breeze by the awnings had ren- 
 dered wraps unnecessary. But outside they discovered 
 the air to be chill. Clementina first was invested 
 with the slightest hint of hurry. She turned and saw 
 Tommy snatch Etta's jacket from a far too ready 
 waiter's hand. In his investiture of Etta there was 
 the slightest hint of lingering. In the nice adjust- 
 ment of the collar their fingers touched. The girl 
 raised laughing eyes which he met tenderly. A knife 
 was thrust through Clementina's heart, and she closed 
 her thin lips tightly to dissimulate the pain. 
 
 Etta came into her room that night under the vague 
 pretence of playing maid and helping her to undress. 
 Her aid chiefly consisted in sitting on the bed and 
 chattering out of a birdlike happiness. 
 
 " It's all just heaven," she declared. " I wish I 
 could show you how grateful I am. I've had nothing 
 like it all my life. When I get home I won't rest till 
 I've teased father into getting a car he's so old-fash- 
 ioned, you know, and thinks his fat old horses and the 
 family omnibus make up the only equipage for a gen- 
 tleman. But I'll worry him into a car, and then we'll 
 go all over Europe. But it won't be quite the same 
 without without you, Clementina, dear." 
 
 Clementina wriggled into an old flannel dressing 
 jacket and began to roll a cigarette. 
 
 " I thought you were going to be a hospital nurse." 
 
 " So did I," said the girl, a shadow flitting swiftly 
 over her face. " But I don't seem to want to now. 
 I should hate it." 
 
 " What has made you change your mind ? " asked 
 Clementina, after the first puff of smoke. 
 
 Etta, on the bed, nursed her knee. Her fair hair fell 
 in a mass about her shoulders. She looked the picture
 
 154 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 of innocence a female child Samuel out of an illus- 
 trated Family Bible. 
 
 " The sight of you, darling, at Lyons Station." 
 
 " Little liar! " murmured Clementina. 
 
 But she forebore to question the girl further. She 
 had no intention of supplying the necessary shock 
 above mentioned. The observance of the gradual 
 absorption of these two young souls one in the other 
 was far too delicious an agony to be wantonly broken. 
 Besides, it hardened her nature (so she fondly im- 
 agined) dried up the newly found well-head of pas- 
 sion, reduced the soft full woman back to the stony- 
 hearted, \vooden-faced, bitter-tongued, cynical, por- 
 trait-painting automaton, the enviable, self-mutilated 
 Clementina of a few months ago. When a woman 
 wants to punish herself she does so conscientiously. 
 The offending Eve should be thoroughly whipped out 
 of her. 
 
 The car of thirty-five million dove-power sped 
 through the highways of sunny France through en- 
 chanted forest glades, over mountains of the moon, 
 through cities of wonderland, so, at least, it seemed 
 to two young souls. For Clementina, alas ! the glamour 
 of sky and sunshine and greenery had departed. For 
 Johnson, happy possessor of a carburation in lieu of 
 a temperament, it had never existed. From Valence 
 they struck north-west, through St. Etienne, Roanne, 
 Nevers, Bourges. It was at Bourges that she came 
 upon the two young people unawares. 
 
 She had entered, not knowing where they were, for 
 they had gone off together, the cloistered courtyard of 
 the Hotel de Jacques Cceur. Now the cloister forms 
 an arcaded gallery a few feet above the ground, which 
 is reached by a flight of steps. She heard voices, ap- 
 proached hidden from them, beheld the pair sitting on 
 the bottom step, in the cool shadow.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 155 
 
 " I should never get the whole adorableness of this," 
 said Tommy, " if I hadn't you beside me. You and I 
 seem to be like the two barrels of a field-glass ad- 
 justed to one focus." 
 
 Clementina, hugging the wall, tip-toed out of the 
 cloister. There was only one alternative, a whirlwind, 
 a hurricane of a temptation which she was strong 
 enough to resist: to descend then and there and box 
 his ears soundly.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHILE Clementina, in her own fashion, was 
 shattering an idyll to pieces, Quixtus, under 
 the tutelage of Billiter, pursued the most 
 distasteful occupation in which he had ever engaged. 
 Had some Rhadamanthine Arbiter of his Destiny com- 
 pelled him, under penalty of death, to choose between 
 horse-racing and laborious practice as a solicitor, he 
 would unhesitatingly have chosen the latter. Course 
 and stand and paddock and ring, the whole machinery 
 of the sport, wearied him to exasperation. Just as 
 there are some men to whom, as the saying goes, music 
 is the most expensive form of noise, so are there 
 others to whom the racing of horses is merely the most 
 extravagantly cumbersome form of gambling. Why 
 train valuable animals, they ask, to run round a field, 
 when the same end could be attained by making little 
 leaden horses gyrate mechanically round a disk, at a 
 millionth part of the cost? Of the delight of study- 
 ing pedigree, of following form, of catching the pre- 
 cious trickles of information that percolate through 
 the litter of stables, of backing their judgment thus 
 misguided they have no notion. They cannot even 
 feel a thrill of excitement at the sight of the far-off 
 specks of galloping horses. They wonder at the fu- 
 tility of it all as the quadrupeds scrabble down the 
 straight. An automobile, they plead, can go ten times 
 as fast. That such purblind folk exist is sad ; but after 
 all they are God's creatures, just the same as jockeys 
 and professional tipsters. 
 
 156
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 157 
 
 At first there was one feature of the race-course 
 which fascinated Quixtus the ring. Then he imag- 
 ined he had come into contact with incarnate evil. 
 Those coarse animal faces, swollen with the effort of 
 bawling the odds, those hard greedy eyes bulging from 
 purple cheeks, those voices raucous, inhuman, sug- 
 gested to his mild fancy a peculiarly depraved corner 
 of Tophet. But what practical evil resulted from this 
 Masque of Hades was not quite apparent. Nobody 
 seemed any the worse. The bookmaker smiled widely 
 on those who won, and those who lost smiled on the 
 world with undaunted cheerfulness. So, in the course 
 of time, Quixtus began to regard the bookmakers with 
 feelings of disappointment, which gave place after a 
 while to indifference, and eventually to weariness and 
 irritation. 
 
 Even Old Joe Jenks, thick-necked, fishy-eyed vil- 
 lain, to whom Billiter personally introduced him, 
 proved himself, in all his dealings, to be a scrupulously 
 honest man. The turf, in spite of its depressing ugli- 
 ness, appeared but a manoeuvring ground for the dull 
 virtues. Where was its wickedness? He complained 
 at length to Billiter. 
 
 Billiter seemed for the moment to be in a bad hu- 
 mour. He tugged at his heavy moustache. 
 
 " I don't see what fault you can find with racing. 
 You're making a very good thing out of it." 
 
 Which was true. Fortune, who had played him such 
 scurvy tricks, was now turning on him her sunniest 
 smile. He was winning prodigiously, fantastically. 
 Billiter selected the horses which he was to back, he 
 backed them to the amount advised by Billiter, and 
 in most instances the horses won. 
 
 "If you think the mere gaining of money gives me 
 any pleasure, my dear Billiter," said he, " you're very 
 much mistaken. I have sufficient means of my own to
 
 158 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 satisfy my modest requirements, and to accept large 
 sums of money from your friend, Mr. Jenks, is hu- 
 miliating and repulsive." 
 
 "If that's the matter, you can turn them over to 
 me," said Billiter. " I don't get much out of the busi- 
 ness." 
 
 They were walking about the paddock, between the 
 races. Quixtus halted and regarded his morose com- 
 panion with cold enquiry. 
 
 " You gave me to understand that you were betting 
 on the same horses as I was." 
 
 Billiter cursed himself for an incautious fool. 
 
 " Only now and then," said he, " and for small 
 stakes. How can I afford to plunge like you ? " 
 
 " What is the dismal quadruped I am betting on for 
 this next race ? " asked Quixtus, looking at his card. 
 
 " Punchinello. Forty- five to one. Dead cert." 
 
 " Then," said Quixtus, " here are five pounds. Put 
 them on Punchinello and if he wins you will have two 
 hundred and twenty-five." 
 
 Billiter left him, made his way out of the paddock 
 to that part of the race-course where the outside book- 
 makers have their habitation. Old Joe Jenks, in the 
 flaming check suit and a white hat adorned with his 
 name and quality, stood on a stool shouting the odds, 
 taking bets and giving directions to the clerk at his 
 side. Business for a moment was slack. 
 
 " Another fiver for the governor on Punchinello," 
 said Billiter. 
 
 Old Joe Jenks jumped from his stool and took Bil- 
 liter aside. 
 
 " Look here, old friend," said he, " chuck it. Come 
 off it. I'm not playing any more. I poured a couple 
 of quarts of champagne over your head because you 
 told me you had got hold of a mug, and instead of the 
 mug you bring up a ruddy miracle who backs every
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 159 
 
 wrong 'un at a hundred to one and romps in. And 
 thinking you straight, Mr. Billiter, sir, I've stretched 
 out the odds to oblige you. And you've damn well 
 landed me. It's getting monotonous. See? I'm 
 tired." 
 
 " It's not my fault, Joe," said Billiter humbly. 
 " Look. Just an extra fiver on Punchinello. He's got 
 no earthly you know that as well as I do." 
 
 " Do I ? " growled the bookmaker angrily, convinced 
 that Billiter was over-reaching him. " How do I know 
 what you know ? You want to have it both ways, do 
 you? Well, you won't get it out of me." 
 
 " I swear to God, Joe," said Billiter earnestly, " that 
 I'm straight. So little did I expect him to win that 
 I've not asked a penny commission." 
 
 " Then ask it now, and be hanged to you," cried the 
 angry bookmaker, and leaping back to his stool, he re- 
 sumed his brazen-throated trade. 
 
 Billiter kept his five-pound note, unwilling to risk it 
 with another bookmaker on the laughing-stock of a 
 Punchinello, and sauntered away moodily. He was a 
 most injured man. Old Joe Jenks doubted his good 
 faith. Now, was there a single horse selected for his 
 patron to back upon which any student of racing out- 
 side a lunatic asylum would have staked money? Not 
 one. He could lay his hand on his honest heart and 
 swear it. And had he staked a penny on his selec- 
 tions ? No. He could swear to that, too. He had not 
 (fool that he was) asked Quixtus for a commission. 
 Through his honourable dealing he was a poor man. 
 The thought was bitter. He had run straight with 
 Jenks. It was not his fault if the devil had got into 
 the horses so that every shocking outsider backed by 
 Quixtus revealed ultra-equine capacities. What could 
 a horse do against the superhorse? Nothing. What 
 could Billiter himself do? Nothing. Except have a.
 
 160 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 drink. In the circumstances it was the only thing to 
 do. He went into the bar of the grand stand and or- 
 dered a whisky and soda. It sizzled gratefully down 
 a throat burning with a sense of wrong. His moral 
 tone restored, he determined to live in poverty no 
 more for the sake of a quixotic principle, and, pro- 
 ceeding to a ready-money bookmaker of his acquaint- 
 ance, pulled out his five-pound note, and backed Rose- 
 mary, a certain winner (such was his private and in- 
 fallible information) at eight to one. This duty to 
 himself accomplished, he went to the grand stand to 
 view the race, leaving Quixtus to do that which 
 seemed best to him. 
 
 The bell rang, the course was cleared, the numbers 
 put up; the horses cantered gaily past. At the sight 
 of Rosemary, a shiny bay in beautiful condition, Bil- 
 liter's heart warmed; at the sight of Punchinello, a 
 scraggy crock who had never won a race in his in- 
 glorious life, Billiter sniffed scornfully. If Old Joe 
 Jenks was such a fool as to refuse a free gift of two 
 pounds ten they had agreed to halve the spoils the 
 folly thereof lay entirely on Old Joe Jenks's head. 
 
 The start was made. For a long time the horses 
 ran in a bunch. Then Rosemary crept ahead. Bil- 
 liter's moustache beneath the levelled field-glasses be- 
 trayed a happy smile. Rosemary increased her lead. 
 At the turn into the straight, something happened. 
 She swerved and lost her stride. Three others dashed 
 by, among them the despised Punchinello. They 
 passed the post in a flash, Punchinello first. Billiter 
 murmured things at which the world, had it heard 
 them, would have grown pale, and again sought the 
 bar. Emerging thence he went in quest of his patron. 
 He had not far to go. Quixtus sat on a wooden chair 
 at the back of the grand stand reading a vellum cov- 
 ered Elzevir duodecimo edition of Saint Augustine's
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 161 
 
 Confessions. When Billiter approached he rose and 
 thrust the volume into the tail pocket of his frock-coat. 
 
 " Was that a race? " he asked. 
 
 " Race. Of course it was. The race. Didn't you 
 see it ? " 
 
 ' Thank goodness, no," said Quixtus. " Did any 
 horse win? " 
 
 The sodden and simple wit of Billiter rose like a 
 salmon at this gaudy fly of irony. He lost his temper. 
 
 " Your damned, spavined, bow-legged, mule-begot- 
 ten crock of a Punchinello won." 
 
 Quixtus regarded him mildly ; but a transient gleam 
 of light flickered in his china-blue eyes. 
 
 " Then, my dear Billiter," said he, " I have won 
 nine hundred pounds, which, in view of my opinion 
 of the turf, based on experience, I think I shall hand 
 over to the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel 
 to be earmarked for the conversion of the Mahom- 
 medans in Mecca. As for you, Billiter, you have won 
 two hundred and twenty-five pounds " Billiter quiv- 
 ered with sub-aspirate anathema " which ought to 
 satisfy the momentary cupidity of any man. Let us 
 go. The more I see of it the more am I convinced 
 that the race-course is no place for me. It is too 
 good." 
 
 Billiter glanced at him with wrathful suspicion. Was 
 he speaking in childish simplicity or in mordant sar- 
 casm? The grave, unsmiling face, the expressionless 
 blue eyes gave him no clue. 
 
 Thus, however, ended Quixtus's career on the Turf. 
 To stand about wearily in all weathers in order to 
 witness what, to his fastidious mind was merely a dull 
 and vulgar spectacle, was an act of self-sacrifice from 
 which he derived no compensating thrill. The injured 
 Billiter having patched up a peace with Old Joe Jenks, 
 convincing him of his own ingenuousness and of the
 
 1 62 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 inevitable change in his patron's luck, in vain per- 
 suaded Quixtus to resume his investigations. He of- 
 fered to introduce him to a fraternity of so-called 
 commission agents and touts, in whose company he 
 could saturate himself with vileness. 
 
 " I have no taste for disgusting society," said 
 Quixtus. 
 
 " Then I don't know what the deuce you do want," 
 exclaimed Billiter in a fume. 
 
 " You can't touch pitch without being defiled." 
 
 " I thought that was just what you were trying to 
 be." 
 
 " In one way, yes," replied Quixtus, musingly ; " but 
 I loathe touching the pitch." 
 
 In spite of his confessed belief in the altruistic 
 purity of the turf, he regarded as unspeakable defile- 
 ment the cheques which he had received from Old Joe 
 Jenks. He had kept them in his drawer, and the more 
 he looked at them the more did the bestial face of Old 
 Joe Jenks obtrude itself before his eyes, and the more 
 repugnant did it become to his now abnormal fas- 
 tidiousness to pay them into his own banking account. 
 To destroy them, as was his first impulse, merely 
 signified a benefit conferred on the odious Jenks, who 
 would be only too glad to repocket his filthy money. 
 What should he do? At last a malignant idea oc- 
 curred to his morbidly and curiously working mind. 
 He would cast all this pitch and defilement upon an- 
 other's head. Some one else should shiver with the 
 disgust of it. But who? The inspiration came from Tar- 
 tarus. He endorsed the cheques to the value of nearly 
 two thousand pounds, and paid them into the banking 1 
 account of his nephew, Tommy Burgrave. 
 
 He would be as diabolically and defiledly wicked as 
 you please, but the intermediary pitch he would not 
 touch.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 163 
 
 That was his attitude towards all the suggestions 
 for wickedness laid before him by his three counsel- 
 lors. They, for their part, although they recognised 
 great advantage in fostering the gloomy humour of 
 their mad patron, began to be weary in evil-doing. 
 After they had taxed their invention for an attractive 
 scheme of villainy, they found that it either came 
 within the tabooed category of crime or, by its lack of 
 refinement, failed to commend itself to the sensitive 
 scholar. They were at their wits' end. The only one 
 to whose proposal Quixtus turned an attentive ear was 
 Huckaby, who had suggested the heart-breaking ex- 
 pedition through the fashionable resorts of Europe. 
 And, to the credit of Huckaby, be it here mentioned 
 that, beyond certain fantastical and mocking sugges- 
 tions, such as the devastation of old women's wards 
 in workhouses by means of an anonymous Christmas 
 gift of nitroglycerine plum-puddings, this was the only 
 serious proposal he submitted. Anxious, however, lest 
 the idea should lose its attraction, he urged Quixtus to 
 start immediately. It is not every day that a down- 
 at-heel wastrel has the opportunity of luxurious foreign 
 travel, to say nothing of the humorous object of this 
 particular excursion. But Quixtus, very sensibly, 
 pointed out to his eager follower that the fashionable 
 resorts of Europe, save the great capitals, are empty 
 during the months of May and June, and that it would 
 be much better to postpone their journey until August 
 filled them with the thousand women waiting to have 
 their hearts broken. 
 
 Vandermeer, unemployed since his embassy to Tom- 
 my Burgrave, unsuccessful in his suggestions and en- 
 vious of Billiter and Huckaby, at last hit upon an in- 
 genious idea. He brought Quixtus a dirty letter. It 
 ran:
 
 1 64 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " DEAR MR. VANDERMEER : You, who were an old 
 friend of my husband's in our better days and know 
 how valiantly I have struggled to keep the home to- 
 gether, can't you help me now? I am ill in bed, my 
 children are starving. The little ones are lying now 
 even too weak to cry out for bread. It would break a 
 wolf's heart to see them. If you can't help me, for 
 I know how things are with you, can't you bring my 
 case before your rich friend, Mr. Quixtus, of whose 
 kindness and generosity you have so often spoken? . . . 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " EMILY WELLGOOD/' 
 
 It bore the address " 2 Transiter Street, Clerkenwell 
 Read, N.W." 
 
 " What do you bring me this for? " asked Quixtus 
 as soon as he had read it. 
 
 " I am satisfying my own conscience as far as Mrs. 
 Wellgood is concerned," replied Vandermeer, " and 
 at the same time giving you an opportunity of being 
 wicked. It's a genuine case. You can let them die of 
 starvation." 
 
 Quixtus leaned back in his chair and gave the mat- 
 ter his consideration. Vandermeer had interrupted him 
 in the midst of a paper which he was writing to con- 
 trovert a new theory as to the juxtaposition of the 
 palaeolithic and neolithic tombs at Solutre, and he re- 
 quired time to fetch back his mind from the quaternary 
 age to the present day. The prospect of a whole fam- 
 ily perishing of hunger by an act, as it were, of his 
 will, pleased his fancy. 
 
 " Very good. Very good, Vandermeer. Let them 
 starve," said he. " Let them starve," he murmured 
 to himself as he took up his pen. 
 
 Vandermeer, hanging about, hinted at payment for
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 165 
 
 the service rendered. Quixtus met his crafty eyes with 
 equal cunning. 
 
 " You would be too soft hearted you would give 
 them some of the money. Wait till some of them are 
 dead." He rolled the last words delectably round his 
 tongue. " And now, my dear Vandermeer, I'm very 
 busy. Many thanks and good-bye." 
 
 Vandermeer left reluctantly and Quixtus resumed 
 his work. 
 
 " The bizygomatic transverse diameter," he wrote, 
 putting down the beginning of the sentence that was 
 in his head when Vandermeer was announced. He 
 paused. He had lost the thread of his ideas. It was 
 a subtle argument depending on the comparative meas- 
 urements of newly discovered skulls. He threw down 
 his pen impatiently, and in mild and gentlemanly lan- 
 guage anathematised Vandermeer. He attacked the 
 bizygomatic transverse diameter again; but the starv- 
 ing family occupied his thoughts. Presently he aban- 
 doned work for the morning and gave himself up to 
 the relish of his wickedness. It had a delicious flavour. 
 Practically he was slaying mother and babes, while he 
 stood outside the ordinary repulsive and sordid cir- 
 cumstances of murder. Vandermeer should have his 
 reward. After lunch, he felt impelled to visit them. 
 A force stronger than a strong inclination to return 
 to his paper led him out of the front door and into a 
 taxi-cab summoned from the neighbouring rank. He 
 promised himself the thrill of gloating over the suf- 
 ferings of his victims. Besides, the letter contained a 
 challenge. " It would break a wolf's heart to see 
 them." He would show the writer that his heart was 
 harder than any wolf's. Instinctively his hand sought 
 the waistcoat pocket in which he kept his loose gold. 
 Yes; there were three sovereigns. He smiled. It 
 would be the finished craft of devildom to lay them
 
 1 66 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 out on a table before the woman's hungering and rav- 
 ished eyes and then, with a merciless chuckle, to pocket 
 them again and walk out of the house. 
 
 " I will not be a fool," he asserted, as the taxi-cab 
 entered the Clerkenwell Road. 
 
 The taxi-cab driver signed that he wished to com- 
 municate with his fare. Quixtus leaned forward over 
 the door. 
 
 " Do you know where Transiter Street is, Sir? " 
 
 Quixtus did not. Does any easy London gentleman 
 know the mean streets in the purlieus of Clerkenwell? 
 But, oddly enough, a milkman of the locality knew not 
 Transiter Street, either. Nor did a policeman on duty. 
 Nor did a postman. Perplexed, Quixtus drove to the 
 nearest District Post Office and made enquiries. There 
 was no such street in Clerkenwell at all. He con- 
 sulted the Post Office London Directory. There was 
 no such street as Transiter Street in London. 
 
 Quixtus drove home in an angry mood. Once more 
 he had been deceived Vandermeer had invented the 
 emaciated family for the sake of the fee. Did the 
 earth hold a more abandoned villain? He grimly set 
 about devising some punishment for his disingenuous 
 counsellor. Nothing adequate occurred to him till 
 some days afterwards when Vandermeer sent him an- 
 other forged letter announcing the demise, in horrible 
 torment, of the youngest child. He took up his pen 
 and wrote as follows: 
 
 " MY DEAR VANDERMEER : I am sending Mrs. Well- 
 good the burial expenses. I have also enclosed a 
 cheque for yourself. Will you kindly go to Transiter 
 Street and claim it ? For the present I have no further 
 need of you, 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 " EPHRAIM QUIXTUS/'
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 167 
 
 He posted the letter himself on his way to lunch at 
 the club, where Wonnacott remarked on his high' good 
 humour. 
 
 Since the discontinuance of the Tuesday dinners 
 (for they were not resumed after the establishment 
 of the new relations), Huckaby, Billiter, and Vander- 
 meer had contracted the habit of meeting once a week 
 in the bar-parlour of a quiet tavern for a companion- 
 able fuddle. There they exchanged views on religion 
 and alcohol, and related unveracious (and uncredited) 
 anecdotes of their former high estate. Jealous of each 
 other, however, they spoke little of Quixtus, and then 
 only in general terms. The poor gentleman was still 
 distraught. It was a sad case, causing them to wag 
 their heads sorrowfully and order another round of 
 whisky. 
 
 But one evening of depression, Quixtus having for 
 some time refused their ministrations, and pockets 
 having become woefully empty, they talked with 
 greater freedom of their respective dealings with their 
 patron. Vandermeer related the practical joke he had 
 played upon him; Billiter described his astounding 
 luck, and his crazy reason for retiring from the turf; 
 and Huckaby, by way of illustrating the unbalanced 
 state of Quixtus's mind, confided to them the project 
 of breaking a woman's heart. 
 
 " What are you going to get out of it? " asked Van- 
 dermeer brutally, for the first time breaking through 
 the pretence that they were three devoted friends 
 banded together to protect the poor mad gentleman's 
 interests. 
 
 Huckaby raised a protesting hand. " My dear 
 Van!" 
 
 " Oh, drop it," cried Vandermeer. " You make me 
 tired." He repeated the question. 
 '," Simply amusement. What else?" said Huckaby.
 
 i68 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 They wrangled foolishly for a while. At last Bil- 
 liter, who had remained silent, brought his fist down, 
 with a bang, on the table. 
 
 " I've got an idea," said he. " Have you any par- 
 ticular woman in view ? " 
 
 " Lord, no," said Huckaby. 
 
 " I can put you on to one," said Billiter. " No need 
 to go abroad. She's here in London." 
 
 Huckaby called him uncomplimentary names. The 
 Continental trip, as far as he was concerned, was the 
 essence of the suggestion; the capture of the wild 
 goose a remote consideration. 
 
 " Besides, old man," said he, " this is my show." 
 
 Billiter looked glum. After all, the idea was of no 
 great value. Vandermeer's cunning brain began to 
 work. He asked Billiter for a description of the lady. 
 
 " She's the widow of an old pal of mine," replied 
 Billiter. " Lady and all that sort of thing. Her hus- 
 band, poor old chap, came to grief Dragoon Guards 
 in the running for a title went it too hot, you know 
 died leaving her with nothing at all. She has pulled 
 through, somehow lives in devilish good style, 
 dresses expensively, and has the cleverness to hang on 
 to her social position. Damned nice woman but as 
 for her heart, you could go at it with a pickaxe with- 
 out risk of breaking it. I thought she would just suit 
 the case." 
 
 " Where does the money come from to live in good 
 style and dress expensively ? " asked Huckaby. 
 
 " Billiter thinks it might just as well come from 
 Quixtus as from any one else. Don't you, Billiter ? " 
 
 Billiter nodded sagaciously and gulped down some 
 whisky and water. 
 
 " And then we'd all stand in," cried Vandermeer. 
 
 " That may be all very well in its way," said Huck-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 169 
 
 al>y, " but I'm not going to give up my one chance of 
 getting abroad." 
 
 " Go abroad then," retorted Vandermeer. " If the 
 lady is of the kind I take her to be, she won't mind 
 crossing the Channel when she knows there's a golden 
 feathered coot in Boulogne just dying to moult in her 
 hand." 
 
 " You are crude and vulgar in your ideas, Van," 
 said Huckaby. " Gentlemen of Quixtus's position no 
 more go to Boulogne for a holiday than they frequent 
 Ramsgate boarding-houses. And they don't give large 
 sums of money to expensively dressed ladies with con- 
 jecturable means of support." 
 
 " He's such a fool that he would never guess any- 
 thing," argued Vandermeer. 
 
 " Hold on," said Billiter, " you're on the wrong 
 tack altogether. I told you she was a lady." His 
 manner changed subtly, the moribund instinct of birth 
 crackling suddenly into a tiny flame. " I don't know 
 if you two quite realise what that means, but to Quix- 
 tus it would mean everything." 
 
 " I'm a sometime Fellow of Corpus Christi College, 
 Cambridge " began Huckaby, ruffled. 
 
 " Then you must have met a lady connected with 
 somebody in your damned Academy," said Billiter, 
 who had been sent down from Oxford. 
 
 " The University of Cambridge isn't an Academy," 
 said Huckaby, waxing quarrelsome. 
 
 " And a woman who subsists on gifts from her gen- 
 tlemen friends can't be a real lady," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " Oh, go to blazes, both of you! " cried Billiter an- 
 grily. 
 
 He clapped on his hat and rose. But as he had been 
 sitting in the corner of the divan, between Huckaby 
 and Vandermeer, with the table in front of him, a dig-
 
 170 
 
 nified exit was impracticable. Indeed, he was imme- 
 diately plumped down again on his seat by a tug on 
 each side of his coat, and adjured in the vernacular 
 not to stray from the paths of wisdom. 
 
 "What's the use of quarrelling?" asked Huckaby. 
 " She's a lady if you say so." 
 
 "Of course, old man," Vandermeer agreed " Have 
 a drink?" 
 
 Billiter being mollified, and the refinement of the 
 Dragoon Guardsman's widow being accepted as indis- 
 putable, a long and confidential conference took place, 
 the conspirators speaking in whispers, with heads close 
 together, although they happened to be alone in the 
 saloon-bar. It was the first time they had contem- 
 plated concerted action, the first time they had dis- 
 cussed anything of real interest; so, for the first time 
 they forgot to get fuddled. The plot was simple. Bil- 
 liter was to approach Mrs. Fontaine (at last he dis- 
 closed the lady's identity) with all the delicacy such a 
 mission demanded, and lay the proposal before her. 
 If she fell in with it she would hold herself in readiness 
 to repair to whatever Continental resort might be indi- 
 cated, and then having made herself known to Huck- 
 aby, would be introduced by him to Quixtus. The rest 
 would follow, as the night the day. 
 
 " The part I don't like about it," objected Vander- 
 meer, " is not only letting a fourth into our own pri- 
 vate concern, but giving her the lion's share. We're 
 not a syndicate of philanthropists." 
 
 " I'm by way of thinking it won't be our concern 
 much longer," replied Billiter. 
 
 " And nobody asked you to come in," said Huckaby. 
 " You can stand out if you like." 
 
 An ugly look overspread Vandermeer's foxy face. 
 
 " Oh, can I ? You see what happens if you try that 
 game on."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 171 
 
 u Besides," continued Billiter, disregarding the 
 snarl, " it will be to our advantage. Which of us is 
 going to touch our demented friend for a hundred 
 pounds? We didn't do it in former days; much less 
 now. But I'll back Mrs. Fontaine to get at least 
 three thousand out of him. Thirty per cent, is our 
 commission, without which we don't play, and that 
 gives us three hundred each. I could do with three 
 hundred myself very nicely." 
 
 " How are we to know what she gets ? " 
 
 " That's easily managed," said Huckaby, pulling his 
 ragged beard. " She'll make her returns to Billiter 
 and I'll undertake to get the figures out of Quixtus." 
 
 "But where do I come in?" asked Vandermeer. 
 " How shall I know if you two are playing 
 straight?" 
 
 " You'll have your damned head punched in a min- 
 ute," said Billiter, looking fierce. " To hear you one 
 w;ould think we were a set of crooks." 
 
 "If we aren't, what the devil are we, then? " mut- 
 tered Vandermeer bitterly. 
 
 But Billiter had turned his broad back on him and 
 did not catch the words, whereby possibly he escaped 
 a broken head. Billiter was sometimes sensitive on 
 the point of honour. He had sunk to lower depths of 
 meanness and petty villainy than the other two in 
 whom the moral sense still lingered. He would ac- 
 knowledge himself to be a " wrong 'un " because that 
 vague term connoted in his mind merely a gentleman 
 of broken fortune who was put to shifts (such as his 
 disastrous bargain with Old Joe Jenks and the present 
 conspiracy) for his living; but a crook was a common 
 thief or swindler, a member of the criminal classes, of 
 a confraternity to which he, Billiter, deemed it im- 
 possible that he could belong, especially during a 
 period like the present, when he found himself, after
 
 172 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 r 
 
 many years of dingy linen, apparelled in the gorgeous 
 raiment of his gentlemanly days. He had sunk below 
 the line of self-realisation. But the others had not 
 jVandermeer, who hitherto had merely snapped like a 
 jackal at passing food to satisfy his hunger, did not 
 'deceive himself as to what he had become. Cynical, 
 he felt no remorse. On the other hand, Huckaby, who 
 went to bed that night sober, had a bad attack of con- 
 science during the small hours and woke up next 
 morning with a headache. Whereupon he upbraided 
 , himself for his folly; first, in confiding to his com- 
 panions the project of his whimsical adventure; sec- 
 ondly, in allowing it to drift into such a despicable en- 
 tanglement ; thirdly, in associating himself with a scar- 
 let crustacean of Billiter's claw-power; and fourthly, 
 in not getting drunk. 
 
 Huckaby was nearer Quixtus than the others in edu- 
 cation and point of view. Though willing to accept 
 any alms thrown to him he was not rapacious ; he had 
 not regarded his mad and wealthy patron entirely as a 
 pigeon to be plucked; and beneath all the corruption of 
 his nature there burnt a spark of affection for the 
 kindly man who had befriended him and whose trust 
 he had betrayed. He spent most of the ineffectual day 
 in shaping a resolution to withdraw from the discredit- 
 able compact. But by the last post in the evening he 
 received a laconic postcard from Billiter : " The Foun- 
 tain plays" 
 
 The sapped will-power gave way before the march 
 of practical events. With a shrug he accepted the 
 message as a decree of destiny, and wandered forth 
 into congenial haunts, where, in one respect at least, 
 he did not repeat the folly of the previous evening.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 NOT long after this Quixtus announced to Hude- 
 aby his intention of going to Paris to attend 
 a small Congress of the Anthropological So- 
 cieties of the North- West of France, to which he, as 
 president of the Anthropological Society of London, 
 had been invited. He had gradually, in spite of his 
 preoccupation, resumed his interest in his favourite 
 pursuit, and, though he knew his learned friends to be 
 villains at heart, he enjoyed their learned and even 
 thejr lighter conversation. Human society had begun 
 to attract him again. It afforded him saturnine 
 amusement to speculate on the corruption that lay hid- 
 den beneath the fair exterior of men and women. He 
 also had a half -crazy pleasure in wearing the mask 
 himself. When he smiled in his grave and benevolent 
 manner on the woman by his side at the dinner-table, 
 how could she suspect the malignant ferocity of his 
 nature ? He was playing a part. He was fooling her 
 to the top of her bent. She went away with the im- 
 pression that she had been talking to a mild, scholarly 
 gentleman of philanthropic tendencies. She possibly 
 asked the monster to tea. He hugged himself with 
 delight. When it was a question, however, of identi- 
 fying remains of aurochs and mammoths and reindeer, 
 or establishing the date of a flint hatchet, he took the 
 matter seriously and gave it his profound attention. 
 A palaeolithic carving of a cave lion on mammoth 
 ivory recently discovered in the Seine-et-Oise was to 
 be exhibited at the Congress and form the subject of a 
 
 173
 
 174 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 paper. As soon as he heard this he accepted the in- 
 vitation with enthusiasm. The carving was supposed 
 to be the most perfect of its kind yet discovered, and 
 Quixtus burned to behold it. 
 
 Huckaby, whose financial affairs were in the saddest 
 condition and who had called with the vague hope of 
 a trifle on account of services to be rendered, pricked 
 up his ears at the announcement. Even though the 
 main heart-breaking quest was deferred to August, 
 why should they not seek a minor adventure during 
 Quixtus's visit to Paris? It would be a kind of trial 
 trip. At the suggestion Quixtus shook his head. The 
 Congress would occupy all his time and attention. 
 
 " Quite so," said Huckaby. " While you're busy 
 with prehistoric man, I'll be hunting down modern 
 woman. By the time I've found her, you'll have fin- 
 ished. Having done with the bones, you can devote a 
 few extra days to the flesh." 
 
 Quixtus winced. " That's rather an unfortunate 
 way of putting it" 
 
 " To the spirit then the Evil Spirit," said Huckaby 
 unabashed. " That is, if we discover a subject. We're 
 bound to try various experiments before we finally 
 succeed." 
 
 " I'm afraid it will be more trouble than the thing 
 is worth," said Quixtus musingly. 
 
 Here was something happening which Huckaby 
 dreaded. Quixtus was beginning to lose interest in the 
 adventure. In another month he might regard it with 
 repugnance. He must start it now with Mrs. Fontaine 
 in Paris, or the whole conspiracy must collapse. The 
 thought urged Huckaby to fresh efforts of persuasion. 
 
 " Revenge is sweet and worth the trouble," he said 
 at last. 
 
 " Yes," replied Quixtus in a low voice. " Revenge 
 would be sweet."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 175 
 
 Huckaby glanced at him swiftly. Beyond the 
 iniquity of Marrable, he was ignorant of the precise 
 nature of the injuries which Quixtus had sustained at 
 the hands of fortune. Was it possible that a woman 
 had played him false? But what had this fossil of a 
 man to do with women? 
 
 " I, too," said he, with malicious intent, " would 
 like to pay off old scores against a faithless sex. You 
 have found them faithless, haven't you ? " 
 
 Quixtus's brow darkened. " As false as hell," said 
 he. 
 
 " I knew a woman had treated you shamefully," 
 said Huckaby, after a pause during which Quixtus 
 had fallen into a dull reverie. i 
 
 " Infamously," replied Quixtus, below his breath. ! 
 He looked away into the distance, madness gathering 
 in his eyes. For the moment he seemed to forget the 
 other's presence. Huckaby took his opportunity. He 
 said in a whisper: 
 
 " She betrayed you ? " 
 
 Quixtus nodded. Huckaby watched him narrowly, 
 an absurd suspicion beginning to form itself in his 
 mind. By his chance phrase about revenge he had put 
 his friend's unsound mind on the track of a haunting 
 tragedy. Who was the woman? His wife? But she 
 had died beloved of him, and for years, until this mad- 
 ness overtook him, he had spoken of her with the rev- 
 erence due to a departed saint. It was a puzzle ; the 
 solution peculiarly interesting. How should he ob-j 
 tain it ? Quixtus was not the man to blab his intimate j 
 secrets into the ear of his hired bravo for as such | 
 he knew that Quixtus regarded him. It behooved 
 him not to change the minor key of this *conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " A man's foes," he quoted in a murmur,*.!! are everj 
 of his own household."
 
 i y6 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Quixtus nodded again three or four times, with 
 parted lips. 
 
 " His own household. Those dearest to him. The 
 woman he loved and his best friend." 
 
 In spite of his suspicion, Huckaby was astounded 
 at the inadvertent confession. In his last days of 
 grace he had known Mrs. Quixtus and the best friend. 
 Swiftly his mind went back. He remembered vaguely 
 their familiar intercourse. What was the man's name ? 
 He groped and found it. 
 
 " Hammersley," he said aloud. 
 
 At the word, Quixtus started to his feet and swept 
 his hand over his face. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? What do you know 
 against Hammersley ? " 
 
 A lurid ray shot athwart his darkened mind. He 
 realised the betrayal of his most jealously guarded se- 
 cret to Huckaby. He shrank back, growing hot and 
 cold through shame. 
 
 " Hammersley played me false over some money 
 affairs," he said cunningly. " It's a black business 
 which I will tell you about one of these days." 
 
 " And the woman ? " asked Huckaby. 
 
 " The woman she she married. I am glad to say 
 she's giving her husband a devil of a time." 
 
 He laughed nervously. Huckaby, with surprising 
 tact, followed on the wrong scent like a puppy. 
 
 " You can avenge the poor fellow and yourself at 
 the same time," said he. " Women are all alike. It's 
 right that one of them should be made to suffer. You 
 have it in your power to make one of them suffer the 
 tortures of hell." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I'll do it," cried Quixtus. 
 
 " No time like the present." 
 
 " You're right," said Quixtus. " We'll go to Paris 
 together."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 177 
 
 For the first few days in Paris Quixtus had little 
 time to devote to the secondary object of his visit. 
 The meetings and excursions of the Congress absorbed 
 his attention. His Parisian confreres took him to 
 their homes and exhibited their collections of flint in- 
 struments, their wives and their daughters. He at- 
 tended intimate dinners, the words sans ceremonie be- 
 ing underlined in the invitation, where all the men, 
 who had worn evening dress in the morning at a for- 
 mal function of the Congress, assembled in the salon 
 gravely attired in tightly-buttoned frock-coats and 
 wearing dogskin gloves which they only took off when 
 they sat down to table. His good provincial colleagues, 
 who thought they might just as well hear the chimes 
 at midnight while they were in Paris as not, insisted 
 on his accompanying them in their mild dissipation. 
 This generally consisted in drinking beer at a brasserie 
 filled with parti-coloured ladies and talking palaeolithic 
 gossip amid the bewildering uproar of a Tzigane 
 band. Now and again Huckaby, who assured him that 
 he was prosecuting his researches in the fauna of the 
 Hotel Continental, where, on Huckaby's advice, they 
 were staying, would accompany him on such adven- 
 tures. 
 
 Curiously enough, Quixtus had begun to like the 
 man again. Admitted on a social equality and dressed 
 in reputable garments, Huckaby began to lose the as- 
 sertiveness of manner mingled with furtive flattery 
 which of late had characterised him. He began to as- 
 sume an air of self-respect, even of good-breeding. 
 Quixtus noticed with interest the change wrought in 
 him by clothes and environment, and contrasted him 
 favourably with Billiter, whom new and gorgeous rai- 
 ment had rendered peculiarly offensive. There were 
 times when he could forget the sorry mission which 
 Huckaby had undertaken, and find pleasure in his con-
 
 178 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 versation. Scrupulous sobriety aided the temporary 
 metamorphosis. As he spoke French passably and had 
 retained a considerable amount of scholarship, Quix- 
 tus (to his astonishment) found that he could intro- 
 duce him with a certain pride to his brother anthro- 
 pologists, as one who would cast no discredit on his 
 country. Huckaby was quick to perceive his patron's 
 change of attitude, and took pains to maintain it. The 
 novelty, too, of mingling again with clean-living, in- 
 tellectual and kindly men afforded him a keen pleas- 
 ure which was worth a week's abstinence from whisky. 
 Whether it was worth a whole life of respectability 
 and endeavour was another matter. The present suf- 
 ficed him. 
 
 He played the scholarly gentleman so well that 
 Quixtus was not surprised, one afternoon, when pass- 
 ing through the great lounge of the Continental, to see 
 a lady rise from a tea-table and greet his companion 
 in the friendliest manner. 
 
 " Eustace Huckaby, can that possibly be you or is 
 it your ghost ? " 
 
 Huckaby bowed over the proffered hand. " What 
 an unexpected delight." 
 
 " It's years and years since we met. How 
 many ? " 
 
 " I daren't count them, for both our sakes," said 
 Huckaby. 
 
 " Why have you dropped out of my horizon for all 
 this time ? " asked the lady. 
 
 " Mea maxima culpa" He smiled, bowed in the 
 best-bred way in the world, and half turned so as to 
 bring Quixtus into the group. " May I introduce my 
 friend, Dr. Quixtus? Mrs. Fontaine." 
 
 The lady smiled sweetly. " You are Dr. Quixtus, 
 the anthropologist ? " 
 
 " I am interested in the subject," said Quixtus.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 179 
 
 " More than that. I have read your book : The 
 Household Arts of the Neolithic Age." 
 
 " An indiscretion of youth," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Oh, please don't tell me it's all wrong," cried Mrs. 
 Fontaine in alarm. " I'm always quoting it. It forms 
 part of my little stock-in-trade of learning." 
 
 " Oh, no. It's not exactly incorrect," said Quixtus, 
 with a smile, pleased that so pretty a lady should count 
 among his disciples, " but it's superficial. So much has 
 been discovered since I wrote it." 
 
 " But it's a standard work, all the same. I hap- 
 pened to see an account of the Anthropological Con- 
 gress in the paper this morning, in which you are re- 
 ferred to as the eminent anthropologue anglais and the 
 author of my book. I was so pleased. I should have 
 been more so had I known I was to meet you this aft- 
 ernoon. Have you turned anthropologist, too, Mr. 
 Huckaby?" 
 
 Huckaby explained that he was taking advantag'e 
 of the Congress to make holiday in the company of his 
 distinguished friend. That was the first afternoon the 
 Congress had allowed him leisure, and they had de- 
 voted it to contemplation of the acres of fresh paint 
 in the Grand Palais. They had come home exhausted. 
 
 " Home? Then you're staying in the hotel? " 
 : " Yes," said Huckaby. " And you? " 
 
 " I, too. And in its vastness I feel the most lone- 
 some widow woman that ever was. I'm waiting here 
 for Lady Louisa Mailing, who promised to join me ; 
 but I think something must have happened, for there 
 is no sign of her." 
 
 A waiter brought the tray with tea which she had 
 ordered before the men's entrance, and set it on the 
 basket table. Mrs. Fontaine motioned to it. 
 
 "Won't you share my solitude and join me?" 
 
 " With pleasure," said Huckaby.
 
 i8o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA' 
 
 Quixtus accepted the invitation, and with his grave 
 courtesy withdrew a chair to make a passage for Mrs. 
 Fontaine, who gave the additional order to the waiter. 
 The lounge and the courtyard were thronged with a 
 well-dressed cosmopolitan crowd, tea-drinking, smok- 
 ing, and chattering. A band discoursed discreet music 
 at a convenient distance. The scene was cool to eyes 
 tired by the vivid colours of the salon and the hot 
 streets. Quixtus sat down rest fully by the side of his 
 hostess and let her minister to his wants. He was sur- 
 prised to find how pleasant a change was the company 
 of a soft-voiced and attractive woman after that of his 
 somewhat ponderous and none too picturesque con- 
 freres. She was good to look upon, an English blonde 
 in a pale lilac dress and hat the incarnation of early 
 summer ; not beautiful, but pleasing ; at the same time 
 simple and exquisite. The arrangement of her blonde 
 hair, the fine oval contour of her face, the thin, deli- 
 cate lips, gave her an air of chastity which was 
 curiously belied by dark grey eyes dreaming be- 
 hind long lashes. All her movements, supple and nat- 
 ural, spoke of breeding; unmistakably a lady. Evi- 
 dently a friend of Huckaby's before his fall. Quixtus 
 wondered cynically whether she would have greeted 
 with such frank gladness the bloodshot-eyed scare- 
 crow of a fortnight before. From their talk, he 
 concluded that she had no idea of the man's degrada- 
 tion. 
 
 " Mr. Huckaby and I knew each other when the 
 world was young," she said. " Centuries ago in the 
 palaeolithic age before my marriage." 
 
 " Alas ! " said Huckaby, sipping the unaccustomed 
 tea. " You threw aside the injunction : arma cedant 
 toga?. In our case it was the gown that had to yield 
 to the arms. You married a soldier." 
 
 She sighed and looked down pensively at her wed-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 181 
 
 ding-ring. Then she glanced up with a laugh, and 
 handed Quixtus the bread and butter. 
 
 " Believe me, Dr. Quixtus, this is the first time I 
 ever heard of the rivalry. He only invented it for the 
 sake of the epigram. Isn't that true? " 
 
 " In one way," replied Huckaby. " I was so insig- 
 nificant that you never even noticed it." 
 
 She laughed again and turned to Quixtus. 
 
 " How long are you going to stay in Paris? " 
 
 " Just a day or two longer till the end of my Con- 
 gress." 
 
 " Oh ! How can you leave Paris when she's looking 
 her best without devoting a few days to admiring her ? 
 It's unkind." 
 
 " I'm afraid Paris must get over the slight." 
 
 " But don't you love Paris ? I do. It is so fascinat- 
 ing, dangerous, treacherous. Plunge into it for a mo- 
 ment or two and it is the Fountain of Youth. Remain 
 in the water a little longer than is prudent, and you 
 come out shrivelled and wrinkled, with all your youth 
 and beauty gone . from you." 
 
 " Perhaps I have already had my prudent plunge," 
 said Quixtus with a smile. 
 
 " I'm sure you haven't. You've been on dry land 
 all the time. Worse than that in a quaternary for- 
 mation. Have you dined at Armenonville ? " 
 
 " In my time I have ; but not this time." 
 
 " Voila," said Mrs. Fontaine. " The warm June 
 nights, the Bois in the moonlight with all its mys- 
 teries of shadow, the fairy palace in the midst of it 
 where you eat fairy things surrounded by the gaiety 
 and sparkle and laughter of the world essential and 
 symbolical Paris you disregard it all. And that is 
 only one little instance. There are a thousand others. 
 You've not even wetted your feet." 
 
 She embroidered her thesis very gracefully, clothing
 
 1 82 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 the woman of the world in a diaphanous robe of pretty 
 fancy, revealing a mind ever so little baffling, here 
 material, there imaginative a mind as contradictory 
 as her face, with its chaste contours and its alluring 
 eyes. Quixtus listened to her with amused interest. 
 She represented a type with which he, accustomed to 
 the less vivid womenfolk of the learned, was unfa- 
 miliar. Without leaving Huckaby, her girlhood's 
 friend, out in the cold, she made it delicately evident 
 that, of the two, Quixtus was the more worthy of at- 
 tention on account of his attainments and the more at- 
 tractive in his personality. Quixtus, flattered, thought 
 her a woman of great discernment. 
 
 " But you," said he at last. " Have you made your 
 plunge not that you need it into the Fountain of 
 Youth? Have you fed on the honeydew of the Bois 
 de Boulogne and drunk the milk of Armenonville ? " 
 
 " I only arrived last night," she explained. " And 
 I must remain more or less in quarantine, being an 
 unprotected woman, till my friend Lady Louisa Mall- 
 ing comes, or till my friends in Paris get to know I 
 am here. But I always like a day or two of freedom 
 before announcing myself so that I can do the fool- 
 ish things that Parisians would jeer at. I always go 
 to the Louvre and look at the little laughing Faun and 
 the Giaconda, and I always go down the Seine in a 
 steamboat, and from the Madeleine to the Bastille on 
 the top of an omnibus. Then I'm ready for my 
 plunge." 
 
 " I should have thought that bath of innocence was 
 in itself the Fountain of Youth," said Huckaby. 
 
 The least suspicion of a frown passed over Mrs. 
 Fontaine's candid brow, but she replied with a 
 smile : 
 
 " On the contrary, my friend, that is a penitential 
 dipping in the waters of the past."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 183 
 
 ",Why penitential ? " asked Quixtus. 
 
 " Isn't it wholesome discipline to give oneself pain 
 sometimes ? " Her face grew wistful. " To revisit 
 scenes where one has been happy and sharpen the 
 knife of memory? " 
 
 " It is the instinct of the ascetic," smiled Quixtus. 
 
 " I suppose I have a bit of it," she replied demurely. 
 Then her face brightened. " I don't wear a hair shirt 
 I've got to appear in an evening gown sometimes 
 but I find an odd little satisfaction in doing penance. 
 If I were a Roman Catholic I would embarrass my 
 confessor." 
 
 Huckaby's lips twitched in a smile beneath his mous- 
 tache. If all the tales that Billiter told of Lena Fon- 
 taine were true, a confessor would be exceedingly em- 
 barrassed. He regarded her with admiration. She 
 was an entirely different woman from the hard and 
 contemptuous partner in iniquity to whom Billiter had 
 introduced him before he left London. It had not 
 been a pleasant interview just the details of their 
 Paris meeting arranged, the story of their past ac- 
 quaintance rehearsed, and nothing more. Huckaby, 
 descending her stairs with Billiter, had felt as if he 
 had been whipped, and prophesied failure. She was 
 not the woman for Quixtus. But Billiter grinned and 
 bade him wait. He had waited, and now had the sat- 
 isfaction of seeing Quixtus caught immediately in the 
 gossamer web of her charm. He wondered, too, how 
 she could have maintained her relations with so unde- 
 sirable a person as Billiter, for whom he himself en- 
 tertained a profound contempt. Billiter was unusually 
 silent on the matter, letting it be vaguely understood 
 that he had been in the Dragoon Guardsman's set be- 
 fore running through his money, and that he had ac- 
 cidentally done her a service in later years. What that 
 service was he declined to mention. Huckaby sniffed
 
 1 84 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 blackmail. That was the more likely influence keeping 
 together a well-received woman of hidden life and a 
 shabby and unpresentable sot like Billiter. He remem- 
 bered that Billiter had confessed to a mysterious 
 source of income. What more natural an explanation 
 thereof than the fact that, having once surprised a 
 woman's secret and holding her reputation in his 
 hands, he should have been accepted by her, in des- 
 peration, as her paid doer of unavowable offices ? He 
 knew that a woman of Lena Fontaine's type, with an 
 assured social position in the great world, does not 
 descend into the half-world without a desperate strug- 
 gle. Her back is against the wall, and she uses any 
 weapon to hand. Hence her use of Billiter. At all 
 events, in the present case there had been no pretence 
 of friendship. To her it had obviously been a hateful 
 matter of business, which she had been anxious to 
 conclude as soon as possible. One condition she rigor- 
 ously exacted: that her acquaintance with Billiter 
 should not be revealed to Quixtus. She was not proud 
 of Billiter. Huckaby took what comfort he could 
 from the thought. 
 
 Mrs. Fontaine sat talking to the two men until the 
 tea-drinking and chattering crowd had melted away. 
 Then she rose, thanked them prettily for wasting their 
 science-filled time on an irresponsible woman's loneli- 
 ness, and expressed to Huckaby the hope that she 
 would see him again before he left Paris. 
 
 " I trust I, too, may have the pleasure," said Quix- 
 tus. 
 
 " You might lead us to the Fountain of Youth one 
 of these evenings," said Huckaby. 
 
 " It would be delightful," said the lady, with a ques- 
 tioning glance at Quixtus. 
 
 " I could dream of nothing more pleasant," he re- 
 plied, bowing in his old-fashioned way.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 185 
 
 When she had gone, the men resumed their seats. 
 Quixtus lit a cigarette. 
 
 " A very charming woman." 
 
 Huckaby agreed. " It has been one of my great re- 
 grets of the past few years that I have not been able 
 to keep up our old friendship. We moved in different 
 worlds." He paused, as if thinking sorrowfully of his 
 misspent life. " I hope you don't mind my suggesting 
 the little dinner-party," he said after a while. " My 
 position was a delicate one." 
 
 " It was a very good idea," said Quixtus. 
 
 Huckaby said little more, preferring to leave well 
 alone. The plot, up to this point, had succeeded. 
 Quixtus gave complete credence to the story, unsus- 
 pecting that Mrs. Fontaine was the woman selected 
 for his heart-breaking experiment, and already consid- 
 erably attracted by her personality. Diabolical possi- 
 bilities could be insinuated later. In the meanwhile, 
 Huckaby had played his part. Future success now 
 lay in Mrs. Fontaine's hands. 
 
 Quixtus dined that evening with one of his col- 
 leagues, and Huckaby, after a meal at a restaurant, 
 went to the Comedie Franchise and sat through Phedre 
 from beginning to end, with great enjoyment. The 
 re-awakening of his aesthetic sense, dulled for so many 
 years, surprised and gratified him. 
 
 When he met his patron the next morning he said 
 abruptly : 
 
 " If I had a chance of getting back again I'd take 
 it." 
 
 "Getting back where?" asked Quixtus. "To Lon- 
 don?" 
 
 Huckaby explained. " I'm tired of running crooked," 
 he added. " If I could only get regular work to bring 
 me in a few pounds a week, I'd run straight and sober 
 for the rest of my life."
 
 1 86 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I don't think I can help you to attain your wishes, 
 my dear Huckaby," replied Quixtus reflectively. " If 
 I did, I should be committing a good action, which, as 
 you know, is entirely against my principles." 
 
 " I don't yearn so much after goodness," said Huck- 
 aby, " as after decency and cleanliness. I've no am- 
 bition to die a white-haired saint." 
 
 " All white-haired saints are white sepulchres," said 
 Quixtus. 
 
 In spite of regenerative impulses, Huckaby per- 
 suaded his patron to lunch at the hotel where he knew 
 that Mrs. Fontaine and the newly arrived Lady Louisa 
 Mailing had planned to lunch also. The establishment 
 of informal relations was important. They entered the 
 table d'hote room, and, preceded by the maitre d'hotel, 
 marched to the table reserved for them. About six 
 tables away sat Mrs. Fontaine and her friend. She 
 smiled a pleasant greeting. 
 
 <f Women can sometimes be exceedingly decorative," 
 remarked Quixtus, helping himself to sardines. 
 
 " If they are not, they leave unfulfilled one of the 
 main functions of their existence." 
 
 " Did you ever know a good woman ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Fontaine is one of the best I've ever known," 
 I replied Huckaby at a venture. 
 
 The heart-breaking could be practised on a sweet 
 and virtuous flower of a woman with much more vil- 
 lainous success than on a hardened coquette. 
 
 Quixtus said nothing. His natural delicacy forbade 
 the discussion of a specific woman's moral attributes. 
 
 The occupants of the two tables met after lunch in 
 the lounge, and had coffee and cigarettes together. 
 The men were presented to Lady Louisa Mailing, an 
 aimless, dowdy woman of forty, running to fat. As 
 far as could be gathered from her conversation, her 
 two interests in life were Lena Fontaine and food in
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 187 
 
 restaurants. In Mrs. Fontaine's presence she spoke 
 chiefly of the latter. When Mrs. Fontaine went up to 
 her room for a forgotten powder-puff, leaving her 
 with the men, she plunged with animation into eulogy 
 of Mrs. Fontaine's virtues. In this she was sincere. 
 She believed in Mrs. Fontaine's virtues, which, like the 
 costermonger's giant strawberries, lay ostentatiously 
 at the top of her basket of qualities; and she was so 
 stupid that her friend could always dissimulate from 
 her incurious eyes the crushed and festering fruit 
 below. 
 
 " I always think it so sad for a sweet, beautiful 
 woman like Lena to be alone in the world," said Lady 
 Louisa in a soft, even voice. " But she's so brave, so 
 cheerful, so gentle." 
 
 " It's a wonder she hasn't married again," said 
 Huckaby. 
 
 " I don't think she ever will," replied Lady Louisa, 
 " unless she gets a man to understand her. And where 
 is he to be found? " 
 
 "Ah, where?" said Huckaby, to whom as Mrs. 
 Fontaine's childhood friend this talk had been mainly 
 addressed. 
 
 Lady Louisa sighed sentimentally. She was an old 
 maid, the seventh of eleven daughters of an impecuni- 
 ous Irish earl now defunct. Her face, such as it was, 
 had been her fortune, and it had attracted no suitors. 
 
 " Not that she isn't very much admired. She knows 
 hundreds of nice men, and I'm sure heaps of them 
 want to marry her ; but, no. She likes them as friends. 
 As a husband she wants something more. The mod- 
 ern man is so material and unintellectual, don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 This Diana (with a touch of Minerva) among wid- 
 ows came up, swinging the little bag of which she had 
 gone in search.
 
 1 88 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I'm sure Lady Louisa has been talking about me," 
 she laughed. 
 
 " She has not been taking away your character, I 
 assure you," said Quixtus. 
 
 " I know. She has been giving me one. And the 
 worst of it is, I have to live up to it or at least 
 try. I suppose it's always worth while having 
 an ideal before one, though it may be somebody 
 else's." 
 
 "You believe in an ideal of goodness?" asked 
 Quixtus. 
 
 She raised her dreamy eyes to his and looked at 
 him candidly. 
 
 "Why, yes, don't you?" 
 
 " No," he replied, with a darkening brow. " There 
 is only one force in nature, which is wickedness. Man 
 sometimes resists it for fear of the consequences, and 
 the measure of his cowardly resistance is by a curious 
 inversion taken by him to be the measure of his striv- 
 ing towards an ideal." 
 
 Mrs. Fontaine exclaimed warmly : " I must cure you 
 of your pessimism." 
 
 " There is only one remedy." 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 " The same as will cure the disease of life." 
 
 " You mean death ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Quixtus. 
 
 "It's a remedy; but not the only one." Her pale 
 cheeks flushed adorably. " In fact, it's only by a twist 
 of language you can call it a remedy. The only 
 remedy against the malady of life is life itself. The 
 bane is its own antidote. The only cure for loss of il- 
 lusions is fresh illusions, more illusions, and always 
 illusions." 
 
 " Supposing for argument's sake you are right 
 where are they to come from ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 189 
 
 " They form of themselves, like fresh tissue of the 
 flesh, without your volition." 
 
 " Only in healthy flesh," said Quixtus, with his 
 tired smile. " So in a gangrened soul there can be 
 built up no fresh tissue of illusions." 
 
 Womanlike, she begged the question, maintaining 
 that there was no such thing as a gangrened soul. She 
 shuddered prettily. Belief therein was a horrible su- 
 perstition. She proclaimed her faith in the ultimate 
 good of things. Quixtus said ironically: 
 
 " The ultimate good takes a long time coming. In 
 the ages in which I, as a student, am interested, men 
 slew each other with honest hatchets. Now they slay 
 by the poisoned word and the treacherous deed. The 
 development of mind has for its history the develop- 
 ment of craft and cunning, of which the supreme re- 
 sults are a religion as to whose essential tenets scarcely 
 two persons can agree, a rule of thumb arrangement 
 of purely mechanical appliances, which is the so-called 
 wonder of wireless telegraphy, and an infinite capacity 
 for cruelty which has rendered Hell a mild and futile 
 shadow in human speculation. Whatever hellishness 
 human imagination could invent as the work of devils, 
 calm history, the daily newspaper, your own experience 
 of life tells you has already been surpassed by the 
 work of man. Sometimes one is tempted to cry, like 
 Ferdinand in The Tempest, ' Hell is empty, and all the 
 devils are here ! ' But if it was, and the devils were 
 here, they would be hard put to it to find a society in 
 which they should not be compelled to hold up their 
 tails before their snouts in shame and horror. You 
 would find them meeker than the meekest of the 
 Young Men's Christian Association." 
 
 He spoke with a certain crazy earnestness which ar- 
 rested Lena Fontaine. Heartless, desperate, cynical 
 though she was, intelligent, too, and swift of brain,
 
 i 9 o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 she had never formulated to herself so disastrous a 
 philosophy. She leaned forward, an elbow on the 
 wickerwork table. 
 
 " Such a faith is dreadful," she said seriously. " It 
 reduces living among one's fellow-creatures to walk- 
 ing through a horde of savages never knowing 
 whether some one may not club you on the head or 
 stab you in the back." 
 
 " Can you ever tell whether your dearest friend isn't 
 going to stab you in the back? " asked Quixtus. 
 
 His pale blue eyes held her with a curious insistence. 
 Her eyelids flickered with something like shame as 
 though she had divined a personal application of the 
 question. She shivered ; this time naturally. 
 
 " Oh, I love to believe in goodness," she exclaimed, 
 " although I may not practise every virtue myself. 
 There would be no sunshine in a purely wicked world." 
 She plucked up courage and looked him in the face. 
 
 " Do you think I, for instance, am just one mass of 
 badness? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Fontaine," replied the pessimist, 
 with his courtly smile, " you must not crush me by 
 using the privilege of your sex arguing from general 
 to particular." 
 
 " But do you ? " she insisted. 
 
 " I believe," said he, with a little inclination of his 
 head, " all that Lady Louisa has been telling me." 
 
 The talk ran for a while in lighter channels. Lady 
 Louisa and Huckaby, who had been discussing cookery 
 he had held her in watery-mouthed attention while 
 he gave her from memory Izaak Walton's recipe for 
 roasting a jack joined in the conversation. 
 
 ' You two have been having a very deep argument," 
 said Lady Louisa. 
 
 " I have been trying to convert him to optimism," 
 laughed Mrs. Fontaine. " It seems to be difficult. But
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 191 
 
 I'll do so in time. I'm a determined woman. I've a 
 good mind to forbid you to leave Paris before your 
 conversion." 
 
 " The process would be pleasant, though the result 
 would be problematical." 
 
 " I'm not going to argue with you. I just want to 
 make you see things for yourself." 
 
 " I will submit gladly to your guidance," said Quix- 
 tus. 
 
 She looked at the little watch on her bracelet, and 
 her rising brought the little party to their feet. 
 
 " Shall we begin now ? I'm going to walk up the 
 Rue de la Paix and see the shops." 
 
 Quixtus also consulted his watch. " I shall be hon- 
 oured if you will let me walk up the Rue de la Paix 
 with you. But then I must reluctantly leave you. I 
 must meet my confreres of the Congress at the rail- 
 way-station to go to Sevres to see Monsieur Sardanel's 
 collection." 
 
 " What has Sevres china to do with anthropology ? " 
 
 He smiled at her ignorance. Monsieur Sardanel had 
 the famous collection of Mexican antiquities terra- 
 cotta rattles and masks and obsidian-edged swords. 
 
 Her long lashes swept shyly upwards. " I'm sure 
 I could show you much more interesting things than 
 those." 
 
 It was a long time since a pretty and fascinating 
 woman had evinced a desire for his company. He 
 was a man, as well as a diabolically-minded anthro- 
 pologist. Yet there was a green avanturine quartz 
 axehead in the collection which he particularly lusted 
 to behold. He stood irresolute, while Mrs. Fontaine 
 turned with a laugh and took Lady Louisa aside. He 
 caught Huckaby's glance, in which he surprised a 
 flicker of anxiety. Huckaby was wondering whether 
 this was the right moment to speak. It seemed so.
 
 I 9 2 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Yet the more he thought over the matter, the less was 
 he inclined to cut the disgraceful figure in Quixtus's 
 eyes of the base betrayer of his supposed childhood's 
 flower-like friend. Here, however, was the wished-for 
 opportunity, when Quixtus was evidently hesitating 
 between primitive clay masks and a living woman's 
 face. He resolved to throw all the onus of the de- 
 cision on Quixtus's shoulders. 
 
 " I'm afraid these dear ladies rather interfere with 
 the prospects of our little adventure," he said, drawing 
 him a step or two from the table where they had been 
 sitting. 
 
 " I never thought of it," said Quixtus truthfully. 
 
 Then an idea of malignant cunning took possession 
 of his brain. Mrs. Fontaine should be the woman, 
 and Huckaby should not know. Her heart he would 
 break and, when it was broken, he would confound 
 Huckaby with the piteous shards and enjoy a doubly 
 diabolical triumph. In the meantime he must dissem- 
 ble ; for Huckaby would not deliberately allow his old 
 friend's happiness to be wrecked. To hide a smile he 
 crossed the passage of the lounge and lit a cigarette 
 from matches on one of the tables. Then he turned. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said he, " let us talk no more 
 about the adventure, as you call it. It never really 
 pleased me." 
 
 " But surely " Huckaby began. 
 
 " It's distasteful," he interrupted, " and there's an 
 end of it." 
 
 " As you will," said Huckaby, for the moment un- 
 certain. 
 
 Mrs. Fontaine approached them smiling, provocative 
 in the dainty candour of her white dress and hat. 
 
 " Well ? Have you decided ? " 
 
 Quixtus paused for the fraction of a second. The 
 lady swept him with her dreamy glance. A modern
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 193 
 
 Merlin, he yielded. This delicious wickedness at last 
 on foot, Sardanel and all his spoils of Mexico could 
 go hang. 
 
 " For the afternoon," said he, " I am your humble 
 disciple." 
 
 They went forth together, outwardly as gay a com- 
 pany as ever issued through the great gates of the 
 Hotel Continental into the fairyland of Paris; in- 
 wardly, save one of their number, psychological com- 
 plexities as dark as any that have emerged into its 
 mocking and inscrutable spirit. Of the three, Quix- 
 tus, the tender-hearted scholar of darkened mind, who 
 could no more have broken a woman's heart than have 
 trampled on a baby, pathetically bent on his intellec- 
 tually-conceived career of Evil and entirely uncon- 
 scious of being himself the dupe and victim of the 
 three, Quixtus was certainly the happiest. Huckaby, 
 touched with shame, avoided meeting his accomplice's 
 eye. He walked in front with Lady Louisa, finding 
 refuge in her placid dulness. 
 
 Once during the afternoon, when Lena Fontaine 
 found herself for a moment by his side, she laughed 
 cynically. 
 
 " Do you know what you two remind me of ? 
 Martha and Mephistopheles." 
 
 " And you are Gretchen to the life." 
 
 The retort was obvious; but apparently it was not 
 anticipated. Mrs. Fontaine flushed scarlet at the sneer. 
 She looked at him hard-eyed, and said, with set teeth : 
 
 " I wish to God I were."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SOMETHING was wrong with Tommy Burgrave. 
 Instead of flinging excited hands in the direc- 
 tion of splendid equipage or beautiful woman, 
 he sat glum by Clementina's side, while the most daz- 
 zling procession in Europe passed before his eyes. Of 
 course it was a little cockneyfied to sit on a public 
 bench on the edge of the great Avenue of the Champs 
 Elysees; but Clementina knew that consciousness of 
 cockneydom would not disturb the serenity of Tom- 
 my's soul. Something else was the matter. He was 
 ill at ease. Gloom darkened his brow and care 
 perched on his shoulders. 
 
 The car of thirty-five million dove-power which had 
 brought the wanderers, the day before, to Paris, had 
 deposited Etta Concannon at the house of some friends 
 for a few hours' visit, and Tommy and Clementina 
 at Ledoyen's, where they had lunched. It was over the 
 truite a la gelee that Tommy's conversation had begun 
 to flag. His melancholy deepened as the meal pro- 
 ceeded. When they strolled, after lunch, across to 
 the Avenue, his face assumed an expression of acute 
 misery. He sat forward, elbows on knees, and traced 
 sad diagrams on the gravel with the point of his cane. 
 
 " My good Tommy," said Clementina at last what 
 on earth was the matter with the boy? " you look as 
 merry as a museum." 
 
 He groaned. " I'm in a devil of a fix, Clementina." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 What could he be in a fix about? Anything more 
 194
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 195 
 
 aggravatingly, insolently, excruciatingly happy than 
 the pair of young idiots whom she had accompanied 
 in the thirty-five million dove-power car aforesaid, 
 she had never beheld in her life. Sometimes it was as 
 much as she could do to restrain herself from stopping 
 the car and dumping the pair of them down by the 
 wayside and telling them to go and play Daphnis and 
 Chloe by themselves in the sylvan solitudes of France, 
 instead of conducting their antic gambols over her 
 heartstrings. The air re-echoed deafeningly with coo- 
 ings, and the sky grew sickly with smiles. What could 
 a young man in love want more ? 
 
 " It's the biggest, aw fullest mess that ever a fellow 
 got into," said Tommy. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it's your own fault," she remarked, 
 \vith just a touch of the vindictive. She had emptied 
 her heart of heaven and thrown it at the boy's feet, 
 and he had not so much as said " thank you." 
 
 " I'm not so sure," said Tommy. 
 
 " That's just like a man," said Clementina. " Every 
 one of you is ready enough to cry peccavi, but it's in- 
 variably somebody else's maxima culpa." 
 
 " I didn't cry peccavi at all," said Tommy. " I sup- 
 pose I had better do so, though," he added, after a 
 gloomy pause. " I've been a cad. I've been abusing 
 your hospitality. Any man of honour would kick me 
 all over the place. But I swear to you it was not my 
 fault. How the deuce could I help it? " 
 
 " Help what, my good Tommy?" 
 
 Tommy dug his stick fiercely in the gravel. " Help 
 falling in love with Etta. There! now it's out. Of 
 course you had no idea of it." 
 
 "Of course not," said Clementina, with a wry twist 
 of her mouth, not knowing whether to shriek with 
 insane laughter or with pain at the final cut of the 
 whip with which she had flagellated the offending Eve.
 
 196 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 But her grim sense of humour prevailed, though her 
 strength allowed it to manifest itself only in the twin- 
 kling of her keen eyes. 
 
 " I don't know what you can think of me," said 
 Tommy. 
 
 She made no reply, reflecting on the success of her 
 comedy. As she had planned, so had it fallen out. 
 She had saved her own self-respect more, her self- 
 honour and she had saved him from making muddy 
 disaster of his own life. The simplicity of the boy 
 touched her deeply. The dear, ostrich reasoning of 
 youth ! Of course she had no idea of it ! She looked 
 at him, sitting there, as a man sometimes looks at a 
 very pure woman with a pitying reverence in her 
 eyes. But Tommy did not see the look, contemplating 
 as he was the blackness of his turpitude. For each of 
 them it was a wholesome moment. 
 
 " You see, not only was I your guest, but I held a 
 kind of position of trust," continued Tommy. " She 
 was, as it were, in my charge. If I had millions, I 
 oughtn't to have fallen in love with her. As I'm ab- 
 solutely penniless, it's a crime." 
 
 " I don't think falling in love with a sweet girl is a 
 crime," said Clementina gently. " There's one in that 
 automobile" she nodded in the direction of a rosebud 
 piece of womanhood in a carriage that was held up by 
 a block in the traffic, just in front of them. " If any 
 man fell in love with her right off, as she sat there, 
 not knowing her, it wouldn't be a crime. It would be 
 a divine adventure." 
 
 " She's not worth two penn'orth of paint," said 
 Tommy disparagingly now Clementina has told me 
 that this was a singularly beautiful girl such are 
 other women than his Dulcinea in the eyes of the true 
 lover " she isn't even doll-pretty. But suppose she 
 were, for the sake of argument it might be a divine
 
 197 
 
 adventure for the fool who fell in love with her and 
 never told her ; but for the penniless cad who went up 
 and told her and got her love in return it would be 
 a crime." 
 
 Now it must be remembered that Tommy was en- 
 tirely ignorant of the fact that a fortune of two thou- 
 sand pounds, the spoils of Old Joe Jenks, was coyly ly- 
 ing at his banker's, who had made the usual acknowl- 
 edgment to the payer-in and not to the payee. 
 
 " So you've told Etta ? " said Clementina, feeling 
 curiously remote from him and yet curiously drawn 
 to him. 
 
 ' This morning," said Tommy, glowering at the 
 ground. " In the hall of the hotel, waiting for you 
 to come down." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Clementina, who had deliberately lin- 
 gered. 
 
 " It wasn't your fault," said Tommy with dark mag- 
 nanimity. " It was the fault of that damned glove. 
 She asked me to button it for her. Why do women 
 w r ear gloves thirty sizes too small for them? Why 
 can't they wear sensible easy things like a man? I 
 was fussing over the infernal thing I had somehow 
 got her arm perpendicular in front of her face and I 
 was bending down and she was looking up oh, can't 
 you see ? " He broke off impatiently. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I can see," replied Clementina. " And I 
 suppose Etta was utterly indignant ? " 
 
 " That's the devil of it," said the conquering but 
 miserable lover. " She wasn't." 
 
 " She wasn't? " asked Clementina. 
 
 " No," said Tommy. 
 
 " Then I'm shocked at her," said Clementina. " She 
 was in my charge, enjoying my hospitality. She had 
 no business to fall in love with with my" she 
 floundered for a second "with my invalid guest"
 
 198 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Pretty sort of invalid I am," said Tommy, who, 
 through the masquerade of woe, appealed to passers- 
 by, especially to those of the opposite sex, as the em- 
 bodiment of fair Anglo-Saxon lustiness. " She isn't 
 to blame, poor dear. I am, and yet, confound it ! I'm 
 not for how could I help it? But what the deuce 
 there is in me, Clementina dear, for the most exquisite 
 thing God ever made to care for, God only knows." 
 
 Clementina put her hand the glove on it, so differ- 
 ent from Etta's, was thirty sizes too large; it was of 
 white cotton, and new she had sent the page boy of 
 the hotel that morning to buy her a pair she put her 
 gloved hand on his. At the touch he raised his eyes to 
 her's. He saw in them something he was too young 
 and ingenuous to know what but something he had 
 not seen in Clementina's eyes before. 
 
 " You're right, my dear boy," she said. " God 
 knows. That being so, it is up to Him, as the Ameri- 
 cans say, to make good. And He'll make good. That 
 is, if you really love that little girl." 
 
 " Love her ! " cried Tommy. " Why " 
 
 " Yes, yes," Clementina interrupted hastily. " I'm 
 convinced of it. You needn't go into raptures." She 
 had endured much the last few weeks. She felt now 
 that the penance of listening to amatory dithyrambics 
 was supererogatory. " All I want to know is that you 
 love her like a man." 
 
 " That I do," said Tommy. 
 
 "And she loves you?" 
 
 Tommy nodded lugubriously. She loved him for 
 nodding. 
 
 " Then why the devil are you trying to make me 
 miserable on this beautiful afternoon? " 
 
 He twisted round on the bench and faced her. 
 " Then you're not angry with me you don't think 
 I've been a blackguard ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 199 
 
 " I think the two of you are innocent lambs," said 
 Clementina. 
 
 Tommy grinned. He, the seasoned man of the 
 world of twenty-three, to be called an innocent lamb! 
 Much Clementina knew about it. 
 
 "All the same," said he, reverting to his gloom, 
 " you're different from other people ; you have your 
 own way of looking at things. Ordinary folk would 
 say I had behaved abominably. Admiral Concannon 
 would kick me out of the house if I went and asked 
 him for his daughter. It's Gilbertian ! There's a Bab 
 Ballad almost on the same theme," he laughed. " I 
 guess I'd better not speak to the Admiral yet awhile." 
 
 " I guess not," said Clementina. " Leave well alone 
 for the present." 
 
 This advice she gave to Etta when that young per- 
 son, before going to bed, told her the marvellous news. 
 But Etta's anxiety as to future ways and means was 
 the least of her preoccupations, which consisted, in 
 the main, of wonder at Tommy's transcendent perfec- 
 tions, and at her extraordinary good fortune in win- 
 ning the favour of such a miracle of a man. Clemen- 
 tina left her radiant and went to bed with a headache 
 and a bit of a heartache. The one little Elf of Ro- 
 mance that had crossed her grey path she had snubbed 
 unmercifully. Would ever another chance come by? 
 Would he not go back and tell his congeners of the 
 flinty-bosomed, sour-avised female who had nearly 
 frightened him to death, and bid them all beware of 
 her devastating presence? It was no use her saying 
 that she loved the Elf with all her heart, but had to 
 dissemble her love, for the Elf, like the lover in the 
 poem, would naturally ask the historic question. Yet 
 she did love him, and in the secrecy of her soul longed 
 for such another but one perhaps who would put be- 
 fore her a less Puckish proposition. How could she
 
 200 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 attract one? With what lure could she entice him? 
 
 " Bosh! " she said, after a couple of sleepless hours. 
 " It's high time I was back at work again." 
 
 Now, be it here definitely stated that Clementina 
 misjudged the Elf. He was mightily amused by her 
 treatment of him, and ran away with his elfin thumb 
 to his elfin nose in the most graceless and delicious 
 manner possible. He swore revenge. In his cobweb 
 seat he thought hard. Then he slapped his thighs and 
 laughed, and returned to Elfland where he raised a 
 prodigious commotion. 
 
 The result of this will be duly set forth in the fol- 
 lowing pages. 
 
 " We leave Paris to-morrow," said Clementina, but- 
 toning her cotton gloves. " I must work, and Tommy 
 must work, and Etta must learn to cook and sew and 
 scrub saucepans. The holiday is about to end." 
 
 Two sighs greeted the announcement. 
 
 " Can't we have one other day ? " Etta pleaded. 
 
 " You just need the extra day to make you quite fit 
 again," said Tommy. 
 
 Clementina, unmoved by pleading or sophistry, re- 
 plied, " We start to-morrow." 
 
 Etta looked at Tommy and sorrowfully licked from 
 her finger-tips the squirted cream of an eclair. They 
 had just finished tea at Colombin's, a form of amuse- 
 ment to which Etta was addicted. She liked the 
 crowded room, the band, the bustle of the waitresses 
 and the warm smell of tea and chocolate and pastry. 
 She also had the perverted craving of female youth 
 to destroy its appetite for dinner. She looked at 
 Tommy and cleansed herself from eclair like a dainty 
 kitten; but Tommy's eyes were fixed to the entrance 
 of the tea-room. He half rose from his chair. 
 
 "Lord Almighty, if that isn't Uncle Ephraim!" 
 
 " Where ? " cried Clementina.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 201 
 
 He nodded, and Clementina, turning her head, saw 
 Quixtus, one of a party of four, two men and two 
 ladies, threading their way between the chattering 
 tables under the guidance of a waitress. They found 
 places not far off. Quixtus sat down with his back to 
 Clementina. 
 
 " I wonder whom he has got hold of," said Tommy. 
 
 " She's awfully pretty," said Etta, glancing at Mrs. 
 Fontaine. 
 
 " Passable," said Tommy. " I don't care for women 
 who look like nuns." 
 
 " She doesn't look a bit like a nun," she contra- 
 dicted. " She's talking and laughing like anything." 
 
 Clementina said nothing, but studied the woman's 
 face. The portrait painter's instinct arose. She would 
 like to get her in the sitter's chair and see what sort 
 of a thing would come out on the canvas. The woman 
 seemed to be the mistress of the feast. It was she who- 
 apportioned the seats and gave the orders ; also it was 
 she who led the animated conversation. The party 
 seemed to be intimate. 
 
 " Whatever the crowd is, they're having a good 
 time," said Tommy. " An unusual thing for my 
 uncle." 
 
 " Perhaps that's because he's crazy," suggested Etta. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Tommy. " I should like to knock 
 some sanity into him, though," he added ruefully; 
 " especially as things are at present." 
 
 " So should I," remarked Clementina, and again she 
 scrutinised the woman's face. 
 
 " Perhaps his reason will come back when he sees 
 Etta!" cried Tommy, laughing boyishly. "I'll go 
 and present her." 
 
 ' You'll do no such thing," said Clementina. 
 
 But Clementina, when they had risen to leave the 
 tea-room, found that she had counted without her
 
 202 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 hosts, who had arranged the crowded tables in such a 
 manner that in order to reach the exit door, she and 
 her charges had to pass immediately behind Huckaby, 
 who sat facing Quixtus. Chance had also caused a 
 temporary blocking of the gangway a little further on. 
 The trio came to a compulsory standstill beside the 
 quartette. Tommy stretched out a frank hand. 
 
 " Hullo, Uncle Ephraim ! What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 Quixtus rose and took the proffered hand, but he 
 did not answer the indiscreet question. 
 
 "How d'ye do, Tommy? I hope I see you well." 
 Then he became conscious of Clementina, whom he 
 greeted with stiff courtesy. 
 
 " I must present you to Miss Etta Concannon," said 
 Tommy. " This is my uncle, Dr. Quixtus. We've 
 been motoring all over France with Clementina. Had 
 a gorgeous time." 
 
 Again Clementina looked at the woman with the 
 nun's face and the alluring eyes, and this time the 
 woman looked at Clementina. Between the two pairs 
 of eyes was a second's invisible rapier play. Mrs. 
 Fontaine broke into a laugh. 
 
 "Won't you introduce me, Dr. Quixtus?" And 
 then, the introductions being effected " I hope you're 
 staying a long while in Paris." 
 
 " We leave to-morrow," snapped Clementina. " And 
 you? " she asked, turning to. Quixtus. 
 
 He made a vague gesture. A week's Seine water 
 had flowed beneath the bridges since he had first walked 
 up the Rue de la Paix with Mrs. Fontaine, and that 
 week had been full of interest, morbid and otherwise. 
 Not only did he hug himself in his imaginary wrap of 
 diabolical wickedness, but also if he could admit the 
 truth he was enjoying himself enormously in the 
 most blameless fashion. Mrs. Fontaine showing no
 
 HELLO, UXCLE EFHRAISlI WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 203 
 
 particular desire to leave Paris, he had adjourned 
 his own departure sine -die. 
 
 " I am remaining some time yet," he replied. 
 
 " In the interests of Prehistoric Man? " 
 
 The implication was brutal. Two little red spots 
 rose to Mrs. Fontaine's cheeks. She conceived a sud- 
 den hatred for the rough-voiced, keen-eyed creature 
 with her untidy hair and caricature of a hat. A retort, 
 containing the counter-implication of Clementina's re- 
 semblance to a prehistoric woman, was tempting. But 
 it would lay herself open to obvious attack. She 
 laughed. 
 
 " We are all helping Dr. Quixtus to recover from 
 Prehistoric Man. He has just been attending an An- 
 thropological Congress." 
 
 " Umph ! " said Clementina. 
 
 " Where are you staying, Uncle Ephraim?" asked 
 Tommy. 
 
 " At the Hotel Continental." 
 
 " I'll come and look you up to-night or to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Why should he not treat Quixtus as hard-hearted 
 uncles are treated in the story-books ? Videlicet, why 
 should not Etta and himself go hand in hand before 
 him, tell him their tragic and romantic history, and, 
 falling pathetically on their knees, beg for his bless- 
 ing and subvention? To thrust so fair a flower 
 as Etta from him surely he could not be as crazy as 
 all that ? But Quixtus threw cold water on the ardent 
 fancy. 
 
 " I'm sorry to say that both to-night and to-morrow 
 morning I shall be engaged." 
 
 " Then I'll look you up in London when you get 
 back," said Tommy cheerfully. 
 
 A gangway to the door being now clear, Clemen- 
 tina made perfunctory adieux to Quixtus and his
 
 204 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 friends, and henlike, marshalling her two chickens in 
 front of her, sailed out of the tea-room. 
 
 " He doesn't look at all horrid," said Etta, when 
 they reached the street. " I wonder what makes him 
 behave so. And how generous of you, Tommy, to be 
 so sweet to him ! " 
 
 Tommy smiled as if he were compact of lofty 
 qualities. 
 
 " I've been blessing him all the time," he whispered 
 in her ear, " for if it hadn't been for his craziness I 
 shouldn't be here with you." 
 
 Clementina trudged on in silence until they turned 
 into the Rue Saint-Honore, where their hotel was sit- 
 uated. Then she said suddenly : 
 
 " I don't like your uncle, and I don't like his friends. 
 I'm sorry we ran into them. If we stayed on in Paris 
 we should be running into them every day. I'm glad 
 we're clearing out to-morrow." 
 
 Whereupon the Elf, who had returned from Elf- 
 land to haunt her, laughed immoderately ; for he knew 
 that at the bureau of the hotel a telegram was awaiting 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 CLEMENTINA sat in the vestibule and fanned 
 herself with the telegram. It was from Mar- 
 seilles and had been telegraphed on from Lon- 
 don. It ran: 
 
 " Doctors say I am dying. Come at once here, Hotel 
 Louvre. Matter of life and death. Am wiring Quix- 
 tus also. For Heaven's sake both come. 
 
 " WILL HAMMERSLEY." 
 
 It was a shock. Hammersley's letter of a few weeks 
 ago had prepared her for his indefinite advent ; but the 
 thought of death had not come to her. Will Ham- 
 mersley was dying, apparently alone, in an hotel at 
 Marseilles; dying, too, in an atmosphere of mys- 
 tery, for he must see her, and Quixtus, too, before he 
 died. The message was urgent, the appeal imperative. 
 
 " Oh, Clementina, I hope it's not bad news," cried 
 Etta. 
 
 Clementina handed the telegram to Tommy. 
 
 " It's from the sick man of Shanghai who pined for 
 the English lanes." 
 
 " Poor chap," said Tommy very gently. " Poor 
 chap ! I remember him well. A fine upstanding fel- 
 low, one of the best. Once he gave me a cricket-bat." 
 The artist in him shivered. " It's awful to think of a 
 man like that dying. What are you going to do? " 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 205
 
 206 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Take the night train to Marseilles," replied 
 Tommy. 
 
 " Then why did you ask ? " said Clementina. 
 
 " But what shall we do ? " cried Etta. 
 
 " Oh, you and Tommy can stay here till I come 
 back." 
 
 Etta gasped and blushed crimson. " That would be 
 very nice but but I don't think dad would quite 
 like it." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " cried Clementina, " I was forgetting 
 those confounded conventions. They do complicate 
 life so. And I suppose I can't send you away with 
 Tommy in the motor, either. And now I come to think 
 of it, I can't go away to-night and leave you two to 
 travel together to London to-morrow. What on earth 
 are women put in the world for, especially young ones ? 
 They're more worry than they're worth. And if I left 
 Tommy here and took you with me to Marseilles, 
 you'd be as handy to travel with, in the circumstances, 
 as a wedding-cake. I don't know what to do with 
 you." 
 
 Etta suggested that the Jacksons the friends whom 
 she had visited the previous day might take her in 
 till Clementina came back. Indeed, they had invited 
 her to stay with them. 
 
 " Go and telephone them at once," said Clementina. 
 
 " You'll have Uncle Ephraim as a travelling com- 
 panion," Tommy remarked as Etta was leaving them. 
 
 Clementina rubbed a distracted brow, not to the 
 well-being of her front hair. 
 
 " Lord save us ! He'll be worse than Etta." 
 
 " Poor dear Clementina," he said, and turned away 
 to administer help and counsel to his beloved in the 
 complicated matter of the telephone. 
 
 Suddenly Clementina started to her feet. Perhaps 
 Quixtus's telegram had not been forwarded as hers
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 207 
 
 had been. In this contingency it was her duty to let 
 him know the unhappy news, and she must let him 
 know at once. An ordinary woman would have sent 
 Tommy round with the telegram. But Clementina, 
 accustomed all her life long to act for herself, gave no 
 thought to this possibility. She bolted out of the door 
 of the hotel and made her way back to the tea-room. 
 
 The crowd had thinned, but Quixtus and his friends 
 still lingered. Mrs. Fontaine, her elbows on the table, 
 leaning her cheek against her daintily-gloved hands, 
 was engaged in earnest talk with him, to the exclusion 
 of the other pair. Lady Louisa Mailing was eating 
 pastry and drinking chocolate with an air of great en- 
 joyment, while Huckaby, hands in pockets, leant back 
 in his seat, a very bored Mephistopheles. He had ex- 
 hausted his Martha's conversation long ago, and he 
 was weary of the eternal companionship. Why should 
 not Faust have a turn at Martha now and again? 
 Decidedly it was an unfair world. To add, also, to 
 his present discomfort, the confused frame of mind in 
 which he had originally introduced his patron to Mrs. 
 Fontaine had gradually become more tangled. Clean 
 living had grown more to his taste, abstinence from 
 whisky much more simple to accomplish than his most 
 remorseful dreams of reform had ever conceived. And 
 that morning a letter from Billiter had filled him with 
 disgust. Billiter upbraided him for silence, wanted to 
 know what was going on, hinted that a dividend ought 
 to be due by this time, and expressed, none too deli- 
 cately, a suspicion of his partner's business integrity. 
 The cheap tavern-supplied note-paper offended against 
 the nicety of Huckaby's refined surroundings. The 
 gross vulgarity of Billiter himself revolted him. A 
 week had passed and Mrs. Fontaine had shown no 
 signs of having accomplished her ends. He had not 
 dared question her. He had begun, too, to loathe his
 
 izo8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 part in the sordid plot. But that morning he had 
 summoned up courage enough to say to Mrs. Fon- 
 taine : 
 
 " I've just had a letter from Billiter." 
 
 Whereupon her pale cheeks had flushed red and her 
 alluring eyes had gleamed dangerously. 
 
 " I wish to God I had never seen that brute in all 
 my life!" 
 
 And he had said : " I wish to God I had never done 
 so, either." 
 
 She had looked at him full, searchingly, inscrutably, 
 for a long moment and, saying nothing, had turned 
 away. What was to be the outcome of it all? Huck- 
 aby was perplexed. The week had passed pleasantly. 
 Even his enforced and sardonic attendance on Martha 
 had not been able to spoil the charm of the new life, 
 bastard though it was. Mrs. Fontaine had continued 
 not to let her friends in Paris know of her presence 
 in the city, and the week had been a history of peace- 
 ful jaunts to Chantilly, Fontainebleati, Sevres 
 (where Monsieur Sardanel had spread before their 
 ravished eyes his collection of Mexican rattles and 
 masks and obsidian-edged swords) ; to " Robinson " 
 on the island in the Seine, where they had lunched in 
 the tree restaurant; in a word, to all sorts of sweet 
 summer places where the trees were green and the 
 world was bathed in sunshine and innocence. The 
 week had evidently passed pleasantly for Quixtus, who 
 had given no intimation of the date of his return to 
 London. He was lotus eating; obviously, too, under 
 the charm of the sorceress, wax in her hands. Of his 
 fiendish purpose Huckaby still had no suspicion. As 
 far as Huckaby could see, Mrs. Fontaine had made an 
 easy conquest of his patron, and why she had up to 
 now forborne to carry out the essential part of the plot 
 he could not understand. Perhaps she loathed the idea
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 209 
 
 as much as he did. Her outburst against Billiter gave 
 weight to the theory. It was all very complicated. 
 And here were these two engaged in a deep and semi- 
 sentimental conversation while Lady Louisa stuffed 
 herself with chocolate, and he, Huckaby, was bored to 
 death. What was going to happen ? 
 
 The thing that did happen was Clementina's inrush. 
 She marched straight up to the table, and, disregard- 
 ing startled eyes, thrust the telegram into Quixtus's 
 hand. 
 
 " Read that. You may find one like it at your hotel, 
 or you may not. I thought it right to bring it." 
 
 Mrs. Fontaine kept her elbows on the table, and re- 
 garded Clementina with well-bred insolence. Lady 
 Louisa finished her chocolate. Quixtus read the tele- 
 gram and his face grew a shade paler and his fingers 
 trembled a little. Huckaby rose and, drawing a chair 
 from another table, offered it to Clementina. She 
 waved it away, with a curt acknowledgment. Quixtus 
 looked up at her. 
 
 " This is terrible Will Hammersley dying " 
 
 He made an attempt to rise, but Clementina put her 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Don't get up. I'm going." 
 
 A sudden hardening change came over Quixtus's 
 features. 
 
 " Stay," said he. " It was very kind of you to bring 
 this; but I'm afraid it has nothing to do with me." 
 
 " Nothing to do with you? " 
 
 She regarded him in amazement. " Your lifelong 
 friend is dying and implores you to come to him, and 
 you say it's nothing to do with you ? " 
 
 " He was a villain, a base villain," said Quixtus, 
 with quivering lips. 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! " cried Clementina indig- 
 nantly.
 
 210 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Had the man gone absolutely crazy after all? 
 
 " I am saying what I know," he returned darkly. 
 " He was no friend to me." 
 
 " And he wants you to go to his death-bed ? " asked 
 Mrs. Fontaine, taking her elbows off the table. " How 
 very painful ! " 
 
 " You had better put such lunatic ideas out of your 
 head and take the night train to Marseilles," said 
 Clementina roughly. 
 
 Quixtus bit his knuckles and stared at the litter of 
 tea in front of him. The orchestra for their last num- 
 ber played a common little jiggety air. 
 
 " Are you coming ? " asked Clementina. 
 
 " Why should Dr. Quixtus," said Mrs. Fontaine, 
 " travel all the way to Marseilles to witness the death 
 of a man whom he dislikes ? I think it's unreasonable 
 to ask it." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Quixtus. " It's unreasonable." 
 
 " And it would break up our pleasant little party," 
 pleaded Lady Louisa. 
 
 " Confound your party ! " exclaimed Clementina ; 
 whereat Lady Louisa withered up in astonishment. 
 " I'm telling him to perform an act of humanity." 
 
 " He was my enemy," said Quixtus in a low voice. 
 
 " And so you can hardly ask him to go and gloat 
 over his death," said Lady Louisa stupidly. 
 
 " Eh? What's that? " cried Quixtus, straightening 
 himself up. 
 
 " We're dealing with Christian gentlemen, not 
 devils," Clementina retorted. 
 
 " No, not devils oh, certainly not devils," said 
 Quixtus with a chuckling catch in his voice. 
 
 Clementina plucked him by the sleeve. 
 
 " I can't stand here all the afternoon arguing with 
 you. Even if you have got it into your head that the 
 man offended you, you did care for him once, and it's
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 211 
 
 only common charity to go to him now that he's at 
 the point of death. Are you going or not? " 
 
 Quixtus looked helplessly from one woman to the 
 other. 
 
 " There's such a thing as straining quixotism too 
 far, my dear Dr. Quixtus," said Mrs. Fontaine. " I 
 see no reason why you should go." 
 
 " I'm a decent woman, and I see every reason," 
 said Clementina, infuriated at the oth&r's intervention. 
 " I'll see that he goes. I'll get tickets now from Cook's 
 and come round to the Continental in a taxi and fetch 
 you." 
 
 Quixtus rose and extended his hand to Clementina. 
 
 " I shall go. I promise you," he said with all his 
 courtliness of manner. " And I shall not trouble you 
 to get my ticket or call for me. Au revoir." 
 
 He accompanied her to the door. On parting he 
 said with a smile : 
 
 " I have my reasons for going reasons that no one 
 but myself can understand." 
 
 And when he returned to Mrs. Fontaine, who was 
 biting her lips with annoyance at Clementina's appar- 
 ent victory, he repeated the words with the same smile 
 and the curious gleam of cunning that sometimes 
 marred the blandness of his eyes. He had his rea- 
 sons. 
 
 " After all," said the lady, during their Faust and 
 Marguerite walk to the Hotel Continental entrance in 
 the Rue Castiglione, " I can't blame you. It's an er- 
 rand of mercy. Doubtless he wishes to absolve his 
 conscience from the wrong, whatever it was, that he 
 did you. Your petroleuse friend was right. It is a 
 noble action." 
 
 " I have my reasons," said Quixtus. 
 
 " We have become such friends," she said, after a 
 little pause, " at least I hope so, that I shall miss you
 
 212 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 very much. I have very few friends," she added with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " If I am one, I esteem it a great honour," said 
 Quixtus. 
 
 " I wonder whether you'll care to see me when you 
 get back to Paris." 
 
 "Will you still be here?" 
 
 " If you promise to stay a little while and finish up 
 our holiday." 
 
 He met her upturned alluring eyes. For all his vis- 
 ionary malignancy he was a man and a man who 
 never before had been in the hands of the seductress; 
 an unaccustomed thrill ran through him, causing him 
 to catch his breath. 
 
 " I promise," said he huskily, " to stay here as long 
 as it is your good pleasure." 
 
 " Then you do care to see me? " 
 
 " You ought to know," said the infatuated one. 
 
 " What signs have you given me ? " 
 
 " Signs that every woman must read." 
 
 She laughed. " Every man to his method. I like 
 yours. It's neither Cinquecento nor Louis XV. nor 
 Directoire. The nearest to it is Jane Austen. But it's 
 really Quixtine." 
 
 Now nothing can flatter a man more than to be as- 
 sured that he has an original method of love-making. 
 Quixtus glowed with conscious idiosyncrasy. He also 
 felt most humanly drawn towards the flatterer. 
 
 " You may count on my returning to you at the 
 earliest possible moment," said he. " May I be com- 
 monplace enough to remark that I shall count the 
 hours?" 
 
 " Everything beautiful on the earth," she replied 
 with a sweet sentimentalism, " is but the apotheosis of 
 the commonplace." 
 
 The shrieking siren of a passing motor-car drowned
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 213 
 
 this last remark. He begged her to repeat it and 
 bowed his ear to her lips. Her breath caught his 
 cheek and made his pulses throb. 
 
 " I have a plan," she said, as they entered the hotel. 
 " Why shouldn't we have a little dinner to ourselves ? 
 Your train doesn't go till 9.35. I'm learned in trains, 
 you see. And I'm also learned in Paris restaurants." 
 
 " Nothing could be more delightful," said Quixtus. 
 
 It was only when he found himself alone in his 
 room and reflected on the " reasons " for his journey 
 to Marseilles that the crazy part of his brain summed 
 up his amatory situation. He laughed sedately. He 
 held the woman's heart in his hands. At any hour he 
 could dash it on the pavement of Paris, whereon so 
 many hearts of women had been broken. At any hour 
 could he work this great wickedness. But not to-night. 
 To-night he would take the heart in a firmer grip. He 
 would dally with the delicious malignity. Besides, his 
 fastidiousness forbade an orgy of pleasure. One wick- 
 edness at a time. Was he not bound even now for 
 Marseilles, on a merciless errand ? This deed of dark- 
 ness must be accomplished swiftly. The other could 
 wait. As a crown to his contentment came the reali- 
 sation that these, his supreme projects of devildom, lay 
 hidden in his own heart, secret from Huckaby and his 
 fellow minions. They were futile knaves, all of them. 
 Well, perhaps not Huckaby. Huckaby had more than 
 once expressed the desire to reform. . . . 
 
 By the way, what should be done with Huckaby 
 during his absence in Marseilles? He was useless in 
 Paris. Why not send him back to London ? 
 
 He summoned Huckaby to his room, and, whilst 
 packing, laid the question before him. 
 
 " For God's sake don't," said Huckaby, almost in 
 terror.
 
 2i 4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 " I can't go back," said he, tugging at his beard, no 
 longer straggly, but neatly cut to a point. " I can't go 
 back to it all to the squalour and drunkenness it's 
 no use mincing words with you I can't do it. You've 
 set me on the clean road, and you've got to see that I 
 keep there. You've given me chances in the past and I 
 abused them. You have the power to give me another 
 and I won't abuse it. I swear I won't. To kick me 
 back again would be hellish wickedness." 
 
 " You're quite right," replied Quixtus gravely, bal- 
 ancing in his hand an ill-folded pair of trousers which 
 he was about to put into his suit-case. " I appreciate 
 your position perfectly. But, as I have implied to you 
 before, in a similar conversation, hellish wickedness is 
 what I what I, in fact, am devoting my life to ac- 
 complish." 
 
 He packed the trousers and walked up and down the 
 room, pondering darkly. It was a tempting piece of 
 villainy to kick Huckaby back into the gutter. In a. 
 flash it could be done. But, as in all his attempted 
 acts of vileness, the co-ordination between brain and 
 will failed at the critical moment. A new aspect of the 
 case flashed upon his disordered mind, showing an 
 even more diabolical way of achieving Huckaby's ruin 
 than throwing him back into the gutter. By a curi- 
 ous transmogrification, it was he, Quixtus, who now 
 blazed luridly as the Master of Mischief, and Huckaby 
 as the shrinking innocent. The enforced association 
 of the shrinking innocent with the Master of Mischief 
 could have no other result than the constant sapping 
 of the victim's volition and the gradual but certain 
 degradation of his soul. To accomplish this was a re- 
 finement of deviltry far beyond the imagination of his 
 favourite fiend Macathiel. He decided promptly and 
 halted in front of his former myrmidon. It was once
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 215 
 
 more necessary for him, however, like the villain in the 
 old melodrama, to dissemble. He smiled and laid his 
 hand on Huckaby's shoulder. 
 
 " All right," said he, in the old, kind voice that in 
 the past had so often stabbed Huckaby's conscience. 
 " I'll give you the chance. Just stick loyally to me. Stay 
 with the ladies in Paris, and when I come back we 
 can talk about things." 
 
 Huckaby gripped his hand. 
 
 " Thank you, Quixtus. I wish I could tell you 
 I've known all along " he stammered in a hoarse 
 voice. " Oh, I've played the devil with everything 
 and I don't know which is the damneder fool of us 
 two." 
 
 " I am quite certain," said Quixtus with a conscious 
 smile, which he assumed was Mephistophelian. " I am 
 quite certain, my dear Huckaby, that you are." 
 
 In spite of the exultation that he felt (or deluded 
 himself into feeling) at the triple wickedness where- 
 with he purposed to burden his soul, Quixtus dined 
 with Mrs. Fontaine in a subdued frame of mind. It 
 was not the fault of the dinner, for it was carefully 
 selected by Mrs. Fontaine, who smiled pityingly at 
 Quixtus's gastronomic ignorance; nor was it that of 
 the place, a cosy little restaurant in the Passage Jouf- 
 f roy ; nor that of the lady, who appeared bent on pleas- 
 ing. Deep down in his soul were stirrings of pity 
 which his clouded brain could not interpret. Their ef- 
 fect, however, was a mild melancholy. Mrs. Fon- 
 taine's trained senses quickly noticed it, and she tuned 
 her talk in key. She prided herself on being a sympa- 
 thetic woman. By this time she had learned to dis- 
 count his pessimistic utterances which she knew pro- 
 ceeded from the same psychological source as the luna- 
 tic desire to break a woman's heart which had been the 
 inspiration of the plot. She discerned the essential
 
 216 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 gentleness of the man, his tender impulses, his integral 
 innocence, and established him in her own eyes as a 
 pathetic spectacle. As to the heart-breaking, she felt 
 secure. It was the only element of humour in the 
 ghastly game, which day by day had grown more re- 
 pulsive. 
 
 It was in this chastened mood that she met Huck- 
 aby on their return to the Continental. Quixtus went 
 up to his room by the lift, and left them standing in 
 the lounge. 
 
 " I can't do it," she said hurriedly. " Billiter and 
 the whole lot of you can go to the devil. I'm out of it. 
 With a man who can take care of himself, yes. I've 
 no compunction. It's a fair fight. But this is too low 
 down. It's like robbing a blind beggar. It revolts 
 me. Understand this is the end of it." 
 
 " Will you believe me," said Huckaby, " when I say 
 that it's more than I can swallow, either ? I'm honest. 
 I'm out of it, too. Billiter can go to the devil." 
 
 She looked at him, as she had done before that day, 
 long and searchingly, and her hard eyes gradually 
 softened. 
 
 " Yes, I believe you." 
 
 Huckaby bowed. " I thank you, Mrs. Fontaine. 
 And as we are on this painful subject, I should like 
 to be frank with you. You know how this thing 
 started. I began it in the first place as a joke, a wild 
 jest, to humour him in his madness. The idea of 
 Quixtus breaking a woman's heart is comic. But 
 God knows how it developed into our our associa- 
 tion. The important part now is this if you think 
 you have been fooling him to the top of his bent, 
 you're mistaken. When it came to the point of begin- 
 ning his heart-breaking career, he shied at it. Told 
 me the whole thing was profoundly distasteful and 
 I must never mention the matter again."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 217 
 
 " Well," asked Mrs. Fontaine, " what does that 
 mean ? " 
 
 " It means," said Huckaby, " that you've succeeded 
 in making him fond of your society for its own sake." 
 
 She drew a deep breath. " Thank goodness, this 
 nightmare of a farce is over." 
 
 " Now, I suppose you'll go back to London," said 
 Huckaby. 
 
 She looked away from him, unseeing, down the long 
 lounge, and her gloved hands unconsciously gripped 
 each other hard; her bosom heaved. In the woman's 
 dark soul strange things were happening, a curious, 
 desperate hope was dawning. She remained like this 
 for a few moments while Huckaby, unconscious of 
 tensity, selected and lit a cigarette. 
 
 " No, I shan't go to London," she said at last, with- 
 out turning her head. " I'll stay in Paris. I owe my- 
 self a holiday." 
 
 Ten minutes afterwards Quixtus had gone. They 
 watched the wheels of the taxi that was carrying him 
 to the Lyons station disappear beneath the great arch- 
 way, and, w r ith something like a sigh, they returned 
 slowly to the lounge. Lena Fontaine threw herself on 
 a seat, her hands by her side, in an attitude of weari- 
 ness. 
 
 " Oh, God, I'm tired," she whispered. 
 
 Huckaby suggested bed. She shrugged her shoul- 
 ders. It was not her body that was tired, she ex- 
 plained, but the ridiculous something that people called 
 a soul. That was dead beat. She looked up at him as 
 he stood before her wondering to hear her talk so 
 frankly. 
 
 " What was it that played the devil with you ? A 
 woman? " 
 
 " Drink," replied Huckaby laconically. 
 
 " I hadn't even that excuse," said Lena Fontaine.
 
 218 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 She laughed mirthlessly. " Don't you wish you were 
 good?" 
 
 He sat down by her side. 
 
 " Why shouldn't we try to be ? " 
 
 " Because the world isn't a Sunday School, my dear 
 friend." 
 
 Huckaby ventured to touch her hand with the tip 
 of his finger. 
 
 " Let us try," said he. 
 
 She smiled this time only in half derision. 
 
 " Let us," she said. 
 
 A great silence fell upon them, and they sat there 
 side by side for a long, long time, pretending to watch, 
 like many other couples and groups in the lounge, the 
 shifting life of the great hotel, but really far away 
 from it all, feeling drawn together in their new-found 
 shame like two dreary souls who had escaped from 
 Purgatory and were wandering through darkness they 
 knew not whither.
 
 THE great train thundered on straight down 
 through the heart of France. Almost the 
 length of it separated Quixtus and Clemen- 
 tina. They had seen each other only for a few mo- 
 ments amid the bustle of the hurrying platform just 
 long enough for her quick vision to perceive, in the 
 uncertain blue light of the arc-lamps, a haunted look 
 in his eyes that was absent when she had first met him 
 that afternoon. He had spoken a few courteous 
 phrases; he had inquired whether Tommy and Etta, 
 who clung to her to the last, were to be fellow travel- 
 lers, whereon Clementina had very definitely informed 
 him that Etta was staying with friends in Paris, while 
 Tommy had arranged to visit a painter chum at Bar- 
 bizon; he had expressed the hope that when they ar- 
 rived at Marseilles she would command his services, 
 and, after a bare-headed leave-taking of the two ladies, 
 which caused Etta afterwards to remark that it was 
 only her short skirt that had prevented her from mak- 
 ing her court curtsey, he had gone in search of his 
 own compartment. 
 
 Etta had flung her arms round Clementina's neck. 
 
 " Oh, Clementina darling, do come back soon ! The 
 Jacksons are kind, but, oh, so stuffy ! And Tommy is 
 going to Barbizon, and I shan't see him, and if you 
 don't come back soon, he'll have forogtten all about 
 me." 
 
 Tommy had given her a great hug and kissed her. 
 219
 
 220 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Good-bye, dear. God bless you. Come back soon. 
 We can't do without you." 
 
 And Clementina, pausing on the first step of the rail- 
 way carriage, had turned and raised her hand the un- 
 filled finger-ends of her cotton gloves projecting com- 
 ically and cried : 
 
 " Good-bye, you dear, selfish, detestable, beloved 
 children!" 
 
 And neither of the twain had known what in the 
 world she meant. 
 
 The great train thundered on through the country 
 which Clementina had traversed a month or so before 
 with Tommy Dijon, Macon, Lyons. . . . Things 
 had changed since then. Then a sweet rejuvenescence 
 had crept through her veins ; then she had amused her- 
 self with the idea of being a lady. The towns, whose 
 names shouted through the awful stillness of the sta- 
 tions otherwise only broken by the eerie clank of the 
 wheel-testers' hammers were now but abstract stages 
 on her journey, then had a magical significance. . . . 
 That must be Vienne through which they were dash- 
 ing. ... If the bitter-sweet, the tragi-comedy, 
 the cardiac surgery of Vienne had not brought a smile 
 to Clementina's lips in the dark solitude of her com- 
 partment, would she have been the sturdy, humorous 
 Clementina who had cried her farewell to the chil- 
 dren? Things had changed since then, she assured 
 herself. She was just Clementina again, fighting her 
 battles alone, impatient, contemptuous, unfeeling; no 
 longer a lady, merely a female dauber, ready once 
 more to paint elderly magnates' trousers at so much 
 per leg. . . . She sighed and laughed. Those 
 had been pleasant times. . . . That she should be 
 going over the same ground now with Quixtus seemed 
 a freakish trick of destiny. 
 
 At nine o'clock in the morning the train entered
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 221 
 
 Marseilles Station. Quixtus came speedily up to Clem- 
 entina as she stepped onto the platform, and offered his 
 services. He trusted she had slept well and had a 
 comfortable journey. 
 
 " Didn't sleep a wink," said Clementina. " Did 
 you?" 
 
 Quixtus admitted broken slumbers. The strangeness 
 of die adventure had kept him awake. 
 
 ;< You're looking ill this morning," said Clementina, 
 glancing at him sharply. " What's the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 He seemed careworn, feverish, and an unnatural 
 glitter had replaced the haunted look in his eyes. 
 Clementina did not know how the approaching con- 
 summation of a deed of real wickedness terrified the 
 mild and gentle-natured man. Hitherto his evil doings 
 had been fantastic, repaired almost at once as if me- 
 chanically by the underlying instinct of generosity; his 
 visions of sin had been fantastic, too, harmless, un- 
 practical ; but this sin of vengeance which he had in- 
 tellectually conceived and fostered loomed great and 
 terrible. So does the braggart who has sworn to eat 
 up a lion alive, totter at the knees when he hears the 
 lion's roar. His night had been that of a soul on fire. 
 
 " Something's wrong. What is it ? " asked Clemen- 
 tina. 
 
 He answered vaguely. This summons had upset him. 
 It had set him thinking, a tiring mental process. He 
 remembered, said he, how Hammersley, when they 
 were boys together, had called him to see a dying but- 
 terfly on a rose-bush. The yellow wings were still 
 flapping languidly; then slower and slower; then 
 strength gave out and they quivered in the last effort; 
 and then the hold on the rose-bush relaxed and the but- 
 terfly fell to the earth dead. 
 
 " What does Monsieur wish done with the bag-
 
 222 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 gage ? " asked the attendant porter, who had listened 
 uncomprehendingly to the long and tragical tale. 
 
 Quixtus passed his hand across his forehead and 
 looked at the porter as if awakening out of a dream. 
 
 " What you like," said he. 
 
 So forlorn and hag-ridden did he appear that a 
 wave of pity swept through Clementina. The deadly 
 phrase of the judge in the Marrable trial occurred to 
 her : " Such men as you ought not to be allowed to go 
 about loose." The mothering instinct more than her 
 natural forcefulness made her take charge of the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 " The omnibus of the Hotel du Louvre," she said to 
 the man, and taking Quixtus by the arm, she led him 
 like a child out of the station. 
 
 " Get in," she said with rough kindliness, pushing 
 him towards the step of the omnibus. But he moved 
 aside for her to precede him. Clementina said " Rub- 
 bish ! " and entered the vehicle. She was no longer 
 playing at being a lady. Quixtus followed her, and 
 the omnibus clattered down the steep streets and jolted 
 and swayed through the traffic and between the myriad 
 tramcars that deface and deafen the city. The morn- 
 ing sun shone fiercely. The pavements baked. The 
 sun-drenched buildings burned hot to the eye and the 
 very awnings in the front of shops and over stalls in 
 the markets suggested heat rather than coolness. Far 
 away at the end of the Cannebiere, the strip of sea 
 visible glittered like a steel blade. 
 
 " Whew ! " gasped Clementina, " what heat ! " 
 
 " I feel it rather chilly," said Quixtus. 
 
 She stared at him, wiping a damp forehead. What 
 was the matter with the man? 
 
 When they entered the fairly cool vestibule of the 
 hotel, the manager met them and assigned the rooms. 
 They asked for Hammersley. Alas, said the man-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 223 
 
 ager, he was very ill. The doctor was with him even 
 now. An elderly man in thin, sun-stained tweeds, who 
 had been sitting in a corner playing with a child of 
 five or six in charge of a Chinese nurse, came forward 
 and greeted them. 
 
 " Are you the friends Mr. Hammersley telegraphed 
 for? Miss Wing and Dr. Quixtus? My name is 
 Poynter. I was a fellow-passenger of Mr. Hammers- 
 ley's on the ' Moronia.' He was a sick man when he 
 started; and got worse on the voyage. Impossible to 
 land at Brindisi. Arrived here, he could go no further 
 either by boat or train. He was quite helpless, so I 
 stayed on till his friends could come. It was I who 
 wrote out and sent the telegrams." 
 
 " That was very good of you," said Clementina. 
 
 Quixtus bowed vaguely, but spoke not a word. His 
 lips were white. He held the front edges of his jacket 
 crushed in a nervous grip. Poynter's voice sounded 
 far away. He barely grasped the meaning of his 
 words. A dynamo throbbed in his head instead of a 
 brain. 
 
 "Is he dying?" asked Clementina. 
 
 Mr. Poynter made an expressive gesture. " I'm 
 afraid so. He collapsed during the night and they've 
 been giving him oxygen this morning. Yesterday he 
 was desperately anxious to see you both." 
 
 "Is it possible or judicious to go to him now?" 
 asked Clementina. 
 
 . " You may inquire. If you will allow me, I'll show 
 you the way to his room." 
 
 He led the way to the lift. They entered. For 
 Quixtus his companions had ceased to exist. He was 
 conscious only of going to the dying man, and the 
 dynamo throbbed, throbbed. During the ascent Clem- 
 entina said abruptly to Poynter : 
 
 " How long is it since you've been home ? "
 
 224 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Twenty-five years," he replied with a grim smile. 
 " And it has been the dream of my life for ten." 
 
 " And you've stopped off in this Hades of a place 
 for the sake of a sick stranger? You must be a good 
 sort." 
 
 " You would have done the same," said Poynter. 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 He smiled again and looked at her with his calm, 
 certain eyes. " A man does not live in the far Orient 
 for nothing. I know you would. This way," he said, 
 as the lift-door opened. He led them down a corridor, 
 Quixtus following, a step or two behind, like a man in 
 a trance. 
 
 The awful moment was at hand, the moment which, 
 in the tea-shop and in the hotel, had seemed far, far 
 distant, hidden in the mists of some unreal devil-land ; 
 which at dinner had begun to loom through the mists ; 
 which all night long had seemed to grow nearer and 
 nearer with every rhythmic thud of the thundering 
 train, until, at times, it touched him like some material 
 horror. The moment was at hand. At last he was 
 about to fulfil his destiny of evil. His enemy lay dy- 
 ing, the spirit faintly flapping its wings like the butter- 
 fly. In a moment they would enter a room. He would 
 behold the dying man. He would curse him and send 
 a blackened, anguished soul into eternity. 
 
 The dynamo in his brain and the beating of his 
 heart made him fancy that they were walking to the 
 sound of muffled drums. Nearer, nearer. This was 
 real, actual. He was a devil walking to the sound of 
 muffled drums. 
 
 Poynter and Clementina stopped before a door. 
 Quixtus stood still, shaking all over, like a horse in 
 front of a nameless terror. 
 
 " This is his room," said Poynter, grasping the 
 handle.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 225 
 
 Quixtus gave a queer cry and suddenly threw him- 
 self forward and clutched Poynter's arm convulsively, 
 his features distorted with terror. 
 
 " Wait wait ! I can't do it ! I can't do it ! It's 
 monstrous ! " 
 
 He leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes. 
 
 " Overwrought nerves," whispered Poynter. 
 
 There happened to be a bench near by, placed for 
 the convenience of the chambermaid of the floor. Clem- 
 entina made him sit down. 
 
 " I don't think you're quite up to seeing him just 
 now," she said. 
 
 He shook his head. " No. Not just now. I feel 
 faint. It's death. I'm not used to death. You go in. 
 Give him my love. I'll see him later. But give him 
 my love." 
 
 "Very well," said Clementina. 
 
 She rapped gently at the door. It was opened and 
 a sister of charity in a great white coif appeared on 
 the threshold. 
 
 She looked at the visitors sadly. 
 
 " C'est fini," she whispered. 
 
 Quixtus staggered to his feet. 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 " Oui, Monsieur." 
 
 The sweat broke out in great drops on his forehead. 
 
 " Dead ! " he repeated. 
 , " Vous pouvez entrer si z'ons voules," said the sister. 
 
 Then Quixtus reeled as if some one had dealt him 
 a crushing blow. Poynter saved him from falling and 
 guided him to the seat. For a long, long second all 
 was darkness. The dynamo stopped suddenly. Then, 
 as had happened once before, a little thread seemed to 
 snap in his brain. He opened his eyes feeling sick and 
 giddy. The sister quickly disappeared into the room, 
 and returned with some brandy. The others stood
 
 226 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 anxiously by. Presently the spirits took effect and en- 
 abled him to co-ordinate his faculties. With an effort 
 of will he rose and straightened himself. 
 
 " I am better now. Let us go in." 
 
 " Wiser not," said Clementina, a thousand miles 
 from suspecting the psychological phenomenon that 
 had occurred. 
 
 Quixtus slightly raised a protesting hand. 
 
 " I assure you there is no reason why I should not 
 go in," he said in a shaky voice. 
 
 " All right," said Clementina. " But you can't go 
 tumbling all over the place." 
 
 Once more she took his arm in her strong grip, and, 
 leaving Poynter outside, they entered the death-cham- 
 ber together. The windows were flung wide, but the 
 outside shutters were closed, darkening the room and 
 cooling it from the baking sun. A man in a frock coat 
 and narrow black tie the doctor was aiding his as- 
 sistant in the repacking of the oxygen apparatus. On 
 the bed, gaunt, hollow-cheeked, and pinched, lay all that 
 was left of Hammersley. Only his blonde hair and 
 beard, with scarcely a touch of grey, remained of that 
 which was familiar. The laughing eyes which had 
 charmed men and women were hidden forever beneath 
 the lids. Clementina's hand crept half -mechanically 
 downwards and clasped that of Quixtus, which re- 
 turned the pressure. So hand in hand they stood, in 
 silence, by the death-bed. 
 
 At last Clementina whispered : 
 
 " Whatever may have been the misunderstanding 
 between you, all is over now. May his sins be for- 
 given him." 
 
 " Amen," said Quixtus. 
 
 Tears rolled down Clementina's cheeks and fell on 
 her bodice. The dead man had belonged to her youth 
 the dreary youth that had taken itself for grim, grey
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 227 
 
 eld. He had brought into it a little laughter, a little 
 buoyancy, much strength, much comfort! all, so sim- 
 ply, so kindly. At first, in her fierce mood of revolt, 
 she had rebuffed him and scorned his friendship. But 
 he was one of the gifted ones who could divine a 
 woman's needs and minister to them; so he smiled at 
 her rejection of his offerings, knowing that she craved 
 them, and presented them again and again until at last, 
 worn out with longing, she clutched at them frantically 
 and hugged them to her bosom. A generous gentle- 
 man, a loyal friend, a very help in time of trouble, he 
 lay there dead before her in the prime of his manhood. 
 She let the tears fall unchecked, until they blinded her. 
 
 A dry, queer voice broke a long silence, whispering 
 in her ear : 
 
 " I told you to give him my love, didn't I ? " 
 
 She nodded and squeezed Quixtus's hand. 
 
 The doctor stood by waiting till their scrutiny of the 
 dead should be over. Clementina was the first to turn 
 to him and to ask for information as to the death. In 
 a few words the doctor told her. When she entered 
 the room he had been dead five minutes. 
 
 " Who, Madame, you or this gentleman, is respon- 
 sible for what remains to be done ? " 
 
 ' c I am. Don't you think so, Ephraim? " 
 
 Quixtus bowed his head. 
 
 " I sent him my love," he murmured. 
 
 "And now," said the Sister of Charity, "we must 
 make the toilette du mart. Will you have the kindness 
 to retire?" 
 
 She smiled sadly and opened the door. 
 
 " There is a packet in the drawer for this lady and 
 gentleman," said Poynter, who had stood waiting for 
 them in the corridor. 
 
 "Ah! ton," said the Sister. She crossed the room 
 and returned with the packet, which she handed to
 
 Clementina. It was sealed and addressed to them 
 jointly. " To Ephraim Quixtus and Clementina Wing. 
 To be opened after my death." Clementina stuffed 
 it in the pocket of her skirt. 
 
 " We'll open it together by-and-by. Now we'd bet- 
 ter go to our rooms and tidy up and have some food. 
 Only a fool goes through such a day as is before us on 
 an empty stomach. What's your number? I'll tell 
 them to send you up some coffee and rolls." 
 
 He thanked her dreamily. She arranged a meeting 
 at noon in order to go through the packet. They 
 walked along the corridor, Poynter accompanying 
 them. He proposed, it being convenient to them, to 
 take the night train to Paris and home. In the mean- 
 while his services were at their disposal. 
 
 " I wish I could pack you off to Piccadilly by 
 Hertzian wave, right away," said Clementina. 
 
 " It's Devonshire I'm longing for," said he. 
 
 They arrived at the lift door. 
 
 ' You'll love it all the better for having played the 
 Angel in Hades," said Clementina with moist eyes 
 " Good-bye for the present." 
 
 She extended her hand. He took it, held it in a 
 hesitating way. An expression of puzzledom came 
 over his tanned, lined features. 
 
 " Are you going to your room now ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Clementina. 
 
 " Pardon my presumption," said he, " but but 
 aren't you going to see the child ? " 
 
 " Child ? " cried Clementina. " What child ? " 
 
 " Why Mr. Hammersley's didn't you know ? 
 She's here " 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 " When you came into the vestibule, didn't you no- 
 tice a little girl I was playing with rand a Chinese 
 nurse "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 229 
 
 " Lord have mercy upon us ! " exclaimed Clemen- 
 tina. " Do you hear that, Ephraim? " 
 
 " Yes, I hear," said Quixtus tonelessly. The con- 
 flict within him between Mithra and Ahriman had left 
 him weak and non-recipient of hew impressions. 
 " Hammersley has a little daughter. I wasn't aware of 
 it. I wonder how he got her. She must have a mother 
 somewhere." 
 
 " The mother's dead," said Poynter. " From what 
 I could gather from Hammersley, the child has no kith 
 or kin in the world. That was why he was so desper- 
 ately anxious for you to come." 
 
 Clementina peered at him with screwed-up monkey 
 face, as if he were sitting for his portrait. 
 
 " It's the most amazing thing I've ever heard in my 
 life!" She clapped her hand to her pocket. "And 
 this sealed envelope? Do you know anything about 
 it?" 
 
 " I do," said Poynter. " It contains a letter and a 
 will. I wrote them both at his dictation ten days ago. 
 The will is a properly attested document appoint- 
 ing Dr. Quixtus and yourself his executors and joint 
 trustees of the little girl. A dear little girl," 
 he added, with a touch of wistfulness. " You'll love 
 her." 
 
 " God grant it ! " cried Clementina fervently. " But 
 what an old maid like me and an old bachelor like him 
 are going to do with a child between us, the Lord Al- 
 mighty alone knows." 
 
 Yet, as she spoke, the picture of the child in spite 
 of her preoccupation on entering the hotel, her sharp 
 vision had noted the fairy fragility of the English 
 scrap contrasting with the picturesque materialism of 
 the fat Chinese nurse the picture of the child en- 
 throned on cushions (a feminine setting !) in the studio 
 in Romney Place, flashed with acute distinctness be-
 
 230 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 fore her mind, and some foolish thing within her leapt 
 and stabbed her with a delicious pain. 
 
 Quixtus brushed his thinning hair from his fore- 
 head. 
 
 " I understand," said he faintly. " I understand 
 that I am a trustee for Hammersley's daughter. I 
 wasn't expecting it. I hope you'll not think it dis- 
 courteous if I leave you? I'm not quite myself to-day. 
 I'll go and rest." 
 
 He entered the lift which had been standing open 
 for some time. There is not a feverish hurry in Mar- 
 seilles hotels between steamers in June. Clementina 
 with a gesture checked the lift-boy. The man must be 
 looked after at once. She turned to Poynter. 
 
 " Like a dear good soul," she said, in her frank 
 way, " go down and prepare the child for such a rough- 
 and-tumble stepmother as me. I'll be with you in a 
 few minutes. What's your number, Ephraim ? " He 
 showed her the ticket. " Two hundred and seventy? " 
 
 " Au troisieme, Madame." 
 
 The lift gate clicked. They mounted a couple of 
 floors. The chambermaid of the etagc showed them 
 into number two hundred and seventy. Then Clemen- 
 tina took command. In less than two minutes win- 
 dows were opened and shutters adjusted, the waiter 
 was despatched for coffee, the valet was unpacking and 
 arranging Quixtus's personal belongings, and the 
 chambermaid spreading the bed invitingly open. When 
 Clementina was a lady, she behaved in the most self- 
 effacing and early Victorian ladylike way in the world. 
 But when she was Clementina and wanted to do things, 
 she would have ordered the devil about like a common 
 lackey, and boxed the ears of any archangel who ven- 
 tured to interfere with her. 
 
 Quixtus, unprepared for this whirlwind ministration 
 on the part of Clementina, whom he had hitherto re-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 231 
 
 garded rather as an antagonistic principle than as a 
 sympathetic woman, sat bolt upright on the edge of the 
 sofa and looked on with an air of mystification. Yet, 
 feeling weak and broken, he was content to let her tend 
 him. 
 
 " Take off your clothes and go to bed," said Clemen- 
 tina, standing, hands on hips, in front of him. " For 
 two pins I'd undress you myself and put you to sleep 
 like a baby." 
 
 A wan smile flickered over his features. 
 
 " I'm very grateful to you for your kindness. Per- 
 haps a little rest will bring mental adjustment. That's 
 what I think I need mental adjustment." 
 
 He repeated the words several times, and sat staring 
 in front of him. 
 
 On the threshold Clementina turned and crossed the 
 room again. 
 
 " Ephraim," she said, " I think if you and I had 
 been better friends all these years there wouldn't have 
 been so much of this adjusting necessary. It has been 
 my fault. I'm sorry. But now that we have a child 
 to bring up, I'll look after you. You poor man," she 
 added, touching his arm very kindly and feeling ridicu- 
 lously sentimental. " You must be the loneliest thing 
 that ever happened." She caught up his suit of py- 
 jamas and threw them by his side on the sofa. " Now, 
 for God's sake, stick on these things and go to bed." 
 
 Downstairs, in the vestibule, she found Poynter with 
 the little girl on his knees. The Chinese nurse sat like 
 a good-tempered idol a few feet away. 
 
 " This is your new auntie," said Poynter, as Clem- 
 entina approached. 
 
 The child slipped from his knees and looked up at 
 her with timorous earnestness. She was fair, with the 
 transparent pallor of most children born and bred in 
 the East, a creature of delicate fragility and grace.
 
 232 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Clementina saw that she had her father's frank hazel 
 eyes. The child held out her hand. 
 
 " Good morning, auntie," she said in a curiously 
 sweet contralto. 
 
 Clementina took the seat vacated by Poynter, and 
 drew the child towards her. 
 
 " Won't you give me a kiss? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 She put up her little lips. The appeal to the woman 
 was irresistible. She caught the child to her and 
 clasped her to her bosom, and kissed her and said 
 foolish things. When her embrace relaxed as abruptly 
 as it had begun, the child said : 
 
 " I like that. Do that again." 
 
 " Bless you, my darling, I could do it all day long," 
 cried Clementina. 
 
 She held the child with one arm, the little face pil- 
 lowed on her bosom, and with her free hand groped 
 in her pocket for her handkerchief. This found, she 
 blew her nose loudly and glanced at Poynter who was 
 surveying the pair with his grave, wise smile. 
 
 " I'm sure you don't mind if I make a fool of my- 
 self," she said. " And I'm sure I don't."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 FOR as much of the day as she could spare from 
 the miserable formalities and arrangements at- 
 tendant on the death of a human being, Clem- 
 entina made a fool of herself over the child. It was 
 a feminine scrap hungering for love, kitten-like in its 
 demand for caresses. Contentedly nestling in Clemen- 
 tina's arms, she related, piecemeal, her tiny history. 
 Her name was Sheila, and she loved her father, who 
 was very ill. So ill that she had only been able to see 
 him once since they had come off the ship. That was 
 yesterday, and she had been frightened, for he said 
 that he was going to mummy. Now mummy had 
 gone to heaven, and when people go to heaven you 
 never see them again. With a pang Clementina asked 
 her if she remembered when her mummy went to 
 heaven. Oh, yes. It was ever so long ago when 
 she was quite little. Daddy cried, cried, cried. She, 
 too, would cry if daddy were to go to heaven. . . . 
 Clementina thought it best to wait and accustom the 
 child both to the idea of the eternal parting and to 
 herself before breaking the disastrous news. But her 
 heart was wrung. Sometimes Sheila revolted and 
 clamoured to see him; but on the whole she showed 
 herself to be reasonable and docile. She hugged to 
 her side a shapeless and very dirty white plush cat, 
 her inseparable companion. . . . They had lived 
 in a big house in Shanghai, with lots of servants ; but 
 her father had sold it and sold all the furniture, and 
 they were going to live in England for ever and ever. 
 
 233
 
 234 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 England was a place all full of green trees and grass 
 and cows and flowers. Did Clementina know Eng- 
 land? 
 
 " Suppose daddy goes to heaven, would you like to 
 come and live with me ? " asked Clementina. 
 
 Sheila replied seriously that she would sooner live 
 with her than with Na. Na was a new Na. Her old 
 Na was in Shanghai. Her husband wouldn't let her 
 come to England. Only Clementina would have to 
 cuddle her to sleep every night, like her daddy. Na 
 didn't cuddle her to sleep. She thought she didn't 
 know how. Daddy, she repeated like a young parrot, 
 had said that was the worst of getting a nurse who 
 had never had children of her own. They were so 
 darned helpless. Clementina winced; but she put her 
 arm round the child again. 
 
 " You're not afraid of my not being able to cuddle 
 you, Sheila ? " 
 
 " Oh, you you cuddle lovely," murmured Sheila. 
 
 Who was her mother? Clementina had no notion. 
 Hammersley had never announced the fact of his mar- 
 riage. The last time she had seen him was six years 
 ago. The child gave herself out to be five and a half. 
 Hammersley must have married just before leaving 
 England. He had breathed not a word to anybody. 
 But so had Will Hammersley acted all his life. He 
 was one who gave and never sought; a man who re- 
 ceived the confidence of all who knew him, and kept 
 the secrets both of joy and sorrow of his own life 
 hidden behind his smiling eyes. 
 
 One of the secrets the dainty secret that lay in her 
 arms was out now; a fact in flesh and blood. And 
 for the guidance of this sensitive wisp of humanity 
 to womanhood she, Clementina, and Ephraim Quixtus 
 were jointly responsible. It was a Puckish destiny 
 that had brought their lives to this point of conver-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 235 
 
 gence. With the dead man lying cold and stark up- 
 stairs, the humour of it appeared too grim for smiles. 
 She wished that the quiet, capable man of wise under- 
 standing and unselfish heart, who had missed the ex- 
 press train at Brindisi that would have sped him 
 swiftly to his longed-for Devonshire, and had come on 
 to Marseilles with the sick stranger, had been ap- 
 pointed her coadjutor. Poynter could have helped her 
 mightily with his kindly wisdom and his knowledge of 
 the hearts and the ways of men, as he was helping her 
 that day in the performance of the dreary duties to the 
 dead. But Quixtus ! He was as much of a child as 
 the one confided to his care. Anxious, however, that 
 Sheila should be prepossessed in his favour, she drew 
 a flattering picture of the new uncle that would shortly 
 come into her life. 
 
 "Is he your husband?" asked Sheila. 
 
 " Good Lord, no ! " cried Clementina, aghast at the 
 grotesque suggestion. " Whatever put that in your 
 head, child?" 
 
 It appeared that Dora Smith, one of her little 
 friends in Shanghai, had an uncle and aunt who were 
 married. She thought all uncles and aunts were mar- 
 ried. 
 
 " Do you think he'll like my frock? " asked Sheila. 
 
 The vanity of the feminine thing! Clementina 
 laughed for the first time that dismal day. 
 
 " Do you think he'll like mine ? " 
 
 Sheila looked critically at the soiled, ill-fitting blouse, 
 and the rusty old brown skirt, and reddened. She 
 paused for a moment. 
 
 " I'm sure hell say that he does," she replied se- 
 dately. 
 
 Clementina caught a whimsical gleam in Poynter's 
 eye. 
 
 " Oriental diplomacy ! " she remarked.
 
 236 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 He shook his head. " You're wrong. Go deeper." 
 
 Clementina flushed and stroked the child's fair hair. 
 
 " I'm afraid I've got to learn a lot of things." 
 
 " In the most exquisite school in the world," said 
 Poynter. 
 
 Quixtus came downstairs about four o'clock, pale 
 and shaky, and found Clementina in the dark and 
 stuffy writing-room of the hotel. She had petted the 
 child to her afternoon sleep, about half an hour before, 
 and had left her in the joint care of the Chinese nurse 
 and the dirty white plush cat tightly clasped to her 
 breast. She had just finished a letter to Tommy. 
 Either through the fault of the deeply encrusted hotel 
 pen, or by force of painting habit, a smear of violet 
 ink ran a comet's course across her cheek. She had 
 written to Tommy: 
 
 "If you don't want to know what has happened, you 
 ought to. I find my poor friend dead on my arrival. 
 Elysian fields for him, which I'm sure are not as beau- 
 tiful as the English lanes his soul longed for. To my 
 amazement he has left a fairy child to the joint guar- 
 dianship of your uncle and myself. Your uncle's a sick 
 man, and needs looking after. What I'm going to do 
 with all you helpless chickens, when I ought to be 
 painting trousers^ God alone knows. I once was an 
 artist. Now I'm a hen. Yours, Clementina." 
 
 She had also written to Etta in similar strain, and at 
 the same inordinate length, and was addressing the 
 envelope when Quixtus entered the room. 
 
 She wheeled round. 
 
 "Better?" 
 
 " Thank you," said he. " Though I'm ashamed of 
 myself for sleeping all this time." 
 
 " Jolty good thing you did go to sleep," replied 
 Clementina. " It has probably saved you from a 
 breakdown. You were on the verge of one."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 237 
 
 " Can I help you with any of the unhappy arrange- 
 ments that have to be made in these circumstances ? " 
 
 " Made 'em," said Clementina. " Sit down." 
 
 Quixtus obeyed meekly. He wore an air of great 
 lassitude, like a man who has just risen from a bed of 
 sickness. He passed his hands over his eyes : 
 
 " There was a sealed packet, if I remember rightly, 
 and a child. I think we might see now what the 
 packet contains." 
 
 " Are you fit to read it ? " she asked. He smiled 
 vaguely, for her tone softened the abruptness of the 
 question. 
 
 " I am anxious to do so," he replied. 
 
 Clementina opened the envelope and drew out the 
 two documents, the letter and the will, and read them 
 aloud. Neither added greatly to the information 
 given by Poynter. Hammersley charged them as 
 his two oldest, most loved and trusted friends, to 
 regard themselves as the parents and guardians of his 
 orphaned child, to whom he bequeathed a small 
 but comfortable fortune, to be administered by them 
 jointly in trust, until she should marry or reach the 
 age of twenty-five years. No mention being made of 
 the dead wife, her identity still remained a mystery. 
 Like Clementina, Quixtus had not heard of his 
 marriage, could think of no woman whom, six 
 years ago, while he was in England, he could have 
 married. 
 
 But six years ago. . . . ! Quixtus buried his face 
 in his hands and shuddered. Had the man been false 
 to every one even to the wife of the friend he had 
 betrayed ? 
 
 Suddenly he rose with a great cry and a passionate 
 gesture of both arms. 
 
 " I am lost ! I am lost ! I am floundering in 
 quicksands. The meaning of the earth has gone
 
 238 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 from me. I'm in a land of grotesques shapes that 
 mop and mow at me and have no reality. The things 
 they do the human brain can't conceive. They 
 have been driving me mad, mad ! " he cried, beating 
 his head with his knuckles ; " and yet I am sane now. 
 Did you ever know what it was to be so sane that your 
 ; soul was tortured with sanity? Oh, my God ! " 
 / He walked about the room quivering from the out- 
 burst. Clementina regarded him with amazed in- 
 terest. This was a new, undreamed of Quixtus, a 
 human creature that had passed through torment. 
 
 " Tell me what is on your mind," she said quietly. 
 " It might ease it." 
 
 " No," he said, halting before her. " Not to my 
 dying day. There are things one must keep within 
 oneself till they eat away one's vitals. I wish I had 
 never come here." 
 
 " You came here on an errand of mercy, and as far 
 as you were concerned you performed it." 
 
 " I came here with hate in my heart, I tell you. 
 I came here on an errand of evil. And outside the 
 door of his room my purpose failed me and I sent 
 him my love. And then I went in and saw him 
 dead." 
 
 " And you forgave him," said Clementina. 
 
 " No ; I prayed that God would." 
 
 He turned away. Clementina rose from her chair 
 by the writing-table and followed him. 
 
 " What was between you and Will Hammersley ? " 
 
 For an instant he had an impulse to tell her, she 
 looked so strong, so honest. But he checked it. 
 Confidence was impossible. The shame of the dead 
 must be buried with the dead. He pointed to the 
 documents lying on the table. 
 
 " He thought I never knew. I never knew," said 
 he.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 239 
 
 " I give it up," said Clementina. 
 
 A memory smote him. He bent his brows upon her. 
 His eyes were sad and clear. 
 
 " You have no inkling of the matter? " 
 
 " None in the least. Good Lord ! " she broke out 
 impatiently, " if I had, do you suppose I'd be cross- 
 questioning you? I'd be trying to help you, as I 
 want to do." 
 
 He threw himself wearily into a chair and leant 
 his head on his hand. 
 
 " I've had queer experiences of late," he said. 
 " I've learned to trust nobody. How can I tell that 
 you're sincere in saying you want to help me? " 
 
 Clementina puckered up her face. 
 
 " What's that? Here am I, who have been abusing 
 you all your life, now doing violence to my traditions 
 and saying let us kiss and be friends just at the 
 very moment when you want friends more than 
 you ever did in your born days and you ask me 
 if I'm sincere! Lord in heaven! Did you ever 
 know me to be even decently polite to creatures I 
 didn't care about ? " 
 
 Clementina was indignant. The faint shadow of a 
 smile passed across Quixtus's face. 
 
 " You've not always been polite to me, Clementina. 
 This change to solicitude is surprising. Timeo Danaos 
 et dona ferentes. Which means " 
 
 " Do you suppose you're the only person who knows 
 tags out of the Latin grammar ? " she snapped. Then 
 she laughed in her dry way. " Don't let us begin to 
 quarrel. We've got a child, you and I. I hope you 
 realise that. If we were its real father and mother 
 we might quarrel with impunity. As we're not, we 
 can't. What are we going to do ? " 
 
 Quixtus thought deeply for a long time. His 
 sensitive nature shrank from the duty imposed. If
 
 240 
 
 he accepted it he would be the dead man's dupe to 
 the end of the chapter. 
 
 " You have seen the little girl ? " he inquired at 
 last. 
 
 " Yes. Been with her most of the day." 
 
 "Do you like her?" 
 
 She regarded him with whimsical pity. 
 
 " Oh yes, I like her," she said. 
 
 "Then why not keep her to yourself? I am not 
 bound by Hammersley's wishes. All I have to do is 
 to decline to act either as executor or trustee." 
 
 Clementina's heart leaped in the most unregenerate 
 manner. To have Sheila all to herself, without let 
 or hindrance from her impossible co-trustee ! She 
 was staggered by the sudden, swif temptation which 
 struck at the roots of her unfulfilled womanhood. For 
 a while she dallied with it deliciously. 
 
 " If it's agreeable to you, I'll decline to act," said 
 Quixtus, after the spell of silence. 
 
 Clementina strangled the serpent in a flash and cast 
 it from her. To purchase happiness at the price of 
 human infirmity? No. She would play squarely 
 with life. Feminine instinct told her that the care 
 of the child was needful for this weary man's salvation. 
 She attacked him with more roughness than she in- 
 tended the eddy of her own struggle. 
 
 " What right have you to shirk your responsibilities ? 
 That's what you've always done and see where it 
 has landed you. I'm not going to be a party to it. 
 It's pure and simple cowardice, and I have no patience 
 with it." 
 
 " Perhaps I deserve your reproaches," said Quixtus 
 mildly. " But the present circumstances are so 
 painful " 
 
 " Painful ! " she interrupted. " Lord above, man, 
 what does it matter whether they're painful or not?
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 241 
 
 Do you suppose I've gone through six and thirty 
 years without pain? I've had awful pain, hellish 
 pain, as much pain as a woman and an artist and a 
 scarecrow can suffer. That's new to you, isn't it? 
 But you've never seen me making a hullabaloo about 
 it. We've got to bear pain in the world, and the more 
 we grin, the better we bear it, and what is a precious 
 sight more useful the more we help others to bear 
 it. Who are you, Ephraim Quixtus, that you should 
 be exempt from pain ? " 
 
 She turned to the yellow packet of " Maryland " 
 on the marble mantlepiece and rolled a cigarette. 
 Quixtus said nothing, but sat tugging at his scrubby 
 moustache. 
 
 " That child," she said and she paused to lick the 
 cigarette " That child of five is doomed to pain. 
 Some of it all the love in the world can't prevent. 
 It's a law of life. But some it can. That's another 
 law of life, thank God. By taking pain upon us, we 
 can also save others pain. That's another law. I 
 suppose we have to thank Jesus Christ for that. And 
 fate has put this tender thing into our hands to save it, 
 if possible, from the pain that both you and I have 
 endured. To reject the privilege is the act of a cow- 
 ardly devil, not of a man." 
 
 As she stood there in her slatternly blouse and 
 tousled hair, brandishing the wetted cigarette between 
 nicotine stained fingers, yet enunciating as she had 
 seldom condescended to do to a fellow creature 
 her ruggedly tender philosophy of life, she looked 
 almost beautiful in the eyes of the man who had 
 awakened from a nightmare into the sober greyness 
 of an actual dawn. 
 
 She lit the cigarette with fingers unwontedly 
 trembling, and feverishly drew in the first few puffs. 
 
 " Well? What are you going to do? "
 
 242 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Quixtus breathed hard, with parted lips, and stared 
 at the future. It is difficult, after a nightmare 
 madness, to adjust the mind to the sane outlook. But 
 she had moved him to the depths the depths that 
 through all his madness had remained untroubled. 
 
 " You are right, Clementina," he said at last, in 
 a low voice. " I will share with you this great re- 
 sponsibility." 
 
 She blew out a puff of smoke ; " I don't think 
 it ought to turn our hair white, anyhow," she said, 
 sitting- on the arm of the sofa. " The child's past 
 teething, so we shan't have to sit up at nights over 
 * Advice to Mothers/ and our common sense will 
 tell us not to fill her up every day with pate de foie 
 gras. When she's ill we'll send for a doctor, and when 
 we want to do business we'll send for a lawyer. It 
 strikes me, Ephraim, that having another interest in 
 life besides dead men's jawbones, will do you a thun- 
 dering lot of good." 
 
 " Would you like something to do me good ? " he 
 asked, with a touch of wistful banter. 
 
 Clementina, as she afterwards confessed, felt herself 
 to be on such a sky-high plane of self-abnegation and 
 altruism, that she thrust down, figuratively speaking, 
 angelic arms towards him. Really, the mothering 
 instinct again clamoured. She threw her half-smoked 
 cigarette away and came and, standing over him, 
 clutched his shoulder. 
 
 " My good Ephraim," she said, " I would give any- 
 thing to see you a happy human being." 
 
 Then, in her abrupt fashion, she sent him out to 
 take the air. That also would do him good. She 
 thrust his hat and stick in his hand. 
 
 " What are you going -to do, Clementina ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " A thousand things. First I must go upstairs and
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 243 
 
 see whether the child's awake. I hate trusting her 
 with that heathen imbecile." 
 
 " Au revoir, then," said Quixtus, moving away. 
 
 " Come back in good time to make the child's ac- 
 quaintance," she shouted after him. 
 
 He paused on the threshold and looked at her irreso- 
 lutely. He had a nervous dread of meeting the child. 
 
 He walked through the sun-filled streets, down the 
 Cannebiere, absently watched the baking quays, 
 and then, returning 1 to the main thoroughfare, sat 
 down beneath the awning of a cafe. An hour passed. 
 It was time to go back and see his ward. He shrank 
 morbidly from the ordeal. With a great effort he rose 
 at last and walked to the hotel. 
 
 Clementina, Poynter, and the child were in the vesti- 
 bule, the two elders seated in the wickerwork chairs, 
 the little one squatting on the ground at their feet 
 and playing with the mongrel and somewhat super* 
 cilious dog of the hotel. Quixtus halted in front 
 of the group. The child lifted her flower-like face to 
 the new-comer. 
 
 " Is this " he began. 
 
 " This is Sheila," said Clementina. " Get up, dear, 
 and say how d'ye do to your new uncle." 
 
 She held out her hand with shy politeness he 
 looked so long and gaunt, and towered over her tiny 
 self. 
 
 "How do you do, uncle uncle ?" she turned 
 
 to Clementina. 
 
 " Ephraim," she prompted. 
 
 " Uncle Ephraim." 
 
 " No wonder the poor innocent doesn't remember 
 such a name," said Clementina. 
 
 He bent and solemnly wagged the soft hand for some 
 time; then, not knowing what to do with it, he let 
 it go.
 
 244 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Do you know Bimbo ? " 
 
 " No," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Bimbo patte." 
 
 The mongrel lifted his paw. 
 
 '* You must shake hands with him and then you 
 will know him," she said seriously. 
 
 Quixtus, with a grave face, bent lower and shook 
 hands with the dog. 
 
 " And Pinkie." 
 
 She lifted the dirty white plush cat. In an embar- 
 rassed way he wagged a stumpy fore-foot. 
 
 Sheila turned to Clementina. " Now he knows 
 everybody." 
 
 Clementina kissed her and rose from her seat, 
 Poynter rising also. 
 
 " You'll be a good girl if I leave you with Uncle 
 Ephraim for a while ? " 
 
 " My dear Clementina ! " cried Quixtus aghast. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 A gleam of kind malice flickered in her eyes. 
 
 " I find I must have some air, in my turn and 
 some absinthe which Mr. Poynter has promised to 
 give me. Au revoir! I shan't be long, Sheila dear." 
 
 She moved with Poynter towards the door. 
 
 " But, Clementina " 
 
 " If she bites you've only to call that lump of 
 Celestial idiocy over there," pointing to the fat Chinese 
 nurse who sat smiling in her dark corner. " You're 
 protected. And, by the way," she added in a whisper, 
 " She doesn't know her father's dead yet. Leave it to 
 me to break the news." 
 
 She was gone. Quixtus sank, a perspiring em- 
 barrassment, into one of the wicker chairs. A scurvy 
 trick, he thought, of Clementina to leave him in 
 this appalling situation. Yet shame prevented flight. 
 He sat there bending his mild, china-blue eyes on
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 245 
 
 Sheila, who had returned unconcernedly to Bimbo, 
 putting him through his tricks. He gave his paw 
 and sat up on end, and while doing so yawned in a 
 bored fashion. During this latter posture Sheila 
 sat- up on her little haunches and held her hands in 
 front of her and yawned in imitation. Then she set 
 Pinkie on end facing the dog. Lastly she looked up 
 at her new uncle. 
 
 " You do that too. Then we'll all be doing it." 
 
 " God bless my soul," said the startled man. " I 
 I can't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I'm too old." 
 
 She seemed, for the moment, satisfied with the rea- 
 son and resumed her game with Bimbo. After the 
 yawn he grinned with doggy fatuity, and his red long 
 tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth. Sheila 
 stuck out her little red tongue, in droll mimicry. 
 
 " Don't wag your tail, Bimbo. It isn't fair, because 
 I've got no tail. Why haven't I a tail, Uncle Eph 
 Eph Uncle Ephim ? " 
 
 " Because you're a little girl and not a dog." 
 
 At that moment the plush cat, insecurely balanced, 
 toppled over. 
 
 " God bless my soul," cried the little parrot, " you're 
 too old, Pinkie." 
 
 " Sheila," said Quixtus, realising in a frightened 
 way his responsibility. " Come here." 
 
 With perfect docility, she rose, and laid a hand on 
 his knee. Bimbo, perceiving himself liberated from 
 the boredom of mountebank duty, twisted himself 
 up and snarled comfortably at fleas in the middle of his 
 back. 
 
 " You mustn't say ' God bless my soul,' my 
 dear." 
 
 "Why not? You said it."
 
 246 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA' 
 
 There are instinctive answers in grown-ups, just as 
 instinctive questions in children. 
 
 " Old people can say things that little girls mustn't 
 just as old people can sit up later than little girls." 
 
 She regarded him with frank seriousness. 
 
 " I know. Daddy says ' damn,' but I mustn't. 
 I never say it. Pinkie said it once, and I put her in 
 a dark, dark hole for twenty million years. It wasn't 
 really twenty millions years, you know it was only 
 ten minutes but Pinkie thought it was." 
 
 " She must have been very frightened," said 
 Quixtus, involuntarily and the echo of the words 
 after passing his lips sounded strange in his ears. 
 
 " She got quite white," said Sheila. She picked 
 up the shapeless animal. " She never recovered. 
 Look!" 
 
 " She also lost one side of her whiskers," said 
 Quixtus, inspecting the beast held within two inches 
 of his nose. 
 
 " Oh no," she replied, getting in the most entangling 
 way between his legs. " Pinkie's a fairy princess, 
 and one day she'll have a crown and a pink dress and 
 a gold sword. It's a wicked fairy that keeps her like 
 a cat. And it was the wicked fairy in the shape of a 
 big rat, bigger than twenty million, billion, billion 
 houses, that bit off her whiskers. Daddy told me." 
 
 Quixtus could not follow these transcendental 
 flights of faerie. But he had to make some reply, 
 as she was looking with straight challenge into his 
 eyes. To his astonishment, he found himself express- 
 ing the hope that, when Pinkie came into her own 
 again, the loss of one set of whiskers would not impair 
 her beauty. Sheila explained that princesses didn't 
 have whiskers, so no harm was done. The bad fairy 
 in the form of a rat wanted to bite off Pinkie's nose, 
 in which case her beauty would have been ruined;
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 247 
 
 but Pinkie was protected by a good fairy, and just 
 when the bad fairy was going- to bite off her nose, 
 the good fairy shook a pepper pot and the bad fairy 
 sneezed and was only able to bite off the whiskers. 
 
 " That was very fortunate for Pinkie," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Very," said Sheila. She stood against him on 
 one leg, swinging the other. Conversation came to 
 a standstill. The man found himself tongue-tied. 
 All kinds of idiotic remarks came into his head. He 
 dismissed them as not being suitable to the compre- 
 hension of a child of five. His fingers mechanically 
 twisted themselves in her soft hair. Presently came 
 the eternal command of childhood. 
 
 " Tell me a story." 
 
 "Good gracious!" said he, "I'm afraid I don't 
 know any." 
 
 " You must know little Red Riding-Hood," she said, 
 with a touch of scorn. 
 
 " Perhaps I do. I wonder," said Quixtus. He 
 clutched eagerly at a straw. " But what's the use 
 of my telling it to you if you know it already? " 
 
 She ran and picked up the sprawling cat and calmly 
 established herself on his knees. Bimbo, neglected, 
 uttered a whining growl, and curling himself up 
 with his chin by his tail, dropped into a morose 
 slumber. 
 
 " Tell it to Pinkie. She's stupid and always forgets 
 the stories. Now begin." 
 
 Quixtus hummed and ha'd and at last plunged 
 desperately. " There was once a wolf who ate up 
 Red Riding-Hood's grandmother." 
 
 " That's not it," cried Sheila. " There was once 
 a sweet little girl who lived with her grandmother. 
 That's the proper way." 
 
 Quixtus floundered. Let any one who has never 
 told a tale to a child and has never heard of Red
 
 248 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 Riding-Hood for at least five-and-thirty years, try to 
 recount her tragical history. Quixtus had to tell it 
 to an expert in the legend, a fearsome undertaking. 
 At last, with her aid he stumbled through. Pinkie, 
 staring at him through her bead eyes, evidently 
 couldn't make head or tail of it. Being punched in 
 the midriff by her young protectress, she emitted a 
 wheezy squeak. 
 
 " Pinkie says ' thank you,' ' Sheila remarked 
 politely. 
 
 " And what do you say ? " asked the blundering 
 elder. 
 
 Now what had been good enough to merit Pinkie's 
 thanks had not been good enough to merit hers. 
 Besides, such as it was, she had told half the story. 
 With delicate diplomacy she had handled a difficult 
 situation. Her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Good God ! " murmured Quixtus in terror. " She 
 is going to cry. What on earth can I do ? " 
 
 His wits worked quickly. He remembered a recent 
 sitting in the Folk-lore section of the Anthropological 
 Congress. 
 
 " I suppose, my dear, a story current among the 
 aborigines of Papua wouldn't interest you ? " 
 
 Her eyes dried magically. She snuggled up against 
 him. 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 So Quixtus began a story about serpents and tigers 
 and shiny copper-coloured children, and knowing the 
 facts of the folk tale, gradually grew interested and 
 unconsciously discovered a new talent for picturesque 
 narration. One story led to another. He forgot 
 himself and his wrongs, and pathetically strove to 
 interest his audience and explain to her childish mind 
 the significance of tribal mysteries which were woven 
 into the texture of the tales. The explanation left her
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 249 
 
 comparatively cold; but so long as there were tigers 
 whose blood-curdling ferocity she adored, she found 
 the story entrancing. 
 
 " There ! " said he, laughing, when he had come to 
 an end. " What do you think of that ? " 
 
 " It's booful," she cried, and clambering on to both 
 knees on his lap, she put both hands on his shoulders 
 and held up her mouth for a kiss. 
 
 In this touching attitude Clementina and Poynter 
 discovered them. The new-comers exchanged a whim- 
 sical glance of intelligence. 
 
 " Wise woman," Poynter murmured. 
 
 " Obvious to any fool," she retorted and advanced 
 further into the vestibule. " Feeling decidedly better? " 
 
 Quixtus blushed in confusion. Sheila clambered 
 down from her perch and ran to Clementina. 
 
 " Oh, Auntie, Uncle Ephim has been telling me 
 such lovely stories." 
 
 " Lord save us ! " she turned on him " What do 
 you know about stories ? " 
 
 " They were tribal legends of Papua," he confessed) 
 modestly. 
 
 " And what else have you been doing? " 
 
 Quixtus made one of his old-world bows. 
 
 " I've been falling in love." 
 
 " You're getting on," said Clementina.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 LET us take the case of a refined and sensitive man 
 who has fallen, as many have fallen, under the 
 influence of drink. Let us suppose him to have 
 sunk lower and lower into the hell of it until delirium 
 tremens puts a temporary end to his excesses. Let us 
 suppose him to be convalescent, in sweet surroundings, 
 in capable hands, relieved, for the time at least, by the 
 strange gold drug of his craving for alcohol. His mind 
 is clear, his perceptions are acute, he is once more a 
 sane human being. He looks back upon his degrada- 
 tion with wondering horror. It is not as though 
 he has passed through a period of dark madness of 
 which the memory is vague and elusive. He 
 remembers it all all the incidents, all the besotted 
 acts, all the benumbed, enslaved surrender of his 
 soul. His freed self regards perplexedly the self that 
 was in bondage. They are two different entities 
 and yet they are unquestionably the same. He has 
 not been mad, because he has felt all the time respon- 
 sible for his actions, and yet he must have been mad 
 so to dishonour the divine spirit within him. The 
 latter argument prevails. " I have been mad," he says, 
 and shivers with disgust. 
 
 In some such puzzled frame of mind did Quixtus, 
 freed from the obsession of the Idea, regard his self 
 of the last few months. He remembered how it had 
 happened. There had been several shocks; the 
 Marrable disaster, the discovery of Angela and 
 Hammersley's betrayal, that of the disloyalty of his 
 
 250
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 251 
 
 three pensioners, the cynical trick of his uncle. He 
 remembered toying with the Idea on his homeward 
 journey, the farcical faithlessness of the drunken 
 housekeeper and then, click ! the hag Idea had 
 mounted on his shoulders and ridden away with him, 
 as Al Kohol (the very devil himself) rides away with 
 the unresisting drunkard. Every action, every thought 
 of this strange period were clear in his memory. He 
 could not have been mad and yet he must have 
 been. 
 
 To strain the analogy a trifle, the nightmare in the 
 train and the horror of the morning had been his de- 
 lirium tremens. But here the analogy suffers a solu- 
 tion of continuity. From that climax of devil work, 
 the drunkard descends but slowly and gradually 
 through tortures innumerable to the normal life of 
 man. Shock is ineffective. But in Quixtus's case there 
 was a double shock the seismic convulsion of his 
 being at the climactic moment, and the sudden an- 
 nouncement of that, which to all men born is the only 
 Absolute, final, immutable. 
 
 And then click! the hag that had ridden him had 
 been thrown from his shoulders, and he had looked 
 upon the dead through the eyes of a sane man. And 
 now, through the eyes of a sane man he regarded 
 the incredible spectacle of his self of yesterday. He 
 turned from it with shivers of disgust. He must have 
 been mad. A great depression came upon him. He 
 had suffered grievous wrongs, it is true ; no man 
 since Job had been more sorely afflicted; the revela- 
 tions of human baseness and treachery had been 
 such as to kill his once child-like faith in humanity. 
 But why had loss of faith sent him mad? What had 
 his brain been doing to allow this grotesque impulse 
 to over-master it ? At the present moment, he assured 
 himself, he had neither more nor less faith in mankind
 
 252 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 than when he had walked a maniac through the Lon- 
 don streets, or during last night's tortured journey in 
 the train. Yet now he desired to permit no wicked- 
 ness. The thought of evil for evil's sake was revolt- 
 ing. . . . The self that he had striven to respect 
 and keep clean all his life, had been soiled. Wherein 
 lay purification? 
 
 Had he been mad ? If so, how could he trust his 
 memory as to what had happened ? By the grace of 
 God those acts of wickedness whose contemplation he 
 remembered, had been rendered nugatory. Even 
 Tommy had not materially suffered, seeing that he 
 had kept the will intact and had placed two thousand 
 pounds to his banking account. But could he actually 
 have committed deeds of wickedness which he had 
 forgotten ? Were there any such which he had com- 
 mitted through the agency of the three evil counsel- 
 lors ? He racked his memory in vain. 
 
 The time at Marseilles passed gloomily. Poynter, 
 the good Samaritan, started the first evening for 
 Devonshire to satisfy his hungry soul with the unutter- 
 able comfort of English fields. Clementina and 
 Ouixtus saw him off at the station and walked back 
 through the sultry streets together. The next day 
 he was left much to his own company, as Clementina 
 broke the news of the death to the child and stayed with 
 her for comfort. He wandered aimlessly about the 
 town, seeking the shade, and wrapping himself in his 
 melancholy. When he saw Sheila in the afternoon 
 she was greatly subdued. She understood that her 
 father had gone to Heaven to stay with her mother. 
 She realised that she would never see him again. 
 Clementina briefly informed Quixtus of the child's 
 grief. How she had cried and called for him most of 
 the morning, how she had fallen asleep and had awak- 
 ened more calm. To distract her mind and to give
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 253 
 
 her the air, they hired a taxi-cab and drove on the 
 Corniche Road past the Restaurant de la Reserve. 
 Sheila's tiny body easily nestled on the seat between 
 them, and she seemed comforted by the human con- 
 tact. From Pinkie she also derived great consolation. 
 Pinkie was stupid, she explained, and she couldn't 
 talk; but really she was a fairy princess, and fairy 
 princesses were always affectionate. Pinkie was 
 stuffed with love as tight as she could hold. 
 
 " Have you ever been in a motor-car before ? " 
 asked Quixtus. 
 
 " Oh yes. Of course I have," she replied in her 
 rich little voice. " Daddy had one in Shanghai. He 
 used to take me out in it." 
 
 Then her lips quivered and the tears started and she 
 flung herself weeping against Clementina. 
 
 " Oh, daddy ! I want my daddy ! " 
 
 The essential feminine in Clementina sprang to arms. 
 
 " Why did you start her off like this by talking of 
 motor-cars ? " 
 
 " I'm dreadfully sorry," said Quixtus. " But how 
 was I to know ? " 
 
 " Just like a man," she retorted. " No intuition 
 worth a cent." 
 
 At dinner, a melancholy meal theirs was the only 
 table occupied in the vast, ghostly salle a manger she 
 apologised, in her gruff way. 
 
 " I was wrong about the motor-car. How the deuce 
 could you have known ? Besides, if you talked to the 
 child about a triple-expansion boiler, her daddy would 
 be sure to have had one at Shanghai. Poor little 
 mite!" 
 
 " Yes, poor little mite," said Quixtus, meditatively. 
 " I wonder what will become of her." 
 
 " That has got to be our look-out," she replied 
 sharply. " You don't seem to realise that."
 
 254 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I don't think I do quite even after what you 
 said to me yesterday. I must accustom myself to the 
 idea." 
 
 " Yesterday," said Clementina, " you declared that 
 you had fallen in love with her." 
 
 " Many a man," replied Quixtus with a faint smile, 
 " has fallen in love with one of your sex and has not 
 in the least known what to do with her." 
 
 The grim setting- of Clementina's lips relaxed. 
 
 " I think you're becoming more human. And, 
 talking of humanity there's a question that must be 
 cleared up between us, before we settle down to this 
 partnership. Are you intending to keep up your dia- 
 bolical attitude towards Tommy Burgrave ? " 
 
 The question had been burning her tongue for over 
 twenty-four hours ; from the moment that he had 
 appeared in the vestibule the day before, after his 
 sleep, and seemed to have recovered from the extraor- 
 dinary nervous collapse which had aroused her pity. 
 With considerable self-restraint she had awaited her 
 opportunity. Now it had come and when an 
 opportunity came to Clementina, she did not go by 
 four roads to take it. Quixtus laid down his knife 
 and fork and leaned back in his chair. Knowing her 
 attachment to the boy, he had expected some 
 reference to his repudiation. But the direct question 
 disconcerted him. Should he have to render equally 
 sudden account of all the fantastic iniquities of the 
 past? Then something he had not thought of before 
 entered his amazed head. He had never counter- 
 manded the order whereby the allowance was auto- 
 matically transferred from his own banking account 
 to Tommy's. He had intended to write the letter 
 after having destroyed the will, but his reflections on 
 plagiarism in wickedness which had led to the preser- 
 vation of that document, had also caused him to forget
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 255 
 
 the other matter entirely. And he had not thought 
 of it from that day to this. 
 
 " As a matter of fact/' said he, looking at his plate, 
 " I have not disinherited Tommy ; I have not discon- 
 tinued his allowance, and I have placed a very large 
 sum of money to his credit at the bank." 
 
 Clementina knitted her brows and stared at him. 
 The man was a greater puzzle than ever. Was he ly- 
 ing ? If Tommy had found himself in opulence, he 
 would have told her. Tommy was veracity incarnate. 
 
 " The boy hasn't a penny to his name nothing ex- 
 cept his mother's fifty pounds a year." 
 
 He met her black, keen eyes steadily. 
 
 " I am telling you the facts. He can't have enquired 
 about his bank balance recently." He passed his hand 
 across his forehead, as realisation of the past strange 
 period came to him. " I suppose he can't have done 
 so, as he has never written to acknowledge the the 
 large amount of money." 
 
 The man was telling the truth. It was mystifying. 
 
 " Then why in the name of Bedlam did you play 
 the fool with him like that ? " 
 
 " That is another matter," said he, lowering his 
 eyes. " For the sake of an answer, let us say that I 
 wanted to test his devotion to his art." 
 
 " We can say it as much as we please, but I don't 
 believe it." 
 
 " I will ask you, Clementina," said he, courteously, 
 " as a great personal favour to let it pass at that." 
 
 " All right," said Clementina. 
 
 He went on with his dinner. Presently another 
 thing struck him. He was to find a plaguey lot of 
 things to strike him in connection with his lunacy. 
 
 " If Tommy was penniless," said he, " will you ex- 
 plain how he has managed to take this expensive holi- 
 day in France."
 
 256 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Look here, let us talk of something else," she re- 
 plied. " I'm sick of Tommy." 
 
 Visions of Tommy's whooping joy, of Etta's radi- 
 ance, when they should hear the astounding news, 
 floated before her. She could hear him telling the chit 
 of a girl to put on her orange-blossoms and go out 
 with him at once and get married. She could hear 
 Etta say : 
 
 " Darling Clementina, do run out and buy me some 
 orange-blossoms." Much the two innocents cared 
 for darling Clementina! There were times when she 
 really did not know whether she wanted to take 
 them both in her arms in a great splendid hug, 
 or tie them up together in a sack and throw them into 
 the Seine. 
 
 " I'm sick of Tommy," she declared. 
 
 But the normal brain of the cultivated man had 
 begun to work. 
 
 " Clementina," said he, " it is you that have been 
 paying Tommy's expenses." 
 
 " Well, suppose I have ? " she replied, defiantly. 
 She added quickly, womanlike divining the reproach 
 to Tommy, underlying Quixtus's challenge : " He's 
 a child and I'm an old woman. I had the deuce's 
 own job to make him accept. I couldn't go careering 
 about France all by myself I could, as a matter of 
 practical fact I could career all over Gehenna if I 
 chose but it wouldn't have been gay. He sacrificed 
 his pride to give me a holiday. Wl^at have you to 
 say against it ? " 
 
 A flush of shame mounted to Quixtus's cheek. It 
 was intolerable that one of his house his sister's son 
 should have been dependent for bread on a woman. 
 He himself was to blame. 
 
 " Clementina," said he, " this is a very delicate mat- 
 ter, and I hope you won't misjudge me ; but as your
 
 257 
 
 great generosity was based on a most unhappy misun- 
 derstanding ' ' 
 
 " Ephraim Quixtus," she interrupted, seeing whither 
 he was tending, " go on with your dinner and don't 
 be a fool ! " 
 
 There was nothing for it but for Quixtus to go on 
 with his dinner. 
 
 " I tell you what," she said, after a pause, in spite 
 of her weariness of Tommy as a topic of conversation, 
 " when Tommy met you in Paris, he didn't know 
 what you've just told me. He thought you had un- 
 reasonably and heartlessly cut him adrift. And yet he 
 greeted you as affectionately and frankly as if nothing 
 had happened." 
 
 * That's true," Quixtus admitted. " He did." 
 
 " It proves to you what a sound-hearted fellow 
 Tommy is." 
 
 " I see," said Quixtus. " Well ? " 
 
 " That's all," said Clementina. " Or if it isn't it 
 ought to be." 
 
 Quixtus made no reply. There was no reply pos- 
 sible, save the real explanation of his eccentric be- 
 haviour; and that he was not prepared to offer. But 
 Clementina's rough words sank deep in his mind. 
 Judged by ordinary standards, his treatment of Tommy 
 had been unqualifiable ; Tommy's behaviour all that 
 was most meritorious. In Tommy's case wherein lay 
 the proof of the essential depravity of mankind ? His 
 gloomy faith received a shock which caused him ex- 
 ceeding discomfort. You see, if you take all the 
 trouble of going mad for the sake of a gospel, you 
 rather cling to it when you recover sanity. You are 
 rather eager to justify to yourself the waste of time 
 and energy. It is human nature. 
 
 After dinner she dismissed him. He must go out 
 to a cafe and see the world. She had to look after
 
 258 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 the child's slumbers, and write letters. Quixtus went 
 out into the broad, busy streets. The Cannebiere 
 was crowded with gasping but contented citizens. 
 On every side rose the murmur of mirth and cheerful- 
 ness. Solid burgesses strolled arm in arm with their 
 solider wives. Youths and maidens laughed together. 
 Swarthy workmen with open shirt-collars showing 
 their hairy throats, bare-headed workgirls in giggling 
 knots, little soldiers clinging amorously to sweet- 
 hearts all the crowd wore an air of gaiety, of love 
 of their kind, of joy in comradeship. At the thronged 
 cafes, too, men and women found comfort in the 
 swelter of gregariousness. Night had fallen over the 
 baking city, and the great thoroughfare blazed in 
 light from shop windows, cafes, street lamps, from 
 the myriad whirling lamps of trams and motors. 
 Above it all the full moon shone splendid from the 
 intense sky of a summer night. Quixtus and the moon 
 appeared to be the only lonely things in the Cannebiere. 
 
 He wandered down to the quay and back again 
 in ever-growing depression. He felt lost, an alien 
 among this humanity that clung together for mutual 
 happiness ; he envied the little soldier and his girl 
 gazing hungrily, their heads almost touching, into a 
 cheap jeweller's window. A sudden craving such as 
 he had never known in his life, awoke within him, 
 insistent, imperious a craving for human companion- 
 ship. Instinctively he walked back to the hotel, 
 scarcely realising why he had come, until he saw 
 Clementina in the vestibule. She had stuck on her 
 crazy hat and was pulling on her white cotton gloves, 
 evidently preparing to go out. 
 
 " Hullo ! Back already ? " 
 
 " I have come to ask you a favour, Clementina/' 
 said he. " Would it bore you to come out with me 
 to give me the pleasure of your company ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 259 
 
 " It wouldn't bore me," replied Clementina. " Pre- 
 cious few things do. But what on earth can you 
 want me for ? " 
 
 " If I tell you, you won't mock at me ? " 
 
 " I only mock at you, as you call it, when you do 
 idiotic things. Anyhow, I won't now. What's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 He hesitated. She saw that her brusqueness 
 had checked something natural and spontaneous. At 
 once she strove to make amends, and laid her hand 
 on his sleeve. 
 
 " We've got to be friends henceforth, Ephraim, if 
 only for the child's sake. Tell me." 
 
 " It was only that I have never felt so dismally 
 alone in my life, as I did in that crowded street." 
 
 "And so you came back for me ?" 
 
 " I came back for you," he said with a smile. 
 
 " Let tis go," said Clementina, and she put her arm 
 through his and they went out together and walked 
 arm in arm like hundreds of other solemn couples 
 in Marseilles. 
 
 " That better ? " she asked after a while, with a 
 humorous and pleasant sense of mothering this curi- 
 ously pathetic and incomprehensible man. 
 
 The unfamiliar tone in her voice touched him. 
 
 " I had no idea you could be so kind, Clementina. 
 Yesterday morning, when I was ill I can scarcely 
 remember but I feel you were kind then." 
 
 " I'm not always a rhinoceros," said Clementina. 
 " But what am I doing that's kind now ? " 
 
 He pressed her arm gently., " Just this/ said he. 
 
 Then Clementina realised, with an odd thrill of 
 pleasure, how much more significance often lies in 
 little things than in big ones. 
 
 They walked along the quay and looked at the 
 island of the Chateau d'lf standing out grim in the
 
 26o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 middle of the moonlit harbour, turned up one of the 
 short streets leading to the Rue de Rome, and so 
 came into the Cannebiere again. A table, just vacated 
 on the outer edge of the terrace of one of the cafes, 
 allured them. They sat down and ordered coffee. 
 The little sentimental walk arm in arm had done 
 much to dispose each kindly towards the other. 
 Quixtus felt grateful for her rough yet subtle sym- 
 pathy, Clementina appreciated his appreciation. The 
 atmosphere of antagonism that had hitherto sur- 
 rounded them had disappeared. For the first time 
 since their arrival in Marseilles they talked on general 
 topics. Almost for the first time in their lives they 
 calked of general topics naturally, without constraint. 
 Hitherto she had always kept an ear cocked for 
 the pedant ; he for the scoffer. She had been im- 
 patient of his quietism ; he had nervously dreaded 
 her brutality. Now a truce was declared. She fore- 
 bore to jeer at his favourite pursuit, it not entering her 
 head to do so; Quixtus, a man of breeding, never 
 rode his hobby outside his ring, except in self-defence. 
 They talked of music a band was playing in the 
 adjoining cafe. They discovered a common ground 
 in Bach. Desultory talk led them to modern opera. 
 There was a little haunting air, said he, in Hans Joueur 
 de Flfite. 
 
 " This ? " cried Clementina, leaning across the table 
 and humming it. " You're the only English creature 
 I've come across who has ever heard of it." 
 
 They talked of other things of travel. Her tour 
 through France was fresh in her mind. Sensitive 
 artist, she was full of the architecture. Wherever she 
 had gone, Quixtus had gone before her. To her after 
 astonishment, for she was too much interested in the 
 talk to consider it at the time, he met her sympa- 
 thetically on every point.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 261 
 
 " The priceless treasures of France," said he, 
 " are the remains of expiring Gothic and the early 
 Renaissance. Of the former you have the Palais de 
 Justice at Rouen which everybody knows and the 
 west front of the Cathedral at Vendome." 
 
 "But I've just been to Vendome!" cried 
 Clementina. " That wonderful flamboyant win- 
 dow ! " 
 
 " The last word of Gothic," said Quixtus. " The 
 funeral pyre of Gothic that tracery the whole thing 
 is on fire it's all leaping flame as if some God had 
 said ' Let this noble thing that is dead have a stu- 
 pendous end.' Vendome always seems to me like the 
 end of the Viking. They sent the hero away to sea 
 in a blaze of fire." 
 
 Richelieu, the little town not far from Tours where 
 every one goes, yet so unknown built by the great 
 Cardinal for his court and to-day standing with hardly 
 change of stick or stone, just as Richelieu left it, Quix- 
 tus had visited. 
 
 " But that's damnable ! " cried Clementina. " I 
 thought we had discovered it." 
 
 He laughed. " So did I. And I suppose every- 
 body who goes there views it with the eyes of a little 
 Columbus." 
 
 " What did you like best about it? " 
 
 " The pictures of the past it evoked. The cavalcade 
 of Richelieu's nobles all in their Louis Treize finery 
 the clatter of the men-at-arms down that broad, 
 cobble-paved central street. The setting was all there. 
 It was so easy to fill it." 
 
 " That's just what Tommy did," said Clementina. 
 " Tommy made a fancy sketch on the spot of the 
 Cardinal entering in state in his great heavy carrosse 
 with his bodyguard around him." 
 
 This led them on to pictures. She found that
 
 262 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 he was familiar with all the galleries in Europe 
 with most of the works of the moderns. She had 
 never suspected that he had ideas of his own on pic- 
 tures. He hated what he called the " nightmare of 
 .technique " of the ultra-modern school. Clementina 
 disliked it also. " All great art was simple," he re- 
 marked. " Put one of Hobbema's sober landscapes, 
 the Saint Michael of Raphael, amidst the hysteria of 
 the Salon des Independents, and the four walls would 
 crumble into chaotic paint. 
 
 " Which reminds me," said he, " of a curious little 
 experience a good many years ago. It was at the first 
 International Art Exhibition in London. Paris and 
 Belgium and Holland poured out their violences to 
 unfamiliar eyes mine were unfamiliar, at any rate. 
 There were women sitting in purple cafes with orange 
 faces and magenta hair. There were hideous nudes 
 with muscles on their knee-caps, writhing in decadent 
 symbolism. There were portraits so flat that they gave 
 you the impression of insects squashed against the 
 wall. I remember going through, not understanding 
 it one bit ; and then ia the midst of all this fever 
 I came across a little gem so cool, so finished, so 
 sane, and yet full of grip, and I stood in front of it 
 until I got better and then went away. It was a most 
 curious sensation, like a cool hand on a fevered brow. 
 I happened not to have a catalogue, so I've never 
 known the painter." 
 
 " What kind of a picture was it ? " asked Clemen- 
 tina. 
 
 " Just a child, in a white frock and a blue sash, and 
 not a remarkably pretty child either. But it was a 
 delightful piece of work." 
 
 " Do you remember," she asked, " whether there 
 was a mother-o'-pearl box on a litUe (able to the left 
 of the girl ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 263 
 
 " Yes," said Quixtus. " There was. Do you know 
 the picture ? " 
 
 Clementina smiled. She smiled so that her white, 
 strong teeth became visible. Quixtus had never seen 
 Clementina's teeth. 
 
 " Painted it," said Clementina, throwing forward 
 both her hands in triumph. 
 
 One of her hands met the long glass of coffee and 
 sent it scudding across the table. Quixtus instinctively 
 jerked his chair backward, but he could not escape 
 a great splash of coffee over his waistcoat. Full of 
 delight, gratitude, and dismay, Clementina whipped 
 up her white cotton gloves and before waiters with 
 napkins could intervene, she wiped him comparatively 
 dry. 
 
 " Your gloves ! Your gloves ! " he cried, pro- 
 testing. 
 
 She held up the unspeakable things and almost 
 laughed as she threw them on the pavement, whence 
 they were picked up carefully by a passing urchin 
 for nothing is wasted in France. 
 
 " I would have wiped you clean with my well, 
 with anything I've got, in return for you having re- 
 membered my picture." 
 
 " Well," said he, " the compliment being quite un- 
 conscious, was all the more sincere." 
 
 The waiter mopped up the flooded table. 
 
 " Let us be depraved," said Clementina in high good 
 humour, " and have some green chartreuse." 
 
 " Willingly," smiled Quixtus. 
 
 So they were depraved. 
 
 And when Clementina went to bed she wondered 
 why she had railed at Quixtus all these years.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CLEMENTINA went to bed a happier woman 
 than she had been for many a day. Distrust- 
 ing the ministrations of the Chinese nurse, she 
 had set up a little bed for Sheila in her own room. 
 The child lay there fast asleep, the faithful Pinkie pro- 
 jecting- from a folded arm in a staring and uncomfort- 
 able attitude of vigilance. Clementina's heart throbbed 
 as she bent over her. All that she had struggled for 
 and had attained, mastery of her art, fame and fortune, 
 shrank to triviality in comparison with this glorious 
 gift of heaven. She remembered scornful words she 
 had once spoken to Tommy : " Woman has always 
 her sex hanging round the neck of her spirit." She 
 recognised the truth of the saying and thanked God 
 for it. She undressed very quietly and walked about 
 the room in stocking-feet, feeling a strange sacred- 
 ness in the presence of the sleeping child. 
 
 She was happier, too, in that she had forgiven 
 Quixtus; for the first time since she had known him 
 she felt a curiosity regarding him, a desire for his 
 friendship ; scarcely formulated, arose a determination 
 to bring something vital into his life. As the notable 
 housewife entering a forlorn man's neglected house 
 longs to throw open windows, shake carpets, sweep 
 down cobwebs, abolish dingy curtains, and fill the 
 place with sunlight and chintz and other gaiety, so 
 did Clementina long to sweep and garnish Quixtus's 
 dusty heart. He had many human possibilities. After 
 all, there must be something sound in a man who had 
 
 264
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 265 
 
 treasured in his mind the memory of her picture. 
 Sheila and herself, between them, would transform 
 him into a gaunt angel. She fell asleep smiling at 
 the thought. 
 
 Clementina did not suffer fools gladly. That was 
 why, thinking Quixtus a fool, she had not been able to 
 abide him for so many years. And that was why she 
 could not abide the fat Chinese nurse, who showed 
 herself to be a mass of smiling incompetence. " The 
 way she washes the child makes me sick," she declared. 
 " If I see much more of her heathen idol's grin, I'll go 
 mad and bite her." So the next day Clementina, with 
 Quixtus as a decorative adjunct, hunted up consular 
 and other authorities and made with them the neces- 
 sary arrangements for shipping her off to Shanghai, 
 for which she secretly pined, by the next outward- 
 bound steamer. When they got to London she would 
 provide the child with a proper Christian nurse, who 
 would bring her up in the fear of the Lord and in 
 habits of tidiness ; and in the meanwhile she herself 
 would assume the responsibility of Sheila's physical 
 well-being. 
 
 " I'm not going to have a flighty young girl," she 
 remarked. " I could tackle her, but you couldn't." 
 
 " Why should I attempt to tackle her ? " asked 
 Quixtus. 
 
 " You'll be responsible for the child when she stays 
 in Russell Square." 
 
 " Russell Square ? " he echoed. 
 
 " Yes. She will live partly with you and partly with 
 me three months with each of us, alternately. Where 
 did you expect the child to live ? " 
 
 " Upon my soul," said he, " I haven't considered the 
 matter. Well well " 
 
 He walked about the vestibule, revolving this new 
 and alarming proposition. To have a little girl of
 
 266 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 five planted in his dismal, decorous house what in 
 the world should he do with her ? It would revolu- 
 tionise his habits. Clementina watched him out of a 
 corner of her eye. 
 
 " You didn't suppose I was going to have all the 
 worry, did you ? " 
 
 " No, no," he said hastily. " Of course not. I 
 see I must share all responsibilities with you. Only 
 won't she find living with me rather dull ? " 
 
 " You can keep a lot of cats and dogs and rocking- 
 horses, and give children's parties," said Clementina. 
 
 Sheila, who had been apparently absorbed in the 
 mysteries of the Parisian toilet of a flaxen-haired doll 
 which Clementina had bought for her at an extrava- 
 gant price, cheerfully lifted up her face. 
 
 " Auntie says that when I come to stay with you, 
 I'm to be mistress of the house." 
 
 " Indeed ? " said Quixtus. 
 
 " And I'm to be a real lady and sit at the end of 
 the table and entertain the guests." 
 
 " I suppose that settles it ? " he said, with a smile. 
 
 " Of course it does," said Clementina, and she won- 
 dered whether his masculine mind would ever be in a 
 condition to grasp the extent of the sacrifice she was 
 making. 
 
 That day the remains of Will Hammersley were laid 
 to rest in the little Protestant cemetery. The consular 
 chaplain read the service. Only the two elders stood 
 by the graveside, thinking the ordeal too harrowing 
 for the child. Clementina wept, for some of her wasted 
 youth lay in the coffin. But Quixtus stood with dry 
 eyes and set features. Now he was sane. Now he 
 could view life calmly. He knew that his memory of 
 the dead would always be bitter. Reason could not 
 sweeten it. It were better to forget. Let the dead 
 past bury its dead. The dead man's child he would
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 267 
 
 take to his heart for her own helpless, sweet sake. 
 Should she, in years to come, turn round and repay 
 him with treachery and ingratitude, it would be but 
 the way of all flesh. In the meanwhile he would be 
 loyal to his word. 
 
 After the service came to a close he stood for a few 
 moments gazing into the grave. Clementina edged 
 close to him and pointed down to the coffin. 
 
 " He may have wronged you, but he trusted you," 
 she said in a low voice. 
 
 " That's true," said Quixtus. And as they drove 
 back in silence, he murmured once or twice to himself, 
 half audibly : 
 
 " He wronged me, but he trusted me." 
 
 That evening they started for Paris. 
 
 Undesirous of demonstrative welcome at half-past 
 eight in the morning, Clementina had not informed 
 Tommy and Etta of the time of her arrival, and Quix- 
 tus had not indulged in superfluous correspondence 
 with Huckaby. The odd trio now so closely related 
 stood lonely at the exit of the Lyons Station, while 
 porters deposited their luggage in cabs. Each of the 
 elders felt a curious reluctance to part, even for a few 
 hours, for they had agreed to lunch together. Sheila 
 shed- a surprised tear. She had adjusted her small 
 mind to the entrance of her Uncle Ephraim into her 
 life. The sudden exit startled her. On his promising 
 to see her very soon, she put her arms prettily round 
 his neck and kissed him. He drove off feeling the 
 flower-like pressure of the child's lips to his, and it 
 was very sweet. 
 
 It helped him to take up the threads of Paris where 
 he had left them, a difficult task. Deep shame smote 
 him. What could be henceforward his relations with 
 Huckaby, whom, with crazy, malevolent intent, he had 
 promised to maintain in the path of clean living ?
 
 With what self-respect could he look into the eyes of 
 Mrs. Fontaine, innocent and irreproachable woman, 
 whose friendship he had cultivated with such dastardly 
 design ? She had placed herself so frankly, so un- 
 suspectingly in his hands. To him, now, it was as 
 unimaginable to betray her trust as to betray that of 
 the child whose kiss lingered on his lips. If ever a 
 woman deserved compensation, full and plenteous, at 
 the hands of man, that was the woman. An insult 
 unrealised is none the less an insult ; and he, Quixtus, 
 had insulted a woman. If only to cleanse his own 
 honour from the stain, he must make compensation to 
 this sweet lady. But how ? By faithful and loyal 
 service. 
 
 When he solemnly reached this decision I think that 
 more than one angel wept and at the same time wanted 
 to shake him. 
 
 And behind these two whom he would meet in Paris, 
 loomed the forbidding faces of Billiter and Vander- 
 meer. He shivered as at contact with something un- 
 clean. He had chosen these men as ministers of evil. 
 He had taken them into his crazy confidence. With 
 their tongues in their cheeks, these rogues had ex- 
 ploited him. He remembered loathsome scenarios of 
 evil dramas they had submitted. Thank Heaven for 
 the pedantic fastidiousness that had rejected them ! 
 Billiter, Vandermeer, Huckaby the only three of all 
 men living who knew the miserable secret of his recent 
 life ! In a rocky wilderness he could have raced with 
 wild gestures like the leper, shouting " Unclean ! Un- 
 clean ! " But Paris is not a rocky wilderness, and 
 the semi-extinct quadruped in the shafts of the modern 
 Paris fiacre conveys no idea of racing. 
 
 Yet while his soul cried this word of horror, the 
 child's kiss lingered as a sign and a consecration. 
 
 The first thing to do was to set himself right with
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 269 
 
 Huckaby. Companionship with the man on the recent 
 basis was impossible. He made known his arrival, 
 and an hour afterwards, having bathed and break- 
 fasted, he sat with Huckaby in the pleasant courtyard 
 of the hotel. Huckaby, neat and trim, and clear-eyed, 
 clad in well-fitting blue serge, gave him the news of 
 the party. Mrs. Fontaine had introduced him to some 
 charming French people whose hospitality he had ven- 
 tured to accept. She was well and full of plans for 
 little festas for the remainder of their stay in Paris. 
 Lady Louisa had found a cavalier, an elderly French 
 marquis of deep gastronomic knowledge. 
 
 " Lady Louisa," said he with a sigh of relief and a 
 sly glance at Quixtus, " is a charming lady, but not a 
 highly intellectual companion." 
 
 " Do you really crave highly intellectual companions, 
 Huckaby ? " asked Quixtus. 
 
 Huckaby bit his lip. 
 
 " Do you remember our last conversation ? " he said 
 at last. 
 
 " I remember," said Quixtus. 
 
 " I asked you for a chance. You promised. I was 
 in earnest." 
 
 " I wasn't," said Quixtus. 
 
 Huckaby started and gripped the arm of his chair. 
 He was about to protest when Quixtus checked 
 him. 
 
 " I want you to know," said he, " that great changes 
 have taken place since then. I left Paris in ill-health, 
 I return sound. I should like you to grasp the deep 
 significance underlying those few words. I will repeat 
 them." 
 
 He did so. Huckaby looked hard at his patron, 
 who stood the scrutiny with a grave smile. 
 
 " I think I understand," he replied slowly. " Then 
 Billiter and Vandermeer ? "
 
 270 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Billiter and Vandermeer I put out of my life for 
 ever; but I shall see they are kept from want." 
 
 " They can't be kept from wanting more than you 
 give them," said Huckaby, whose brain worked swiftly 
 and foresaw blackmail. " You must impose condi- 
 tions." 
 
 " I never thought of that," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Set a thief to catch a thief," said the other bitterly. 
 " I'm telling you for your own good." 
 
 " If they attempt to write to me or see me, their 
 allowances will cease." 
 
 He covered his eyes with his hand, as though to shut 
 out their hateful faces. There was a short silence. 
 Huckaby's lips grew dry. He moistened them with his 
 tongue. 
 
 " And what about me ? " he asked at last. 
 
 Quixtus drew away his hand with a despairing ges- 
 ture, but made no reply. 
 
 " I suppose you're right in classing me with the 
 others," said Huckaby. " Heaven knows I oughtn't to 
 judge them. I was in with them all the time " Quix- 
 tus winced " but I can't go back to them." 
 
 " My treating you just the same as them won't neces- 
 sitate your going back to them." 
 
 Huckaby bent forward, quivering, in his chair. " As 
 there's a God in Heaven, Quixtus, I wouldn't accept 
 a penny from you on those terms." 
 
 " And why not ? " 
 
 " Because I don't want your money. I want to be 
 put in a position to earn some honourably for myself. 
 I want your help as a man, your sympathy as a human 
 being. I want you to help me to live a clean, straight 
 life. I kept the promise, the important promise I made 
 you, ever since we started. You can't say I haven't. 
 And since you left I've not touched a drop of alcohol 
 and, if you promise to help me, I swear to God I never
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 271 
 
 will as long as I live. What can I do, man," he cried, 
 throwing out his arms, " to prove to you that I'm in 
 deadly earnest?" 
 
 Quixtus lay back in his chair reflecting, his finger- 
 tips joined together. Presently a smile, half humorous, 
 half kindly, lit up his features a smile such as Huck- 
 aby had not seen since before the days of the hostless 
 dinner of disaster, and it was manifest to Huckaby 
 that some at least of the Quixtus of old had come back 
 to earth. 
 
 " In the last day or two," said Quixtus, " I have 
 formed a staunch friendship with one who was a 
 crabbed and inveterate enemy. It is Miss Clementina 
 Wing, the painter, whom you saw, in somewhat pain- 
 ful circumstances, the other day at the tea-room. I 
 will give you an opportunity I hope many of meet- 
 ing her again. I don't want to hurt your feelings, my 
 dear Huckaby but so many strange things have hap- 
 pened of late, that I, for the present, mistrust my own 
 judgment. I hope you understand." 
 
 " Not quite. You don't mean to tell " 
 
 Quixtus flushed and drew himself up. 
 
 " After twenty years, do you know me so little as 
 that ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the other humbly. 
 
 Again Quixtus smiled, at a reminiscent phrase of 
 Clementina's. 
 
 " At any rate, my dear fellow," said he, " even if 
 she doesn't approve of you, she will do you a thunder- 
 ing lot of good." 
 
 At the smile Huckaby took heart of grace ; but at 
 the same time the memory of Clementina, storming 
 over the tea-table, for all the world like a French revo- 
 lutionary general, filled his soul with wholesome dis- 
 may. Well, there was no help for it ; he must take his 
 chance ; so he filled a philosophic pipe.
 
 272 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 A little later Quixtus met the spotless flower of 
 womanhood whom he had so grievously insulted. She 
 greeted him with both hands outstretched. Without 
 him Paris had been a desert. Why had he not sent 
 her the smallest, tiniest line of news? Ah! She un- 
 derstood. It had been a sojourn of pain. Never mind. 
 Paris, she hoped, would prove to be an anodyne. Only 
 if she would administer it in the right doses, said 
 Quixtus gallantly. Dressed with exquisite demure- 
 ness, she found favour in his sight. He realised with a 
 throb of thanksgiving that henceforward he could meet 
 her on equal terms as an honourable gentleman no 
 grotesque deviltry haunting the back of his mind and 
 clouding the serenity of their intercourse. 
 
 " Tell me what you have been doing with yourself," 
 she said, drawing him to a seat. The little air of inti- 
 macy and ownership so delicately assumed, captivated 
 the remorseful man. He had not realised the charm 
 that awaited him in Paris. 
 
 He touched lightly on Marseilles happenings, spoke 
 of his guardianship, of Sheila, of her clinging, feminine 
 ways, drew a smiling picture of his terror when Clem- 
 entina had first left him alone with the child. 
 
 Mrs. Fontaine laughed sympathetically at the tale, 
 and then, with a touch of tenderness in her voice that 
 perhaps was not deliberate, said : 
 
 " In spite of the worries, you have benefited by the 
 change. You have come back a different man." 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 " I can't define it." 
 
 " Try." 
 
 A quick glance met earnest questioning in his eyes. 
 She looked down and daintily plucked at the sunshade 
 across her lap. 
 
 " I should say you had come back more human." 
 
 Quixtus's eyelids flickered. Clementina had used
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 273 
 
 the same word. Was there then an obvious trans- 
 formation from Quixtus furens to Quixtus sane ? 
 
 He remembered the child's kiss. " Perhaps it's my 
 new responsibilities," he said with a smile. 
 
 " I should so much like to see her. I wonder if I 
 ever shall," said Mrs. Fontaine. 
 
 " She is coming here to lunch with Miss Wing," 
 replied Quixtus, eager now that his good friends 
 should know and appreciate each other. " Won't Lady 
 Louisa and yourself join us ? " 
 
 " Delighted," said Mrs. Fontaine. " Miss Clemen- 
 tina Wing is quite a character. I should like to see 
 more of her." 
 
 Quixtus, his mind full of sweet atonement, did not 
 detect any trace of acidity in her words. 
 
 On the stroke of one, the time appointed for 
 luncheon, Clementina and Sheila appeared at the end 
 of the long lounge, Tommy and Etta straggling in 
 their wake. Quixtus rose from the table where his 
 three friends were seated, and advanced to meet them. 
 Sheila ran forward and he took her in his arms and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " You didn't ask these children to lunch, but I 
 brought 'em." 
 
 " They're very welcome," said Quixtus, smiling. 
 
 Tommy, his fair face aflame with joy, wrung his 
 hand. " I told you I would look you up in the Hotel 
 Continental. By Jove ! I am glad to see you. 
 I've been an awful ass, you know. Of course I 
 thought " 
 
 " Hush ! Hush ! " said Quixtus. " My dear Miss 
 Concannon, I am delighted to see you." 
 
 " She goes by the name of Etta," said Tommy, 
 proudly. 
 
 Clementina jerked her thumb towards them : 
 
 " Engaged. Young idiots ! "
 
 274 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " My dear Miss Etta," said Quixtus, taking the hand 
 of the furiously blushing girl " My friend, Tommy, 
 is an uncommonly lucky fellow." He nodded at 
 Sheila, who hung on to his finger-tips. " Have you 
 made friends with this young lady ? " 
 
 " She's a darling ! " cried Etta. 
 
 " Clementina," said Tommy, " you're a wretch. 
 You shouldn't have given us away." 
 
 " You gave yourselves away, you silly geese. People 
 have been grinning at you all the time you were walk- 
 ing here." Then her glance fell upon the expectant 
 trio a little way off. " Oh Lord ! " she said, " those 
 people again ! " 
 
 " They're my very good friends," said Quixtus, 
 " and I want you to meet them again in normal cir- 
 cumstances. I want you to like them." 
 
 He looked at her in mild appeal. Clementina's lips 
 twisted into a wry smile. 
 
 " All right," she said. " Don't worry. I'll be civil." 
 
 So it came to pass that the two women again faced 
 each other ; Mrs. Fontaine all daintiness and fragrance 
 in her simple but exquisitely cut fawn costume, the 
 chaste contours of her face set off by an equally simple 
 ten-guinea black hat with an ostrich feather ; Clemen- 
 tina, rugged, powerful, untidy in her ill-fitting, mus- 
 tardy brown stuff skirt and jacket, and heavy, busi- 
 nesslike shoes ; and again between the two pairs of 
 eyes was the flicker of rapiers. And as soon as th^y 
 were disengaged and Clementina turned to Lady 
 Louisa, she felt the other's swift glance travel from the 
 soles of her feet to the rickety old rose in her hat. 
 There are moments when sex gives a woman eyes in 
 the back of her head. She turned round quickly and 
 surprised the most elusive ghost of a smile imaginable. 
 For the first time in her life Clementina felt herself at 
 a disadvantage. She winced ; then mentally, so as to
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 275 
 
 speak, snapped her fingers. What had she to do with 
 the woman, or the woman with her ? 
 
 All the presentations having been made, Quixtus 
 led the way to the restaurant of the hotel. 
 
 " Clementina," said he, " may I ask you to concede 
 the place of honour for this occasion to my unexpected 
 but most charming and most welcome guest ? " 
 
 He indicated Etta still blushing into whose ear 
 Tommy whispered that his uncle always spoke like a 
 penny book with the covers off. 
 
 " My dear man," said Clementina, " stick me any- 
 where, so long as it's next the baby and I can see that 
 nobody feeds her on anchovies and lobster salad." 
 
 She understood perfectly. The second seat of hon- 
 our was Mrs. Fontaine's. She confounded Mrs. Fon- 
 taine. But what was Mrs. Fontaine to her or she to 
 Mrs. Fontaine ? 
 
 They took their places % at the round table laid for 
 eight. On Quixtus's right, Etta; on his left Mrs. 
 Fontaine ;jthierT Sheila, somewhat awed at the grown- 
 up luncheon party and squeezing Pinkie very tight so 
 as to give her courage ; then Clementina with Huck- 
 aby as left-hand neighbour ; then Lady Louisa, and 
 Tommy next to Etta. 
 
 Clementina kept her word and behaved with great 
 civility. Tommy politely addressed Lady Louisa to 
 the immense relief of Huckaby, who thus temporarily 
 freed from his Martha, plunged into eager conversa- 
 tion with Clementina about her picture in the Salon, 
 which had attracted considerable attention. He did 
 not tell her that, in order to refresh his memory of the 
 masterpiece, he had revisited the Grand Palais that 
 morning. He praised the technique. There was in it 
 that hint of Velasquez which so many portrait-painters 
 tried for and so few got. This pleased Clementina. 
 Velasquez was the god of her art. One bright space
 
 276 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 in her dreary youth was her life with Velasquez in 
 Madrid. 
 
 " I too once tried to know something about him," 
 said Huckaby. " I wrote a monograph a wretched 
 compilation only in a series of Lives of Great Paint- 
 ers for a firm of publishers." 
 
 Hack work or not, the authorship of a Life of Ve- 
 lasquez was enough to prejudice her in Huckaby's 
 favour. She learned, too, that he was a sometime 
 Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and a 
 university contemporary of Quixtus. Huckaby, find- 
 ing her not the rough-tongued virago from whom 
 Quixtus had always shrunk, and of whom, at their 
 one meeting in the tea-room, he, himself, had not 
 received the suavest impression, but a frank, intelligent 
 woman, gradually forgot his anxiety to please and 
 talked naturally as became a man of his scholarship. 
 The result was that Clementina thought him a pleasant 
 and sensible fellow, an opinion which she expressed 
 later in the day to Quixtus. 
 
 With regard to Mrs. Fontaine, her promise of lady- 
 like behaviour was harder to keep. All through the 
 meal her dislike grew stronger. That Quixtus should 
 bend towards Etta, in his courtly fashion, and pay her 
 little gallant attentions, was but natural ; indeed it was 
 charming courtesy towards Tommy's betrothed ; but 
 that he should do the same to Mrs. Fontaine and add 
 to it a subtle shade of intimacy, was exasperating. In 
 the lady's attitude, too, towards Quixtus, Clementina 
 perceived an air of proprietorship, a triumphant con- 
 sciousness of her powers of fascination. When Quix- 
 tus addressed a remark across the table to Clementina, 
 Mrs. Fontaine adroitly drew his attention to herself. 
 Her manner gave Clementina to understand that, al- 
 though a frump of a portrait painter might be an 
 important person in a studio, yet in the big world out-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 277 
 
 side, the attractive woman had victorious pre-emi- 
 nence. Now Clementina was a woman, and one whose 
 nature had lately gone through unusual convulsions. 
 She found it difficult to be polite to Mrs. Fontaine. 
 Only once was there a tiny eruption of the volcano. 
 
 Sheila's seat at the table being too low for her 
 small body, Clementina demanded a cushion from the 
 maitre d'hotel. When, after some delay, a waiter 
 brought it, she was engaged in talk with Huckaby. 
 She turned in time to see Mrs. Fontaine about to lift 
 Sheila from her seat. With a sudden, rough movement 
 she all but snatched the child out of the other's arms, 
 and herself saw to Sheila's sedentary comfort. 
 
 She didn't care what Quixtus or any one else 
 thought of her. She was not going to have this alien 
 woman touch her child. The hussy flirtation with 
 Quixtus she could not prevent. But no woman born 
 of woman should come between her and the beloved 
 child of her adoption. 
 
 The incident passed almost unnoticed. The meal 
 ended pleasantly. With the exception of the two 
 women in their mutual attitude, everybody was sur- 
 prisedly delighted with everybody else. Etta thought 
 Quixtus the very dearest thing, next to Admiral Con- 
 cannon, that had ever a bald spot on the top of his 
 head. Clementina, in a fit of graciousness, gave Huck- 
 aby the precious freedom of her studio. He could 
 come and look at her pictures whenever he liked. 
 Sheila, made much of, went away duly impressed with 
 her new friends. Quixtus rubbed his hands at the 
 success of his party. The apparently irreconcilable 
 were reconciled, difficulties were vanishing rapidly, his 
 path stretched out before him in rosy smoothness. 
 
 But Tommy's quick eyes had noticed the snatching 
 of Sheila. 
 
 " Etta," said he, " I've known Clementina intimately
 
 278 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 all these years, and I find I know nothing at all about 
 her." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the girl. 
 
 " For the first time in my life," said he, " I've just 
 discovered that the dear old thing is as jealous as a 
 cat."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 *' "E /f"Y good children, I tell you we'll go by 
 V/l train," said Clementina, putting her foot 
 
 -L A down. " I don't care a brass button for 
 the chauffeur's loneliness, and the prospect of his pin- 
 ing away on his journey back to London leaves me 
 cold." 
 
 She had exhausted the delights of the car of thirty- 
 five million dove-power, and was anxious to settle 
 Sheila in Romney Place as quickly as possible. 
 
 " As for you two," she added, " you have had as 
 big a dose of each other as is good for you." 
 
 Only one thing tempted her to linger in Paris 
 curiosity as to the sentimental degree of the friendship 
 between the lady of her disfavour and Quixtus. That 
 she was a new friend and not an old friend, the ex- 
 change of a few remarks with the ingenuous Lady 
 Louisa had enabled her very soon to discover. Clem- 
 entina looked askance on such violent intimacies. 
 Quixtus, for whose welfare now she felt herself, in 
 an absurd way, responsible, had not the constitution 
 to stand them. The lady might be highly connected 
 and move in the selectest of circles, but she had a hard 
 edge, betraying what Clementina was pleased to call 
 the society hack ; she was shallow, insincere ; talked 
 out of a hastily stuffed memory instead of an intellect ; 
 she had the vulgarity of good breeding, as noticeable 
 a quality as the good-breeding of one in lowly station ; 
 she was insufferable an impossible companion for a 
 man of Quixtus's mental equipment and sensitive or- 
 
 279
 
 280 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 ganisation. There was something else about her that 
 baffled Clementina, and further whetted her curiosity. 
 
 Neither was Clementina perfect, nor did she look for 
 perfection in this compromise of a world. As an 
 artist she demanded light and shade. " I wouldn't 
 paint an angel's portrait," she said once, " for fifty 
 thousand pounds. And if an angel came to tea with 
 me, the first thing I should do would be to claw off 
 his wings." Now, no one could deny the light and 
 shade in Lena Fontaine. But there is such a thing 
 as false chiaroscuro, and it offends and perplexes the 
 artist. Lena Fontaine offended and perplexed Clemen- 
 tina. 
 
 Again, Clementina, with regard to the chambers of 
 her heart, was somewhat house-proud. Very few 
 were admitted ; but once admitted, the favoured mor- 
 tal was welcome to stay there for ever. Now, behold 
 an exasperating aggravation. She had just received 
 Quixtus in the very best guest-room, and instead of 
 admiring it and taking his ease in it, here he was hang- 
 ing half-way out of window, all ears to a common 
 hussy. If she had an insane desire to pull him back 
 by the coat-tails, who can blame her ? 
 
 No sensible purpose being attainable, however, by 
 lingering in Paris, she gruffly sent temptation packing, 
 and, with her brood under her wing, took the noon 
 train from the Gare du Nord on the following day. 
 
 Quixtus was there, at the station, to see them off, 
 his arms filled with packages. As he could not raise 
 his hat when the party approached, he smiled apolo- 
 getically, looking, according to Tommy, like Father 
 Christmas detected at Midsummer. There was a great 
 bouquet of orchids for Clementina (such a handy 
 useful thing on the journey from Paris to London !) 
 an enormous bonbonniere of sweets for Etta ; a stupen- 
 dous woolly lamb for Sheila which, on something
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 281 
 
 being done to its anatomy, opened its mouth and 
 gramaphonically chanted the " Jewel Song " from 
 Faujt ; and a gold watch for Tommy. 
 
 The singing of the lamb, incautiously exploited on 
 the platform, to Sheila's ecstasy, caused considerable 
 dislocation of railway business. A crowd collected to 
 see the gaunt, scholarly Englishman holding the apoca- 
 lyptic beast in his arms, all intent on the rapture of 
 the tiny flower-like thing standing open-mouthed be- 
 fore him. Even porters forgot to say " Faites atten- 
 tion," and stopped their barrows, to listen to the magic 
 song and view the unprecedented spectacle. It was 
 only when the lamb bleated his last note that Quixtus 
 became conscious of his surroundings. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " said he. 
 
 " Do it again," said Sheila, in her clear contralto, 
 whereat the bystanders laughed. 
 
 " Not for anything in the world, my dear. Tommy, 
 take the infernal thing. My dear," said he, lifting 
 Sheila in his arms, " if I know anything of Tommy, 
 he will have that tune going for the next seven 
 hours." 
 
 She allowed herself to be carried in seraphic content 
 to the entrance of the car in which was the compart- 
 ment reserved for the party. Tommy carrying the 
 lamb, Clementina and Etta followed. 
 
 " That kid's a wonder," said Tommy. " She would 
 creep into the heart of a parsnip." 
 
 Clementina, to whom the remark was addressed, 
 walked three or four steps in silence. Then she said : 
 
 " Tommy, if I hear you say a thing like that again, 
 I'll box your ears." 
 
 He stared at her in amazement. He had paid a 
 spontaneous and sincere tribute to the child over whom 
 she had gone crazy. What more could she want ? 
 She moved a step in advance, leaving him free to jus-
 
 282 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 tify himself with Etta, who agreed with him in the 
 proposition that Clementina for the last two days was 
 in a very cranky mood. Very natural, the proposition 
 of the two innocents. How could they divine that the 
 moisture in Clementina's eyes had nothing whatsoever 
 to do with Sheila's appreciation of the vocal lamb or 
 her readiness to be carried by Quixtus ? How could 
 they divine that, at the possibility of which the cruelty 
 and insolence of youth would have caused them both 
 to shriek with inextinguishable laughter? And how 
 was Tommy, generous hearted lad that he was, to 
 know that this one unperceptive speech of his sent him 
 hurtling out of the land of Romance down to common 
 earth ? Henceforward Tommy, whilst retaining his 
 chamber in Clementina's heart, was to walk in and out 
 just as he chose. Not the tiniest pang was he again 
 to cause her. But what could Tommy know what 
 can you or I or any other male thing ever born know 
 of a woman ? We walk, good easy men, with confi- 
 dent and careless tread through the familiar garden, 
 and then suddenly terra firma miraculously ceases to 
 exist, and head-over-heels we go down a precipice. 
 How came it that we were unaware of its existence ? 
 Mystere ! Who could interpret the soul of La Gia- 
 conda ? Leonardo da Vinci least of all. It is all very 
 well to give a man a vote ; he is a transparent animal, 
 and you know the way the dunderhead is going to use 
 it ; but the incalculable and pyrotechnic way in which 
 women will use it will make humanity blink. Let us 
 therefore pardon Tommy for staring in amazement at 
 Clementina. He sought refuge in Etta. From Scylla, 
 perhaps, to Charybdis ; but, for the present, Charybdis 
 sat smiling under her fig-tree, the most innocent and 
 bewitching monster in the world. 
 
 Leaving the three children in the compartment, 
 Clementina and Quixtus walked, for the last few
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 283 
 
 moments before the train started, up and down the 
 platform. 
 
 " I suppose you'll soon be coming back to Lon- 
 don ?" said Clementina. 
 
 " I think so," said he. " Now that the Grand Prix 
 is over Paris is emptying rapidly." 
 
 " Parrot ! " thought Clementina, once more con- 
 founding the instructress ; but she said blandly : 
 " What difference in the world can it make to you 
 whether Paris is empty or not?" 
 
 He smiled good-naturedly. " To tell the honest 
 truth, none. Yes. I must be getting home again." 
 
 " Of course there'll be a certain amount of worry 
 over Hammersley's affairs," she said ; " but I hope 
 you've got something else to do to occupy your mind." 
 
 " I want to settle down to systematic work," replied 
 Quixtus. 
 
 " What kind of work ? " 
 
 " Well," said he, with an apologetic air, " 1 mean 
 to extend my little handbook on ' The Household Arts 
 of the Neolithic Age ' into an authoritative and com- 
 prehensive treatise. I've been gathering material for 
 years. I'm anxious to begin." 
 
 " Begin to-morrow," said Clementina. " And when- 
 ever you feel lonely come and read bits of it to Sheila 
 and me." 
 
 And thus came about the surprising and monstrous 
 alliance between Clementina and Prehistoric Man.. 
 Dead men's jawbones had some use after all. 
 
 " En voiture ! " cried the guard. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear Clementina," said Quixtus, 
 " we have had a memorable meeting." 
 
 " We have indeed. You are sending away three 
 very happy people." 
 
 " Why not four ? " 
 
 But she only smiled wryly and said : " Good-bye,
 
 284 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 God bless you. And keep out of mischief," and clam- 
 bered into the train. 
 
 The train began to move, to the faint strains of the 
 " Jewel Song " in Faust, and Sheila blew him kisses 
 from the carriage window. He responded until the 
 little white face disappeared. Then he thought of 
 Clementina. 
 
 " The very best, but the most enigmatic woman in 
 the world," said he. 
 
 Which was a very sweeping statement for a man of 
 his scientific accuracy. 
 
 Entirely ignorant of the word of the enigma, he 
 went back to the spotless flower of insulted woman- 
 hood, who took him off to lunch with her French 
 friends. She welcomed his undivided homage. That 
 fishfag of a creature, as she characterised Clementina 
 in conversation with Lady Louisa, made her feel un- 
 comfortable. Even now that she had gone, the prob- 
 lem of Quixtus's removal from her sphere of influence 
 remained. The child was the stake to which he was 
 fettered within that sphere. Could she break the 
 chains ? Therein seemed to lie the only solution 
 unless by audacity and adroitness she uprooted the 
 stake and carried it, with Quixtus, chains and all, into 
 her own territory. 
 
 She had a talk after lunch with Huckaby. The 
 luncheon-party had broken up into groups of two or 
 three, who wandered about the cool enclosure of the 
 Bois de Boulogne restaurant where the feast had been 
 given, and, half by chance, half by design, the T.AVO 
 had joined company. Their conversation on the even- 
 ing of Quixtus's departure from Paris had deeply 
 affected their mutual relations. Each felt conscious 
 of presenting a less tarnished front to the other, and 
 each, not hypocritically, began to assume a little halo 
 of virtue in the pathetic hope that the other would
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 285 
 
 be impressed by its growing radiance. During the 
 few days of Quixtus's absence they had become friends 
 and exchanged confidences. Huckaby convinced her 
 of the sincerity of his desire to reform. He described 
 his life. He had worked when work came his way 
 but work has a curious habit of shrinking from the 
 drunkard's way ; a bit of teaching, a bit of free-lance 
 journalism, a bit of hack compilation in the British 
 Museum ; he had borrowed far and wide ; he had not 
 been over-scrupulous on the point of financial honour. 
 Hunger had driven him. Lena Fontaine shivered at 
 the horrors through which he had struggled. All he 
 desired was cleanliness in life and body and surround- 
 ings. She understood. Material cleanliness had been 
 and would be hers ; but cleanliness of life she yearned 
 for as much as he did. But for him, the man, with 
 the given boon of honourable employment, it was an 
 easy matter. For her, the woman, tired and soul-sick, 
 what avenue lay open ? She, in her turn, told him 
 of incidents in her career at which he shuddered. 
 " Throw it up, throw it up," he counselled. She 
 smiled bitterly. What could be the end of the bird 
 of prey who assumed the habits of the dove ? She 
 could marry, he replied, before it was too late. Marry, 
 ay ! But whom ? She had not dared confide to him 
 her hope. So close, however, being their relations, 
 Huckaby had not failed to acquaint her with the im- 
 portant scope of his conversation with Quixtus the 
 day before. Quixtus's changed demeanour, obvious 
 to her at once, confirmed his announcement. She wel- 
 comed it with more joy than Huckaby could appreciate- 
 For behind the pity that ftail paralysed beak and talon, 
 the new-born hope and the curious liking she had con- 
 ceived for the mild, crazy gentleman, stalked the in- 
 stinctive aversion which the sane feel towards those 
 whose wits have gone ever so little astray. The news
 
 286 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 had come as an immense relief. Now she could meet 
 him on normal ground. All was fair. 
 
 They found two chairs by a little table under a tree, 
 at the back of the Chalet Restaurant and secluded 
 from the gaiety and laughter of the front. Nothing 
 human was in sight save, through the tall, masking 
 acacias and shrubs, the white gleams of cooks and 
 hurrying, aproned waiters. 
 
 " Let us sit," she said. " How good it is to get a 
 little cool and quiet. This vie de cabaret is getting on 
 my nerves. I'm weary to death of it." 
 
 Huckaby laughed. " It's still enough novelty to 
 me to be pleasant." 
 
 She accepted a cigarette. They smoked for a 
 while. 
 
 " How's goodness getting on ? " she asked. 
 
 " By leaps and bounds daily. I'm becoming a 
 fanatical believer in the copy-book. I'm virtuous. 
 I'm happy. Industry is a virtue. My virtue is to be 
 rewarded by industry. Therefore virtue is its own 
 reward." 
 
 " What industry ? " 
 
 " I'm going to collaborate with our friend in the 
 new book he's talking about," replied Huckaby, with 
 a surviving touch of boastfulness. " There is also a 
 possibility of my taking over the secretaryship of the 
 Anthropological Society." 
 
 " You're lucky," said Lena Fontaine. 
 
 " How's goodness with you ? " 
 
 " The usual slump. Shares going dirt cheap. No 
 one seems to have any use for virtue in a woman." 
 
 " Husbands seem to have, as I've already suggested 
 to you." 
 
 " Have you any particular husband to suggest ? " 
 
 He cast on her a glance of admiration, for in her 
 outward seeming she was an object for any man's for-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 287 
 
 givable desire, and he said in a tone not wholly of 
 banter : 
 
 " The humble individual in front of you would have 
 no chance, I suppose ? " 
 
 She laughed. " None whatever." 
 
 ;t You'll pardon my presumption in making- the 
 offer ; but could I, en galant homme, do otherwise ?" 
 
 " No," she replied, good-humouredly, " you couldn't. 
 
 If you had five thousand a year, it would give me to 
 
 think, for you're not unsympathetic. But as you 
 
 .haven't, I've no use for you as a husband, bien 
 
 entendu." 
 
 It was a jest. They laughed. Presently a cloud 
 obscured the sunshine of her laughter. She leaned 
 over the table. 
 
 " Eustace Huckaby, are you or are you not my 
 friend ? " 
 
 For once in her dealings with a man whose goodwill 
 she desperately craved, she was sincere. She dropped 
 the conscious play of glance and tone ; but she forgot 
 the liquid splendour of her eyes and the dangerous 
 nearness of her face to his. 
 
 " Your friend ? " he cried, laying his hand on her 
 wrist. " Can you doubt it ? I am indeed. I swear it." 
 
 " Do you know why I'm staying here apparently 
 wasting my time ? " 
 
 " I've supposed something was up ; but my supposi- 
 tion seemed too absurd ! " 
 
 " Why absurd ? " 
 
 " Quixtus as a husband ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why not ? " 
 
 He released her wrist and fell back in his chair. He 
 frowned and tugged at his beard. 
 
 " Do you care for him ? " 
 
 " Yes. In a way. I sincerely do. If you mean 
 have I fallen desperately in love with him ? well, I
 
 288 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 haven't. That would be absurd. It's not my habit to 
 fall in love." 
 
 " What would you get out of it ? " 
 
 She made an impatient gesture. " Rest. Peace. 
 Happiness. He's a wealthy man and would give me 
 all the comfort I need. I couldn't face poverty. And 
 he would be kind to me." 
 
 " And he pardon the brutality of my question 
 what would he get out of it ? " 
 
 " I'm a lady, after all," she said, " and I know how 
 to run a large house and as a woman I'm not unat- 
 tractive. And I'd run straight. Temperamentally I 
 am straight. That's frank. Whatever impulses I've 
 had within me with regard to running off the rails 
 have been the other way. Oh, God, yes," she added, 
 with a little shiver and averted eyes, " I'd run straight." 
 
 " What about ghosts of the past rising up and 
 queering things ? " 
 
 " I'd take my chance. I've bluffed myself out of 
 tight places already, and I could bluff again." 
 
 Huckaby lit another cigarette. " He looks on you 
 as a spotless angel of purity," said he. " If he married 
 you on that assumption, and learned things afterwards, 
 there would be the devil to pay. He's been hit like 
 that already, and he went off his head. I shouldn't 
 like him to have another experience. Why not tell him 
 something just a little ? " 
 
 She raised both hands in nervous protest. " Oh, 
 no, no. The woman who does that is a fool. It never 
 comes off. Let him take me for what he thinks I am, 
 and I'll see that I remain so. Trust me. It will be 
 all right. You're the only impediment." 
 
 "I ? " 
 
 " Of course. You have it in your power to give me 
 away at any time. That's why I asked you whether 
 you were my friend."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 289 
 
 Huckaby tugged at his beard, and pondered deeply. 
 He meant, with all the fresh energy of new resolve, 
 to be loyal to Quixtus. But how could he stand in 
 the way of a woman seeking salvation ? Moral sense, 
 however, is a plant of gradual growth. Huckaby's 
 as yet was not adequate to the solution of the perplex- 
 ing problem. Lena Fontaine held out her hand, palm 
 upward, across the table. 
 
 " Speak," she said. 
 
 He took her hand and pressed it. 
 
 " I'll be your friend in this," said he. 
 
 She thanked him with her eyes, and rose. 
 
 " Let us go back to the others, or they'll think we're 
 having a horrible flirtation." 
 
 On this and on the succeeding days she discovered 
 a subtle change in Quixtus's attitude towards her. 
 His manner had grown, if possible, more courteous ; 
 it betrayed a more delicate admiration, a more graceful 
 homage to the beautiful and charming woman. Be- 
 fore his Marseilles visit she had found it an easy task 
 to appeal to the fool that grins in every man. A trick 
 of eyes and voice was enough to set him love-making 
 in what she had termed the Quixtine manner. Now 
 the task was more difficult. She found herself con- 
 fronted by a greater sensitiveness that did not respond 
 to the obvious invitation. He was up in the clouds, 
 more chivalrous, more idealistic. With a sigh, she 
 gathered her skirts together and climbed to the higher 
 plane. 
 
 And all this on Quixtus's part was sheer remorse 
 atonement for the unspeakable insult. The thought 
 of having dared to make coarse love to this exquisite 
 creature filled him with horrified dismay. That the 
 lady had appeared rather to like the coarse love-mak- 
 ing he did not stop to consider. Certainly, in his crazy 
 exultation, he had proclaimed her a fruit ripe to his
 
 .j 9 o THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 hand, but that was only an additional vulgarity which 
 had stained that peculiar phase of his being. The re- 
 sult of the reaction was to accentuate the reverential 
 conception of woman, which, by reason of a tempera- 
 ment dreamy and poetic and of a scholarly life remote 
 from the disillusionising conflicts of sex, he had always 
 entertained. He comported himself therefore towards 
 her with scrupulous delicacy, resolved that not a word 
 or intonation that could be construed into an affront 
 should ever pass his lips. 
 
 The fine weather broke. Torrential rains swept 
 Paris. The meteorologists talked learnedly about cy- 
 clonic disturbances in the Atlantic which would affect 
 the weather adversely for some time to come. Lena 
 Fontaine began to reflect. Summer Paris in rain is 
 no place for junketing, even on the high planes. It 
 offers to the visitor nothing but the boredom of hotel 
 and restaurant. She knew the elementary axiom of 
 sex relations, that the woman who bores a man is 
 lost. The high planes were all right when you looked 
 down from them on charming objective things ; but, 
 after all, a man has to be amused, and fun on the high 
 planes is a humour dangerously attenuated. She an- 
 noutnced an immediate departure from Paris. 
 
 " If you would accept the escort of Huckaby and 
 myself, we should be honoured," said Quixtus. " Un- 
 less, of course, we should be in the way." 
 
 She laughed. " My dear friend, did you ever hear 
 of men being in the way when women were travelling ? 
 A lone woman is never more conspicuously lonesome 
 than en voyage. All the other women around who 
 have men to look after them look at one with a kind 
 of patronising pity, as though they said : ' Poor thing 
 that can't rake up a man from anywhere/ And it 
 makes one want to scratch." 
 
 " Does it really ? " smiled Quixtus.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 291 
 
 " It does." She laughed again and sighed. " A 
 lone woman has much to put up with. Malicious 
 tongues not the least." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Fontaine," said he, " what tongue 
 could be so malicious as to speak evil of you ? " 
 
 " There are thousands in this gossipy world. Our 
 little friendship and camaraderie of the last fortnight 
 sweetness and innocence itself who knows what 
 interpretation slanderers might put on it ? " 
 
 Ouixtus flushed, and drew his gaunt body to its full 
 height. " I'm not pugilistic by habit," said he, " but if 
 any man made such an insinuation, I should knock 
 him down." 
 
 " It would be more likely a woman." 
 
 " Then," said he, " I think I could manage to convey 
 to her, without brutality, that she was a disgrace to 
 her sex." 
 
 She fluttered a glance at him. "I should like to 
 have you always as a champion." 
 
 " If I understand the word gentleman aright," said 
 Quixtus, " he is always the champion of the unpro- 
 tected woman." 
 
 His tone assured her that this Early- Victorian senti- 
 ment was not mere gallantry. He meant it, indignant 
 still at the idea of misconstruction of their friend- 
 ship. 
 
 " I happen to be a woman," she said- " and seek 
 the particular rather than the general. I said my 
 champion, Dr. Quixtus. Now don't say that the 
 greater includes the less, or I shall fall *hrough the 
 floor." 
 
 He was too much in earnest to smile with her in 
 her coquetry. 
 
 " Mrs. Fontaine," said he, with a bow, " no cwie will 
 ever dare speak evil of you in my presence." 
 
 She rose they were sitting in the lounge
 
 292 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Thank you," she said, falling in with his earnest 
 mood. " Thank you. I shall go back to London with 
 a light heart." 
 
 And like a wise woman, she cut short the conversa- 
 tion, and went upstairs to dress for dinner.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 JULY brought in halcyon days for everybody. 
 They were halcyon days for Clementina. 
 There were neglected portraits to complete, new 
 sitters for whom to squeeze in appointments, a host of 
 stimulating things, not the least of which was the 
 beloved atmosphere, half-turpentine, half-poetry, of 
 the studio. Only the painter can know the delight of 
 the mere feel of the long-forsaken brush, and the sight 
 of the blobs of colour oozing out from the tubes on to 
 the palette. Most of us, returning to toil after holiday, 
 sigh over departed joys. To the painter the joy of 
 getting back to his easel is worth all the joys that have 
 departed. Clementina plunged into work as a long- 
 stranded duck plunges into water. By rising at dawn, 
 a practice contrary to her habit, she managed to keep 
 pace with her work and to attend to the various affairs 
 which her new responsibilities entailed. Her days 
 were filled to overflowing, and filled with extraordi- 
 nary happiness. A nurse was engaged for Sheila, a 
 kind and buxom widow who also found herself living 
 in halcyon days. She could do practically whatever 
 she liked, as her charge was seldom in her company. 
 The child had her being in the studio, playing happily 
 and quietly in a corner, thus realising Clementina's 
 dream, or watching her paint, with great, wondering 
 eyes. The process fascinated her. She would sit for 
 an hour at a time, good as gold, absorbed in the magic 
 of the brush-strokes, clasping the dingy Pinkie tight 
 against her bosom. Tommy appeared one day witK 
 
 293
 
 294 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 a box of paints, a miniature easel, and a great mass of 
 uncoloured fashion-plates of beautiful ladies in gorge- 
 ous raiment. A lesson or two inspired Sheila with ar- 
 tistic zeal, so that often a sitter would come upon the 
 two of them painting breathlessly. Clementina screw- 
 ing up her eyes, darting backwards and forwards to 
 her canvas, and the dainty child seated on a milking- 
 stool and earnestly making animated rainbows of the 
 beautiful ladies in the fashion-plates. 
 
 Then there was the tedious process of obtaining pro- 
 bate of Hammersley's will. Luckily, he had wound 
 up all his affairs in Shanghai, to the common satisfac- 
 tion of himself and his London house, so that no 
 complications arose from the latter quarter. Indeed, 
 the firm gave the executors its cordial assistance. But 
 the London house had to be interviewed, and lawyers 
 had to be interviewed, and Quixtus and all kinds of 
 other people, and papers had to be read and signed, and 
 affidavits to be made, and head-splitting intricacies of 
 business and investments to be mastered. All this ate 
 up many of the sunny hours. 
 
 Tommy and Etta had halcyon days of their own, 
 which, but by the free use of curmudgeonly roughness, 
 would have merged into Clementina's. Etta had 
 cajoled an infuriated admiral, raving round the room 
 after a horsewhip, into a stern parent who consented 
 to receive Tommy, explicitly reserving to himself the 
 right to throw him out of window should the young 
 man not take his fancy. Tommy called and was 
 allowed to depart peacefully by the front door. Then 
 Quixtus, incited thereto by Tommy, called upon the 
 Admiral with the awful solemnity of a father in a 
 French play, with the result that Tommy was invited 
 to dinner at the Admiral's and given as much excellent 
 old port as he could stand. After which the Admiral 
 called on Clementina, whom he had not met before.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 295, 
 
 During the throes of horsewhip hunting he had threat- 
 ened to visit her there and then and give her a piece 
 of his mind which at that moment was more like a 
 hunk of molten lava than anything else. But the arts 
 and wiles of Etta had prevailed so "that the above 
 scheduled sequence of events had been observed. 
 Clementina, caught in the middle of a hot afternoon's 
 painting, received him, bedaubed and bedraggled, in 
 the studio, whose chaos happened to be that day more 
 than usually confounded. The Admiral, accustomed 
 to the point-device females of his world, and making 
 the spick and span of the quarter-deck a matter of 
 common morality in material surroundings, went from 
 Romney Place an obfuscated man. 
 
 " I can't make your friend out," he said to Etta. 
 " I don't mind telling you that if I had seen her, I 
 should never have allowed you to visit her. I found 
 her looking more like a professional rabbit-skinner 
 than a lady, and when I went to sit down I had to clear 
 away a horrid plate of half-finished cold pie, by 
 George, from the chair. She contradicted me flatly in 
 everything I said about you as if I didn't know my 
 own child and filled me up with advice." 
 
 " And wasn't it good, dear ? " 
 
 " No advice is ever good. Like Nebuchadnezzar's 
 food, it may be wholesome but it isn't good. And 
 then she turned round and talked the most downright 
 common sense about women I've ever heard a woman 
 utter. And then, by Jove, I don't know how it hap- 
 pened I never talk shop, you know " 
 
 " Of course you don't, dear, never," said Etta. 
 
 " Of course I don't but somehow we got on to 
 the subject, and she showed a more intelligent appre- 
 ciation of the state of naval affairs than any man I've 
 met for a long time ! As for those superficial theo- 
 retical donkeys at the Club "
 
 296 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " And what else, darling ? " said Etta, who had 
 often heard about the donkeys, but now was dying to 
 hear about Clementina. " Do tell me what she talked 
 about. She must have talked about me. Didn't 
 she?" 
 
 " About you ! I've told you." He took her chin 
 in his hand she was sitting on a footstool, her armsJ 
 about his knee. 
 
 " You can't have told me everything, dear." 
 
 " I think she informed me that her selection of a 
 husband for you was a damned sight better than 
 mine I beg your pardon, my dear, she didn't say 
 'damned' and then the little girl you're always 
 talking of came in, and the rabbit-skinner seemed to 
 turn into an ordinary sort of woman and took me up, 
 and, in a way, threw me down on the floor to play 
 with the child." 
 
 " What did you play at, dad ? When I was little 
 you used to pretend to swallow a fork. Did you swal- 
 low a fork ? " 
 
 The iron features relaxed into a smile. 
 
 " I did, my dear, and it was the cold pie fork, wiped 
 on a bit of newspaper. And last of all, what do you 
 think she said ?" 
 
 " No one on earth could guess, dear, what Clemen- 
 tina might have said." 
 
 " She actually asked me to sit for a crayon sketch. 
 Said my face was interesting to her as an artist, and 
 she would like to make a study of it for her own 
 pleasure. Now what pleasure could anybody on earth 
 find in looking at my ugly old mug ? " 
 
 " But, dear, you have a most beautiful mug," cried 
 Etta. " I don't mean beautiful like the photographs 
 of popular actors but full of strength and character 
 just the fine face that appeals to the artist." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked the Admiral.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 297 
 
 " I'm sure." She ran to a little table and brought 
 a Florentine mirror. " Look." 
 
 He looked. Instinctively the man of sixty-five 
 touched the finely-curving grizzled hair about his 
 temples. 
 
 " You're a silly child," said he. 
 
 She kissed him. " Now confess. You had the good- 
 est of good times with Clementina this afternoon." 
 
 " I don't mind owning," said the Admiral, " that I 
 found her a most intelligent woman." 
 
 And that is the way that all of us sons of Adam, 
 even Admirals of the British Fleet, can be beguiled by 
 the daughters of Eve. 
 
 Halcyon days were they for Quixtus, for whom 
 London wore an entirely different aspect from the 
 Aceldama he had left. Instead of its streets and 
 squares stretching out before him as the scene of 
 potential deviltry, it smiled upon him as the centre of 
 manifold pleasant interests. He had the great work 
 to attack, the final picture that mortal knowledge could 
 draw of that far off, haunting phase of human life 
 before the startling use of iron was known to mankind. 
 It was not to be a dull catalogue of dead things. The 
 dead things, a million facts, were to be the skeleton 
 on which he would build his great vivid flesh-and-blood 
 story the dream of his life, which only now did he 
 feel the vital impulse to realise. He had his club and 
 his cronies, harmless folk, beneath whose mild exterior 
 he no longer divined horrible corruption. From them 
 all he received congratulations on his altered mien. 
 The change had done him good. He was looking ten 
 years younger. Some chaffed him, after the way of 
 men. Wonderful place, Paris. He found a stimulat- 
 ing interest in his new responsibilities. Vestiges of his 
 perfunctory legal training remained and enabled him 
 to unravel simple complications in the Hammersley
 
 298 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 affairs, much to Clementina's admiration and his own 
 satisfaction. He discovered a pleasure once more in 
 the occasional society of Tommy, and concerned him- 
 self seriously with his love-making and his painting. 
 He spoke of him to Dawkins, the rich donor of the 
 Anthropological Society portrait, to whom Tommy had 
 alluded with such disrespect to Clementina. Dawkins 
 visited Tommy's studio and walked away with a couple 
 of pictures, after having paid such a price as to make 
 the young man regard him as a fairy godfather in vast 
 white waistcoat and baggy trousers. Ouixtus also 
 entertained Tommy and Etta at lunch at the Carlton, 
 Mrs. Fontaine completing the quartette. " I should 
 have liked it better," said Clementina, when she heard 
 of the incident (as she heard all that happened to the 
 lovers), "I should have liked it better if he hadn't 
 brought Mrs. Fontaine into it." Whereat Tommy 
 winked at Etta, unbeknown to Clementina. 
 
 Quixtus's friendship with the spotless flower of 
 womanhood continued. He had tea with her in her 
 prettily-furnished little house in Pont Street, where he 
 met several of her acquaintances, people of unquestion- 
 able position in the London world, and attended one 
 or two receptions and even a dance at which she was 
 present. Very skilfully she drew him into her circle 
 and adroitly played him in public as a serious aspirant 
 to her spotless hand. There were many who called 
 him the variegated synonyms of a fool, for to hard- 
 bitten worldlings few illusions are left concerning a 
 woman like Lena Fontaine ; but they shrugged their 
 shoulders cynically, and viewed the capture with 
 amused interest. Only the most jaded complained. If 
 she wanted to give them a sensation, why did she not 
 go a step further and lead about a bishop on hei 
 string ? But these uncharitable remarks did not reach 
 Quixtus's ears. The word went round that he was a
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 299 
 
 man of distinguished scientific position whether he 
 was a metallurgist or a brain specialist no one at the 
 tired end of the London season either knew or cared 
 to know and, his courtly and scholarly demeanour 
 confirming the rumour, the corner of Vanity Fair in 
 which Lena Fontaine fought to hold her position paid 
 him considerable deference. The flattery of the frivo- 
 lous pleased him, as it has pleased many a good simple 
 man before him. He thought Mrs. Fontaine's friends 
 very charming, though perhaps not over-intellectual 
 people. He went among them, however, scarce know- 
 ing why. A card of invitation would come by post 
 from Lady Anything, whom he had once met. Before 
 he had time to obey his first impulse and decline, Lena 
 Fontaine's voice would be heard over the telephone. 
 
 Are you going to Lady Anything's on Friday ? " 
 
 I don't think so." 
 
 She has asked you, I know. I'm going." 
 
 Oh ?" 
 
 Do come. Lady Anything tells me she has got 
 some interesting people to meet you ; and I shall be 
 so miserable if you're not there." 
 
 Who was he to cause misery to the spotless lady ? 
 The victim yielded, and blandly unconscious of femi- 
 nine guile was paraded before the interesting people 
 as the latest and most lasting conquest of Lena Fon- 
 taine's bow and spear. 
 
 August plans were discussed. She was thinking of 
 Dinard. What was Quixtus proposing to do ? He 
 had not considered the question. Had contemplated 
 work in London. She held up her hands. London in 
 August ! How could he exist in the stuffy place ? 
 He needed a real holiday. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I don't know where to go," 
 said he. 
 
 Very delicately she suggested Dinard. He objected
 
 300 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 in his shy way. Dinard was the haunt of fashion and 
 frivolity. 
 
 " I should walk about the place like a daw among 
 peacocks," said he. 
 
 "But why should you be a daw ? Why not do a 
 little peacocking ? Colour in life would be good for 
 you. And I would undertake to keep your feathers 
 trim." 
 
 He smiled, half-allured, half-repelled by the idea of 
 strutting among such gay birds. To refuse the spot- 
 less lady's request downright was an act of discourtesy 
 of which he was incapable. He gave a vague and 
 qualified assent to the proposal, which she did not then 
 tempt him to make more definite. Content with her 
 progress, she bided her time. 
 
 Quixtus had little leisure to reflect on the sceptical 
 attitude towards humanity which, theoretically, he still 
 maintained. In addition to all these hour-absorbing 
 interests, Sheila began to occupy a considerable place 
 in his life. Sometimes he would call at Romney 
 Place ; sometimes Clementina would bring the child to 
 Russell Square ; sometimes, when Clementina was too 
 busy, Sheila came in the nurse's charge. He cleared 
 out a large room at the top of the house, which was 
 to be Sheila's nursery when she took up her quarters 
 there. It needed re-papering, re-carpeting, re-furnish- 
 ing, he decided. Nothing like cheerful surroundings for 
 impressionable childhood. With, this in view, he car- 
 ried off Sheila one day to a firn>of wall-paper dealers, 
 so that she could choose a pattern for herself. Sheila 
 sat solemnly on the sofa by his side while the polite 
 assistant turned over great strips of paper. At last she 
 decided. A bewildering number of parrots to the 
 square yard, all with red bodies and blue tails, darting 
 about among green foliage on which pink roses grew 
 miraculously, was the chosen design. Quixtus hesi-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 301 
 
 tated ; but Sheila was firm. They proudly took home 
 a strip to try against the wall. Clementina, hearing 
 from Sheila of her exploit, rushed up the next after- 
 noon to Russell Square, and blinked her eyes before 
 the dazzling thing. 
 
 " It's only you, Ephraim, that could have taken a 
 child of five to select wall-papers." 
 
 " I will own that the result is disastrous," he said, 
 ruefully. " But she set her heart upon it." 
 
 She sighed. " You're two babies together. I see 
 I've got to fix up that nursery myself." She looked 
 at him with a woman's delicious pity. What could a 
 lone man know of the fitting up of nurseries ? 
 
 " You hear what your auntie says ? " he asked 
 the child was sitting on his knee. " We're in disgrace." 
 
 " If you're in disgrace you go in the corner," said 
 Sheila. 
 
 " Let us go in the corner, then." 
 
 " If you hold me very tight," said Sheila. 
 
 But Clementina came up and forgave them, and 
 kissed the little face peeping over Quixtus's shoulder. 
 
 "It does my heart good to see you with her," she 
 cried, with rare demonstrativeness. 
 
 It was true. Sheila's sweet ways with Tommy 
 and Etta caused her ever so little a pang of jealousy. 
 Her increasing fondness for Quixtus made Clementina 
 thrill with pleasure. You may say that Clementina, 
 essentially just, was scrupulous not to encroach upon 
 Quixtus's legal half-share in the child's esteem. But a 
 sense of justice is not an emotion. And it was emo- 
 tion, silly, feminine, romantic emotion, which she did 
 not try to explain to herself, that filled her eyes with 
 moisture whenever she saw the two happy together. 
 
 She laid her hand upon the fair hair. 
 
 " Do you love your Uncle Ephim ? " 
 
 " I adore him," said Sheila.
 
 302 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Your uncle fully reciprocates the sentiment, my 
 dear," said Quixtus, his hand also instinctively rising 
 to caress the hair. 
 
 So the hands of the guardians touched. Clemen- 
 tina withdrew hers and turned away quickly, so that 
 he should not see the flush that sprang into her face. 
 
 " We must be getting home now, dear," she said. 
 " Auntie is wasting precious daylight." And with her 
 old abruptness she left him. 
 
 He followed her down the stairs. " My dear 
 Clementina," said he, standing bareheaded at his front 
 door, " I wonder whether you realise how Sheila and 
 yourself light up this dull old house for me." 
 
 She sniffed scornfully. " / light up ? " 
 
 " You," said he, with smiling emphasis. 
 
 She looked at him queerly for an instant, and then 
 went her way. 
 
 The next time he saw her, a few days afterwards, 
 one late afternoon, when she was tired after a heavy 
 day's painting, she railed at him, with a return of her 
 old biting mariner. He looked surprised and pained. 
 She relented. 
 
 " Forgive me, my good Ephraim," she said, " but 
 I've the rough luck to be a woman. No man alive can 
 ever conjecture what a devil of a thing that is to be." 
 
 He smiled. " You mustn't overwork," said he. " A 
 woman hasn't the brute strength of a man." 
 
 " You're delicious ! " she said. 
 
 But she was kind exceedingly kind, to him there- 
 after, and fitted up the nursery in a way that made 
 the two babies beam with delight. So Quixtus lived 
 halcyon days. 
 
 In spite of qualms of conscience, these were halcyon 
 days for Huckaby. He had already entered on his 
 duties as Quixtus' s assistant in the preparation of the 
 monumental work on " The Household Arts of the
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 303 
 
 Neolithic Age." There were hundreds of marked pas- 
 sages in books to transcribe, with accurate notes of 
 reference, hundreds of learned periodicals in all lan- 
 guages with articles bearing on the subject to be con- 
 densed and indexed, thousands of notes of Quixtus's 
 to be collated, thousands of photographs and drawings 
 to be classified. Never having been admitted into the 
 inner factory of his patron's work, he was astonished 
 at the enormous amount of material, the evidence of 
 the unsuspected patient labour of years. He began to 
 feel a new respect for Quixtus, whom hitherto he had 
 regarded as a dilettante. Of course, he knew that Quix- 
 tus had a European reputation. He had not taken the 
 reputation seriously. Like Clementina, he had been 
 wont to scoff at prehistoric man. Now he realised for 
 the first time that a man cannot gain a European repu- 
 tation in any branch of human activity without paying 
 the price in toil ; that there are qualities of energy, 
 brain and will inherent in any man who takes front 
 rank ; that there must be a calm, infinite thoroughness 
 in his work which is beyond the power of the smaller 
 man. No wonder his French colleagues called Quixtus 
 cher maitre, and deferred to his judgment. In his 
 workroom Quixtus was a great man, and Huckaby, 
 seeing him now in his workroom, recognised the fact. 
 The prospects of his appointment as secretary to 
 the Anthropological Society were also fair. Hitherto 
 the responsibilities of that position had been borne by 
 one of the members in an honorary capacity, a paid 
 and unimportant underling performing the clerical 
 duties. But for the last year or so the operations of 
 the society having extended, the secretaryship had 
 become too great a tax on the time of any unpaid and 
 no matter how enthusiastic gentleman. The Council 
 therefore had practically determined on the appoint- 
 ment of a salaried secretary, and were much impressed
 
 304 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 by the qualifications of the President's nominee. A 
 secretary who can print below his name on official 
 papers the fact that he is a Master of Arts and late 
 Fellow of his College lends distinction to any learned 
 society. A snuffy, seedy, and crotchety member had 
 been put forward as an opposition candidate. But his 
 chances were small. Huckaby's star was in the ascen- 
 dant. 
 
 It was a happy day for him when he moved his 
 books and few other belongings from the evil garret 
 where he had lived to modest but cheerful lodgings 
 near Russell Square. He looked for the last time 
 around the room which had been the scene of so many 
 degradations, of so many despairs, of so many tortur- 
 ings of soul. All that was a part of his past life ; the 
 greasy wall-paper, the rickety deal furniture, the filth- 
 sodden, ragged carpet, the slimy soot on the window- 
 sill that had crept in from the circumambient chimney- 
 stacks through the ill-fitting window-sash, the narrow, 
 rank bed all that had been part and parcel of his be- 
 ing. The familiar smell of uncared-for, unclean human 
 lives saturated the house. He shuddered and slammed 
 the door and tore down the stairs. Never again ! 
 Never again, so help him God ! A short while after- 
 ( wards he was busy arranging his books in the bright, 
 clean sitting-room of his new lodgings, and a neat maid 
 in white cap, cuffs, and apron brought in afternoon 
 tea, which she disposed in decent fashion on a little 
 table. When she had gone he stood and looked down 
 upon the dainty array. He realised that henceforth 
 this was his home. He picked up from a plate a little 
 three-cornered watercress sandwich; but instead of 
 eating it, he stared at it, and the tears rolled down his 
 face. 
 
 One day, however, towards the end of July, was 
 marked by a black cloud. His day's work being over
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 305 
 
 he was walking with light step to his lodgings, when 
 he saw in the distance, awaiting him, almost on his 
 doorstep, the sinister forms of Billiter and Vander- 
 meer. His first impulse was to turn and flee ; but they 
 had already caught sight of him and were advancing 
 to meet him. He went on. 
 
 " Hullo, old friend," said Billiter, in a beery voice. 
 " So we've tracked you down, eh ? We called at the 
 old place, and found you had gone and left no address. 
 Thought you would give us the slip, eh ? " 
 
 He still wore the costume in which he had gone 
 racing with Ouixtus ; but after constant use it had 
 begun to look shabby. His linen was of the dingiest. 
 His face had grown more bloated. Vandermeer, 
 pinched, foxy, and rusty, thrust his hard felt hat to 
 the back of his head, and, hands on hips, looked threat- 
 eningly at Huckaby. 
 
 " I suppose you know you've been playing a low- 
 down game." 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort," said Huckaby. 
 
 " Oh, don't you," said Billiter. " Look at you and 
 look at us. Who's been getting all the fat, and who 
 all the lean ? We have something to say to you, old 
 friend, so let's get indoors and have it out between us." 
 
 He made a move, accompanied by Vandermeer, 
 towards the front door. But Huckaby checked them, 
 stricken with sudden revolt. His past life should not 
 defile the sanctity of his new home. He would not 
 admit them across his threshold. 
 
 " No," said he. " Whatever we've got to say to 
 one another can be said here." 
 
 " All right," said Vandermeer, sulkily. " There's a 
 quiet pub at the corner." 
 
 " I've chucked pubs," said Huckaby. 
 
 " Come off it," sneered Billiter. " At any rate, you 
 can stand a round of drinks."
 
 " I've chucked drink, too," said Huckaby. "I've 
 sworn off. I'll never touch a drop of liquor as long 
 as I live and I advise you fellows to do the 
 same." 
 
 They burst out laughing, asked him for tickets for 
 his next temperance lecture, and then began to abuse 
 him after the manner of their kind. 
 
 " This is a decent street," said Huckaby, " so please 
 don't make a row." 
 
 " We're not making any row," cried Billiter. " We 
 only want our share of the money." 
 
 " What money ? Didn't I write and tell you the 
 whole thing was off ? She couldn't stick it, and neither 
 could I. Quixtus hasn't given her one penny piece." 
 
 " We'll see what the lady has to say about that," 
 growled Billiter. 
 
 " You're going to leave that lady alone henceforth 
 and for ever," said Huckaby, with a new ring of 
 authority in his voice. 
 
 The others sneered. Since when had Huckaby con- 
 stituted himself squire of dames ? Billiter, with pro- 
 fane asseveration, would do exactly what he chose. 
 Wasn't it his scheme ? He deserved his share. Van- 
 dermeer gloomily reminded him that he had cast 
 doubts from the first on Huckaby's probity. He had 
 put them in the cart in fine fashion. They refused to 
 believe in Lena Fontaine's squeamishness. Huckaby 
 grew impatient. 
 
 " Haven't you each received a letter from Quixtus's 
 solicitors ? Haven't you each signed an agreement not 
 to worry him on forfeiture of your allowance ? Now 
 I swear to God that if either of you molest her, you'll 
 be molesting Quixtus. I'll jolly well see to that. She'll 
 tell me, and I'll tell him and bang ! goes the monthly 
 money." 
 
 Vandermeer's shrewd wits began to work. >
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 307 
 
 " Molest her and we molest Quixtus ? Oho ! Is 
 that the little game? She's going to marry him, 
 eh?" 
 
 " If she does, what the blazes has that got to do 
 with you ? " Huckaby cried, fiercely. " You just let 
 the woman alone. You've got a damned sight more 
 out of Quixtus than you ever expected, and you ought 
 to be satisfied." 
 
 " We ought to get more," said Billiter, " considering 
 what we've done for him." 
 
 "You won't," said Huckaby, and seeing that they 
 both still regarded Quixtus as a subject for further 
 exploitation, " Let me tell you something," said he, 
 " a few simple facts that alter the situation completely. 
 Let us take a turn down the street." 
 
 And as they walked, he told them briefly of 
 Hammersley's death and the Marseilles visit and the 
 return of Quixtus, a changed man, with Clementina 
 and the child. The bee, on which they had reckoned 
 for honey, had left Quixtus's bonnet. There was no 
 more Bedlamite talk about wickedness. Their occupa- 
 tion as evil counsellors had gone for ever. They had 
 better accept thankfully what they had, and disappear. 
 Any action directed against either Quixtus or Lena 
 Fontaine would automatically bring about the demise 
 of the goose with the golden eggs. At last he con- 
 vinced them of the futility of blackmail ; but they 
 parted from him, each with a burning sense of wrong. 
 Lena Fontaine and Huckaby had put them in the cart. 
 They were left, they were done, they were stung 
 they were all things that slang has invented to de- 
 scribe the position of men deceived by those in whom 
 they trusted. 
 
 " And she's going to marry him," said Vandermeer. 
 
 " Huckaby didn't say so," replied Billiter. 
 
 " He didn't contradict it. She's going to marry
 
 3 o8 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 him, and you bet that son of a pawn-ticket will get 
 his commission." 
 
 " Well, we can't help ourselves," said Billiter. 
 
 " H'm ! " said Vandermeer, darkly. 
 
 Huckaby, conscious of victory, went home, and 
 taking an old student's text of " Phaedo " from his 
 shelves, abstracted his mind from the sordid happen- 
 ings of the modern world. 
 
 It was a day or two after this adventure of Huck- 
 aby's that Quixtus informed Clementina of his inten- 
 tion of giving a dinner-party in honour of Tommy and 
 Etta's engagement. She commended the project ; a 
 nice little intimate dinner 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm planning rather a large affair," said 
 be, apologetically. " A party of about twenty 
 people." 
 
 " Lord save us ! " cried Clementina, " where are you 
 going to dig them up from ? " 
 
 He stretched out his long, thin legs. They were 
 sitting on a bench in the gardens of Russell Square, 
 Sheila having strayed a few yards to investigate the 
 contents of a perambulator in charge of a smiling and 
 friendly nursemaid. 
 
 " There are people to whom I owe a return of hospi- 
 tality," said he, with a smile, " and I think a certain 
 amount of formality is due to Admiral Concannon." 
 
 "All right," said Clementina, "who are they?" 
 
 " There are the Admiral and yourself and Tommy 
 and Etta, Lord and Lady Radfield, General and Mrs. 
 Barnes, Sir Edward and Lady Quinn, Doorly the 
 novelist, you know Mrs. Fontaine and Lady Louisa 
 Mailing " 
 
 Clementina stiffened. The blood seemed to flow 
 from her heart, leaving it an intolerable icicle. " Why 
 Mrs. Fontaine ? " 
 
 " Why not ? "
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 309 
 
 " Why should Mrs. Fontaine be asked to Etta's 
 party ?" 
 
 " She's a charming woman," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Just a shallow society hack," said Clementina, to 
 whom Quixtus had not confided his adventures in the 
 gay world, not through conscious disingenuousness, 
 but assuming that such chronicles would not interest 
 her. 
 
 " I'm afraid you do her an injustice," he said, 
 warmly. " Mrs. Fontaine has very brilliant social 
 gifts. I'm sorry, my dear Clementina, that we disagree 
 on the point ; but anyhow she must be invited. As 
 a matter of fact, it was she who suggested the party." 
 
 Clementina opened her lips to speak, and then closed 
 them with a snap. Mother Eve sat at her elbow and 
 murmured words of good counsel. Not by abuse is 
 an infatuated and quixotic man weaned from seduc- 
 tresses. She swallowed her anger and fierce jealousy. 
 
 " In that case, my dear Ephraim," she said, with 
 mincing civility, " there is no question about it. Of 
 course she must be invited." 
 
 " Of course," said he. 
 
 " Who else are to come ? " 
 
 He ran through the list. One or two of the pro- 
 spective guests she knew personally, others by name ; 
 as to the personalities of those unknown to her she 
 made polite inquiries. So unwontedly sugared were 
 her phrases that Quixtus, simple man, forgot her out- 
 burst. 
 
 " You haven't given a dinner-party like this for a 
 long time." 
 
 " Not for many years. Of course I have had men's 
 dinners chiefly my colleagues in the Anthropological 
 Society. But this is a new venture." 
 
 " I wish it every success," said Clementina, men- 
 daciously. " The only wrong note in it would be
 
 3 io THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 myself. Oh yes, my dear Ephraim," she said, antici- 
 pating his protest, " I'm not made for such a galaxy 
 of fashion. I tread upon daintily covered corns. I'm 
 a savage all right in my wigwam with those I care 
 for but no use in a drawing-room. You must leave 
 me out of it." 
 
 Quixtus, shocked and hurt, turned and put out both 
 hands in appeal. 
 
 " My dearest friend, how can you say such things ? 
 You positively must come." 
 
 " My dearest friend," she replied, forcing her grim 
 lips into a smile, " I positively won't." 
 
 And that was the end of the matter. She parted 
 from him cordially, and went home with more devils 
 tearing her to pieces with redhot pincers than had ever 
 been dreamed of in Quixtus's demonology.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ROMNEY PLACE slumbered in the afternoon 
 sunshine. Most of the blinds of the early 
 Victorian houses were drawn, symbols of 
 quietude within. A Persian cat, walking across the 
 roadway, stopped in the middle, after the manner of 
 cats, and leisurely made her toilette. A milk-cart pro- 
 gressed discreetly from door to door, and the milkman 
 handed the cans to hands upstretched from areas with 
 unclattering and nonflirtatious punctilio. When he 
 had finished his round and disappeared by the church, 
 the street was empty for a moment. The cat resumed 
 her journey and sat on a doorstep blinking in the sun. 
 Presently a foxy-faced man, shabbily clad, entered this 
 peaceful scene, and walked slowly down the pavement. 
 It was Vandermeer, still burning with a sense of 
 wrong, yearning for vengeance, yet trembling at the 
 prospect of wreaking it. At Tommy's door he hesi- 
 tated. Of his former visit to the young man no pleas- 
 ant recollections lingered. Tommy's manners were im- 
 pulsive rather than urbane. Would he listen to 
 Vandermeer's story or would he kick him out of the 
 house ? Vandermeer, starting out on his pilgrimage 
 to Romney Place, had fortified himself with the former 
 conjecture. Now that he had come to the end of it 
 the latter appeared inevitable. He always shrank from 
 physical violence. It would hurt very much to be 
 kicked out of the house, to say nothing of the moral 
 damage. He hovered in agonising uncertainty, and 
 took off his hat, for the afternoon was warm. Now,
 
 3 i2 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 while he was mopping the brow of dubiety, a front 
 door lower down the street opened, and a nurse and a 
 little girl appeared. They descended the steps and 
 walked past him. Vandermeer looked after them for 
 a moment, then stuck on his hat and punched the left- 
 hand palm with the right-hand fist with the air of a 
 man to whom has occurred an inspiration. Miss 
 Clementina Wing also lived in Romney Place. That 
 must be the child, Quixtus's ward, of whom Huckaby 
 had spoken. It would be much better to take his story 
 to Clementina Wing, now so intimately associated with 
 Quixtus. Women, he argued, are much more easily 
 inveigled into intrigue than men, and they don't kick 
 you out of the house in a manner to cause bodily pain. 
 Besides, Clementina had once befriended him. Why 
 had he not thought of her before ? He walked boldly 
 up the steps and rang the bell. 
 
 Clementina was fiercely painting drapery from the 
 lay figure a. grey silk dress full of a thousand folds 
 and shadows. The texture was not coming right. 
 The more she painted the less like silk did it look. 
 Now was it muddy canvas ; now fluffy wool. Every 
 touch was wrong. Every stroke of her brush since her 
 yesterday's talk with Quixtus was wrong. She could 
 not paint. Yet in a frenzy of anger she determined to 
 paint. What had the woman invited to Quixtus's 
 dinner-party to do with her art ? She would make the 
 thing come right. She would prove to herself that she 
 was a woman of genius, that she had not her sex hang- 
 ing round the neck of her spirit. If Quixtus chose to 
 make a fool of himself with Mrs. Fontaine, in Heav- 
 en's name let him do so. She had her work to do. She 
 would do it, in spite of all the society hacks in Chris- 
 tendom. The skirt began to look like a blanket stained 
 with coffee. Let him have his dinner-party. What 
 was there of importance in so contemptible a thing as
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 313 
 
 a dinner-party ? But this infernal woman had sug- 
 gested it. How far was he compromised with this 
 infernal woman? She could wring her neck. The 
 dress began to suggest a humorously streaky London 
 fog. 
 
 " Damn the thing ! " cried Clementina, wiping the 
 whole skirt out. " I'll stand here for ever, until I 
 get it right." 
 
 Her tea, on a little table at the other end of the 
 studio, remained untouched. Her hair fell in loose 
 strands over her forehead, and she pushed it back every 
 now and then with impatient fingers. The front-door 
 bell rang, and soon her maid appeared at the gallery 
 door. 
 
 " A gentleman to see you, ma'am." 
 
 " I can't see anybody. You know I can't. Tell him 
 to go away." 
 
 The maid came down the stairs. 
 
 " I told him you weren't in to anybody but he 
 insisted. He hadn't a card, but wrote his name on a 
 slip of paper. Here it is, ma'am." 
 
 Clementina angrily took the slip ; " Mr. Vander- 
 meer would be glad to see Miss Wing on the most 
 urgent business." 
 
 " Tell him I can't see him." 
 
 The maid mounted the stairs. Vandermeer ? 
 Vandermeer ? Where had she heard that name be- 
 fore ? Suddenly she remembered. 
 
 " All right. Show him down here," she shouted 
 to the disappearing maid. 
 
 She might just as well see him. If she sent him 
 away the buzzing worry of conjecture as to his urgent 
 business would flitter about her mind. She threw 
 down her palette and brush and impatiently rubbed 
 'her hands together. Into what shape of moral flac- 
 cidity was she weakening ? Five months ago all the
 
 3i4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 urgent business of all the Vandermeers in the world 
 could go hang when she was painting and could not 
 get a thing right. Why should she be different now 
 from the Clementina of five months ago ? Why, why, 
 why ? With exasperated hands she further con- 
 founded the confusion of her hair. 
 
 The introduction of Vandermeer put a stop to these 
 questionings. She received him, arms akimbo, at a 
 short distance from the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " I must apologise, Miss Wing, for this intrusion," 
 said he, " but perhaps you may remember 
 
 " Yes, yes," she interrupted. " Ham-and-beef shop, 
 which you transmogrified into a restaurant. Also 
 Mr. Burgrave. What do you want? I'm very 
 busy." 
 
 The sight of the mean little figure holding his felt 
 hat with both hands in front of him, with his pointed 
 face, ferret eyes, and red, crinkly hair, did not in any 
 way redeem her remembered impression. 
 
 " A very grave danger is threatening Dr. Quixtus,'* 
 said he. " It is impossible for me to warn him myself, 
 so I have come to you, as a friend of his." ^ 
 
 " Danger ? " cried Clementina, taken off her guard. 
 " What kind of danger ? " 
 
 i " You will only understand, if I tell you rather a 
 long story. But first I must have your promise of 
 secrecy as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " Don't like secrecy," said Clementina. 
 
 " You can take whatever action you like," he said, 
 hastily. " It's in order that you may act in his interest 
 that I'm here. I only want you to give me your word 
 that you won't compromise me personally. I assure 
 you, you'll see why when I tell you the story." 
 
 Clementina reflected for a moment. It was a danger 
 threatening Quixtus. It might be important. This 
 little weasel of a man was of no account.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " All right," she said. " I give my word. Go 
 ahead." 
 
 She took a pinch of tobacco from the yellow package 
 and a cigarette paper, and, sitting in a chair in the cool 
 draught of the door opening on to the garden, with 
 shaky fingers rolled a cigarette. 
 
 " Sit down. You can smoke if you like. You can 
 also help yourself to tea. I won't have any." 
 
 Vandermeer poured himself out some tea and cut 
 an enormous hunk of cake. 
 
 " I warn you," said he, drawing a chair within con- 
 versational distance, " that the story will be a long 
 one I want to begin from the beginning." 
 
 " Go ahead, for goodness sake," said Clementina. 
 
 Vandermeer was astute enough to conjecture that 
 a sudden denunciation of Mrs. Fontaine might defeat 
 his object by exciting her generous indignation ; 
 whereas by gradually arousing her interest in the 
 affairs of Quixtus, the climactic introduction of the 
 execrated lady might pass almost unrecognised. 
 
 " The story has to do, in the first place," said he, 
 " with three men, John Billiter, Eustace Huckaby, and 
 myself." 
 
 " Huckaby ? " cried Clementina, startled. " What 
 has he to do with you ? " 
 
 " The biggest blackguard of us all," said Vander- 
 meer. 
 
 Clementina lay back in her chair, her attention 
 caught at once. 
 
 " Go on," she said. 
 
 Whereupon Vandermeer began, and with remorse- 
 less veracity for here truth was far more effective 
 than fiction told the story of the relations of the three 
 with Quixtus, in the days of their comparative pros- 
 perity, when he himself was on the staff of a news- 
 paper, Billiter in possession of the fag-end of his for-
 
 316 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 tune, and Huckaby a tutor at Cambridge. He told 
 how, one by one, they sank ; how Quixtus held out 
 the helping hand. He told of the weekly dinners, the 
 overcoat pockets. 
 
 " Not a soul on earth but you three knew anything 
 about it ? " asked Clementina, in a quavering voice. 
 
 " As far as I know, not a soul." 
 
 He told of the drunken dinner ; of Quixtus's anger ; 
 of the cessation of the intercourse ; of the extraordi- 
 nary evening when Quixtus had invited them to be his 
 minister of evil ; of his madness ; of his fixed idea 
 to work wickedness ; of his own suggestion as regards 
 Tommy. 
 
 " You infamous devil ! " said Clementina, between 
 her set teeth. In her wildest conjectures, she had 
 never imagined so grotesque and so pitiable a history. 
 She sat absorbed, pale-cheeked, holding the extinct 
 stump of cigarette between her fingers. 
 
 Vandermeer paid no attention to the ejaculation. 
 He proceeded with his story; told of Billiter and the 
 turf ; of Huckaby and the heart-breaking venture. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " cried Clementina. " Oh, my 
 God ! " He told of the meetings in the tavern. Of 
 the hunger and misery of the three. Of the plot to 
 use a decoy woman in Paris, who was to bleed him to 
 the extent of three thousand pounds. 
 
 " What's her name ? " she cried, her lips parted in 
 awful surmise. 
 
 " Lena Fontaine," said Vandermeer. 
 
 Clementina grew very white, and fell back into her 
 chair. She felt faint. She had worked violently, she 
 had felt violently since early morning. Vandermeer 
 started up. 
 
 " Can I get you anything ? Some water some 
 tea ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she said, shortly. The idea of receiving
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 317 
 
 anything from his abhorrent hands acted as a shock. 
 " I'm all right. Go on. Tell me all you know about 
 her." 
 
 He related the unsavoury details that he had gleaned 
 from Billiter, scrupulously explaining that these 
 were at second hand. Finally he informed her with 
 fair accuracy of Huckaby's latest report, giving 
 however his own interpretation of Huckaby's con- 
 duct, and laid the position of Billiter and himself be- 
 fore her. 
 
 ' You see," said he, " how important it was for me 
 to obtain your pledge of secrecy." 
 
 " And what do you get out of coming to me with 
 this story ? " 
 
 Vandermeer rose, and held his hat tight. 
 
 " Nothing except the satisfaction of having queered 
 the damned pitch of both of them." 
 
 Clementina shrank together in her chair, her hands 
 tight over her face, all her flesh a shuddering horror. 
 Then she waved both hands at him blindly. 
 
 " Go away ! Go away ! " she said, in a hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 Vandermeer's shifty eyes glanced from Clementina 
 to a stool beside his chair. On it lay the great hunk 
 of cake which he had cut but had not been able to eat 
 during his narration. She was not looking. He pock- 
 eted the cake and turned. But Clementina had seen. 
 She uttered a cry of anguish and horror. 
 
 " Oh, God ! Are you as hungry as that ? You'll 
 find some money in that end drawer " she pointed 
 to an oak dresser against the gallery wall. " Take 
 what you want to buy food with, and go. Only go ! " 
 
 Vandermeer opened the drawer, took out a five- 
 pound note, and, having mounted the stairs, left the 
 studio. 
 
 Clementina staggered into the little garden, her
 
 318 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 brain reeling. She, who thought she had fathomed 
 the depths of life, and, scornful of her knowledge 
 thereof, rode serene on the surface, knew nothing. 
 Nothing of the wolf instinct of man when hunger 
 drives. Nothing of the degradation of a man when 
 the drink fiend clutches at his throat. Lord ! How 
 sweet the air, even in this ridiculous little London 
 garden, after the awful atmosphere of that beast of 
 prey ! 
 
 Quixtus ! All her heart went out to him in fierce 
 love and pity. Generous, high-souled gentleman, at 
 the mercy of these ravening wolves ! She walked 
 round and round the little garden path. Things ob- 
 scure to her gradually became clear. But many 
 remained dark maddeningly impenetrable. Some- 
 thing had happened to throw the beloved man off his 
 balance. The Marrable trial might well be a factor. 
 But was that enough ? Yet what did the past matter ? 
 The present held peril. The web was being woven 
 tight around him. She had hated the woman intu- 
 itively at first sight. Had dreaded complications. It 
 was a million times worse than she had in her most 
 jealous dreams conceived. If he were lured into mar- 
 riage, what but disaster could be the end ? And 
 Sheila ! Her blood froze at the thought of her darling 
 coming into contact with the woman. All her sex 
 clamoured. 
 
 Before she acted, every dark corner must be 
 illuminated. There must be no groping ; no false 
 movement. One man would certainly be able to throw 
 light Huckaby, the trusted friend of Quixtus. The 
 more she thought of him the more she was amazed. 
 Here was one of the ghastly band, an illimitable 
 scoundrel, the one who had openly suggested to Quix- 
 tus the most despicable, yet the most fantastic, wick- 
 edness of all, now the confidential secretary, the col-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 319 
 
 laborator, the fidus Achates, of the sane and disillu- 
 sioned gentleman. 
 
 With sudden decision she marched into the studio 
 and took up the telephone and gave a number. 
 Quixtus's voice eventually answered. Who was there ? 
 
 " It's me. Clementina. Is Mr. Huckaby still with 
 you ?" 
 
 Huckaby had left half an hour ago. 
 
 " Can you give me his address ? I want to ask him 
 to come and see me. To come to tea. I like him so 
 much, you know." 
 
 The address came through the telephone. She noted 
 it in her memory. Quixtus inquired for Sheila. 
 Clementina gave him cheery news and rang off. All 
 this was arrant disingenuousness and duplicity. But 
 Clementina did not care. What woman ever does ? 
 
 She ran up to her bedroom, thrust on a coat, 
 pinned on the hat with the wobbly rose, and went out. 
 In the King's Road she found a taxicab. A quarter 
 of an hour brought her to Huckaby's lodgings. 
 
 He had spent a happy and untroubled day, and 
 was finishing the " Phsedo " with great enjoyment, 
 when Clementina burst into the room. He leaped from 
 his chair in amazement. 
 
 " My dear Miss Wing ! " 
 
 " You infernal villain ! " said Clementina. 
 
 Huckaby staggered back. To such a salutation it 
 is difficult to respond in the ordinary terms of hospi- 
 tality. 
 
 " Will you take a seat," said he, " and explain ? " 
 
 He drew a chair to the open window. She plumped 
 herself down. 
 
 " I think it's for you to explain," she said. 
 
 " I presume," said Huckaby, after a pause, " that 
 something in connection with my past life has come 
 to your ears. I will grant that there was in it much
 
 320 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 that was not particularly creditable. But my con- 
 science now is free from reproach." 
 
 Clementina sniffed. " You must have a very accom- 
 modating conscience. What about Dr. Quixtus and 
 Mrs. Fontaine ? " 
 
 " Well, what about it ? " 
 
 " You know the kind of woman Mrs. Fontaine is 
 you introduced her to him and yet you are allowing 
 her to inveigle him into marriage. Oh, don't deny it. 
 I know the whole infamous conspiracy from A to Z." 
 
 Huckaby stifled an oath. " Those brutes Vander- 
 meer and Billiter have been giving the woman away 
 to you ! " He clenched his fists. " The blackguards ! " 
 
 " I don't know anything about Van-what's-his-name 
 or the other man. I only know one thing. This mar- 
 riage is not going to take place. I might have gone 
 straight to Dr. Quixtus ; but I thought it best to see 
 you first. There are various things I want cleared 
 up." 
 
 Huckaby looked at the woman's strong, rugged 
 face, and then his eyes wandered round the little cool 
 haven that was his home, and a great fear fell upon 
 him. If Quixtus learned the truth now about Mrs. 
 Fontaine, he would never be forgiven. He would be 
 put on the same footing as the two others ; and then 
 the abyss. Of course he could lie, and Mrs. Fontaine 
 could lie. But what would be the use ? The revelation 
 of the true facts to Quixtus would fit in only too well 
 with his past disingenuousness and with his urgent 
 insistence on the heart-breaking adventure. And his 
 iron-faced visitor would soon see to it that the lies 
 were swept away. His face grew ashen. 
 
 " You have me in your power," he said, humbly. 
 " Once I was a gentleman and a scholar. Then there 
 were years of degradation. Now, thanks to Quixtus, 
 I'm on the way to becoming my former self. If you
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 321 
 
 denounce me to Quixtus, I go back. For sheer pity's 
 sake don't do it." 
 
 " Let me hear what you've got to say for yourself," 
 said Clementina, grimly. 
 
 " What are Quixtus's feelings with regard to Mrs. 
 Fontaine I don't know. He has never spoken to me 
 on the subject. But he certainly admires her for what 
 she really is a charming, well-bred woman." 
 
 " Umph ! " said Clementina. 
 
 " Suppose," continued Huckaby, " suppose we were 
 drawn into this conspiracy. Suppose when we came 
 to put it into practice both our souls revolted. Sup- 
 pose she began to like Quixtus for his own sake. Sup- 
 pose her soul also revolted from her past life " 
 
 " Fiddlesticks ! " said Clementina. 
 
 " I assure you it's true," he said, earnestly. " Let 
 us suppose it is, anyhow. Suppose she saw in a mar- 
 riage with a good man her salvation. Suppose she was 
 ready to make him a good wife. Suppose I thor- 
 oughly believed her. How could I, clinging to the 
 same plank as she, do otherwise than I have done 
 kept silent ? " 
 
 ;< Your duty to your benefactor should certainly out- 
 weigh your supposed duty to this worthless creature." 
 
 Huckaby sighed. " That's the woman's point of 
 view." 
 
 Clementina made an angry gesture. " I suppose 
 you're right. Always the confounded woman's point 
 of view when one wants to look at things judicially. 
 Yes. You couldn't give the woman away a man's 
 perverted notion I see. Well let us take it, for the 
 sake of argument, that I believe you. What then ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said he. " Mrs. Fontaine and my- 
 self are at your mercy." 
 
 " Umph ! " said Clementina again. She paused, 
 glanced shrewdly at his face, as he sat forward in the
 
 322 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 chair on the opposite side of the window, twisting 
 nervous fingers and staring out across the street. 
 
 " Tell me your story frankly of Dr. Quixtus," 
 she said at last, " from the time of the Marrable trial. 
 As many details as you can remember. I want to 
 know." 
 
 Huckaby obeyed. He was, as he said, at her mercy. 
 His story confirmed Vandermeer's, but it covered a 
 wider ground, and, told with truer perception, cast 
 the desired light on dark places. She learned for the 
 first time for hitherto she had concerned herself little 
 with Quixtus's affairs the fact of his disinheritance, 
 Quixtus having, one raging day, revealed to Huckaby 
 the history of the cynical will. She questioned him 
 about Will Hammersley. His account of Quixtus's 
 half-given and hastily snatched confidence was a light- 
 ning flash. 
 
 Clementina rose, aghast, and walked about the room. 
 The idea of such a horror had never entered her head. 
 Hammersley and Angela it was incredible, impos- 
 sible. There must have been some awful hallucination. 
 That Hammersley, Bayard without fear and without 
 reproach, and Angela, quiet, colourless saint, could 
 have done this thing baffled all imaginings of human 
 passion. It was inconceivable, ludicrous, grotesque. 
 But to Quixtus it was real. He believed it. It lay at 
 the root of his disorder. Even now, with his disorder 
 cured, he believed it still. She was rent with his 
 anguish. 
 
 " My God ! How he must have suffered ! " 
 
 " And in spite of everything," said Huckaby, " he 
 is as tender to Hammersley's little daughter as if she 
 were his own." 
 
 She swooped upon him in her abrupt fashion. 
 
 " Thank you for that. You've got a heart some- 
 where about you."
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 323 
 
 She sat down again. " When do you think this sus- 
 picion, or whatever it was, crossed his mind ? Let us 
 go back." 
 
 They talked long and earnestly. At length, Huckaby 
 having ransacked his memory of things past, they 
 fixed as a probable date the day of the hostless dinner. 
 Quixtus had sent down word that he was ill. The 
 excuse was entirely false. Nothing but severe mental 
 trouble could have stood in the way of his taking the 
 head of the table. Obviously something had hap- 
 pened. Huckaby had a vague memory of seeing Quix- 
 tus, as he entered the museum, crush a letter in his 
 hand and stuff it in his jacket pocket. It might 
 possibly have been a letter incriminating the pair. 
 
 Whether the conjecture was right or wrong did not 
 greatly matter. Clementina felt now that she held 
 the key to Quixtus's mad conduct. Blow after blow 
 had fallen on him. Those whom he had trusted had 
 betrayed him. He had lost faith in humanity. The 
 gentle nature could not withstand this loss of faith. 
 There had been shock. He had set out to work devil- 
 dom. The pity of it ! 
 
 She uttered a queer, choking laugh. " And not one 
 piece of wickedness could he commit ! " 
 
 The summer twilight began to creep over the quiet 
 street, and the darkness deepened at the back of the 
 room. A long silence fell upon them. Clementina 
 sat as motionless as a dusky sphinx, absorbed by 
 strange thoughts and wrung by strange emotions that 
 made her bosom heave and her breath come quickly. 
 A scheme, audacious, fantastic, romantic, began to 
 shape itself in her mind, sending the blood tingling 
 down to her feet, to her finger-tips. 
 
 At last she made an abrupt movement. 
 
 " It's getting dark. What can the time be ? I must 
 go home."
 
 3 2 4 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " Before I go," she said, " we must settle up about 
 Mrs. Fontaine." 
 
 " I suppose we must," groaned Huckaby. " All I 
 ask you is to spare her as much as you can." 
 
 " We must think first of Quixtus," she replied short- 
 ly. " What we've got to do for him is to build up his 
 faith in humanity again not to give the little he has 
 another knockdown blow. See ? " 
 
 Huckaby raised his head with swift hope. 
 
 " Do you mean that he must not know about her ? " 
 
 " Or about you. That's what I mean." 
 
 " God bless you ! " gasped Huckaby. 
 
 " All the same, this precious marriage project has 
 got to be put a stop to forever and ever, amen. I 
 hope you realise that thoroughly." 
 
 Huckaby could not meet her keen eyes. He hung 
 his head. 
 
 " I suppose you mean me to break it gently to her 
 that that the game is up." 
 
 " I don't mean anything of the kind," she snapped. 
 " Now look here. Pay strict attention. If you obey 
 me implicitly and scrupulously, I'll still see whether 
 I can't be your friend and I can be a good friend; 
 but if you don't, God help you! I've given a pledge 
 of secrecy to my informant this afternoon. Of course 
 I've broken it, like a woman. So you've got to keep 
 it for me. See? You're not to let those two black- 
 guards suffer in any way on my account. Promise." 
 
 " I promise," said Huckaby. 
 
 " Then you're not to breathe a single syllable to 
 Mrs. Fontaine. Best keep out of her way. Leave 
 me to deal with her. I'll let her down gently. I'll 
 give you my word on it. Is that a bargain ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Huckaby. 
 
 She put out her hand frankly.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 325 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 He accompanied her to the front door. 
 
 " Can I get you a taxi ? " 
 
 " Lord, no. When I'm a lady you can. I'll walk 
 till I find one." 
 
 Clementina sped to Romney Place with shining eyes, 
 and a smile lurking at the corners of her lips. The 
 first thing she did on arrival was to rush down to the 
 telephone. 
 
 " Is that you, Ephraim ? " 
 
 " Yes," came the answer. 
 
 " I've changed my mind, and I'm coming to your 
 dinner-party." 
 
 " Delighted, my dear Clementina." 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 She rang off, and rushed upstairs to make a fool of 
 herself over Sheila, who, already put to bed, lay awake 
 in anticipation of Clementina's good-night cuddle. 
 
 " When you go to stay with your uncle, I wonder 
 whether he'll spoil you like this." 
 
 " You'll come, too," said Sheila, sedately, " and then 
 you can go on spoiling me." 
 
 " Lord preserve us ! " cried Clementina. " What a 
 scandal in Russell Square ! " 
 
 Towards ten o'clock Tommy made his appearance. 
 The daily calls to inquire after her health and happiness 
 had grown to be a sacred observance. But as the 
 studio was rigorously closed to him during the day- 
 light hours his visits were vespertilian. If she wanted 
 him, she told him to stay. If she didn't, she sent him 
 about his business. He had got into the habit of kiss- 
 ing her, nephew fashion, when they met and parted. 
 She liked the habit now, for she felt that the boy loved 
 her very dearly. And in an aunt-like, and very satis- 
 fying and comfortful way, she, too, loved him with all 
 her heart.
 
 326 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 "Can I stay?" 
 
 She nodded. He removed the set palette from the 
 chair on to which she had cast it when Vandermeer 
 was announced, and sat down. 
 
 " What have you been doing with yourself? " 
 
 He entered upon a long story. Some picture or the 
 other was shaping splendidly. His uncle had taken 
 Etta and himself to lunch at the Savoy. 
 
 " Said he was thinking of going to Dinard for Au- 
 gust. Rum place for him to go, isn't it ? " 
 
 Clementina repressed manifestation of interest in 
 the announcement. But it set her pulses throbbing. 
 
 " I suppose he can go where he likes, can't he ? " she 
 snapped. " What kind of a lunch did you have ? " 
 
 Tommy ran through the menu. It was his own se- 
 lection. He had given the dear old chap sorne hints 
 in gastronomy. It was wonderful how little he knew 
 of such essential things. Seemed to have set his heart 
 on giving them pheasant. In July. After that they 
 had gone to see the New Futurists. His uncle seemed 
 to know all about them. Wonderful work; but they 
 were all erring after false gods. He thanked heaven 
 he had her, Clementina, to keep him orthodox. It 
 was all absinthe and morphia. He rattled on. 
 Clementina, leaning far back in her chair, watched the 
 curls of cigarette smoke with shining eyes and a Leon- 
 ardesque smile lurking at the corners of her lips. 
 
 " Why, Clementina ! " he cried, with sudden indig- 
 nation. " You're paying not the slightest attention to 
 me." 
 
 " Never mind, Tommy," she said. " You go on 
 talking. It helps me to think. I'm going to have a 
 devil of a time the time of my life ! " 
 
 " What in the world are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Never mind, Tommy. Never mind. Oh, what a 
 fool I was not to think of it before ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE next morning Clementina put off a sitter, a 
 thing which she had never done before, and, 
 letting work go hang, made an unprecedented 
 irruption into Russell Square. 
 
 " It's about this dinner of yours," she said as soon 
 as Quixtus appeared. " I telephoned you yesterday 
 that I was coming." 
 
 " And I said, my dear Clementina, that I was more 
 than delighted." 
 
 " It was the morose wart-hog inside of me that made 
 me decline," she said frankly. " But there's a woman 
 of sense also inside me that can cut the throat of the 
 wart-hog when it likes. So here I am, a woman of 
 sense. Now will you let a woman of sense run this 
 dinner-party for you ? Oh I know what you may be 
 thinking," she went on hastily without giving him time 
 to reply. " I'm not going to suggest liver and bacon 
 and a boiled potato. I know how things should be 
 done, better than you." 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm inexperienced in entertainments of 
 this kind," said Quixtus, with a smile. " Spriggs 
 generally attends to such matters." 
 
 " Spriggs and I will put our heads together," said 
 Clementina. " I want you to give rather a wonderful 
 dinner-party. What kind of table decorations have 
 you?" 
 
 Spriggs was summoned. He loaded the dining- 
 room table with family plate and table-centres and 
 solid cut glass. His pride lay in a mid-Victorian 
 
 327
 
 328 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 epergne that at every banquet in the house proudly 
 took the place of honour with a fat load of grapes and 
 oranges and apples. Clementina set apart a few arti- 
 cles of silver and condemned the rest, including the 
 epergne, as horrors. 
 
 " You'll let me have the pleasure, Ephraim," she 
 said, " of providing all the flowers and making out a 
 scheme of decoration. Anything I want I'll get my- 
 self and make you a present of it. I'm by way of be- 
 ing an artist, you know, so it will be all right." 
 
 " Could any one doubt it ? " said Quixtus. " I am 
 very much indebted to you, Clementina." 
 
 " A woman comes in useful now and then. I've 
 never done a hand's turn for you, and it's time I began. 
 You'll want a hostess, won't you ? " 
 
 " Dear me," said Quixtus, somewhat taken aback. 
 " I suppose I shall. I never thought of it." 
 
 " I'll be hostess," said Clementina. " I'm a kind of 
 aunt to Tommy and Etta, for whom you're giving the 
 party. I'm a kind of connection of yours and you 
 and I are kind of father and mother to Sheila. So it 
 will be quite correct. Let me have your list of guests 
 and don't you worry your head about anything." 
 
 Clementina in her sweeping mood was irresistible. 
 Quixtus, mild man, could do no more than acquiesce 
 gratefully. It was most gracious of Clementina to 
 undertake these perplexing arrangements. New sides 
 of her character exhibited themselves every day. 
 There was only one flaw in the newly revealed Clemen- 
 tina her unaccountable disparagement of Mrs. Fon- 
 taine. But even this defect she remedied of her own 
 accord. 
 
 " I take back what I said about Mrs. Fontaine," she 
 said abruptly. " I was in a wart-hoggy humour. 
 She's a charming woman, with brilliant social gifts." 
 
 Quixtus beamed, whereat Clementina felt more 
 

 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 329 
 
 wart-hoggy than ever; but she beamed also, with a 
 mansuetude that would have deceived Mrs. Fontaine 
 herself. 
 
 Clementina, after an intimate interview with a first 
 resentful, then obfuscated and finally boneless and sub- 
 missive Spriggs, went her way, a sparkle of triumph 
 in her eyes. And then began laborious days, during 
 which she sacrificed many glorious hours of daylight to 
 the arrangements for the dinner-party. She spent an 
 incredible time in antique shops and schools of art 
 needlework, and even haunted places near the London 
 docks hunting for the glass and embroideries and other 
 things she needed. She ordered rare flowers from flor- 
 ists. She wasted her evenings over a water-colour de- 
 sign for the table decoration, and over designs for the 
 menu and name-cards. 
 
 " It's going to be a dinner that people shall remem- 
 ber," she said to Etta. 
 
 " It's going to be splendid," said Etta. " You think 
 of everything, darling, except the one thing the most 
 important." 
 
 'What's that, child?" 
 
 " Have you got a dress to wear, darling ? " 
 
 " Dress ? " echoed Clementina, staring at the child. 
 " Why, of course. I've got my black." 
 
 Etta stood aghast. " That old thing you took with 
 you packed anyhow on the motor trip ? " 
 
 " Naturally. Isn't it good enough for you ? " 
 
 " It's not for me," said Etta, growing bold. " I 
 love you in anything. It's for the other people. Do 
 go and get yourself a nice frock. There's still time. 
 I've never liked to tell you before, dear, but the old one 
 
 gapes at the back " she paused dramatically, 
 
 " gapes dreadfully." 
 
 " Oh, Lord, let it gape," cried Clementina impa- 
 tiently. " Don't worry me."
 
 330 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 But Etta continued to worry, with partial success. 
 Clementina obstinately refused to buy new raiment, 
 but consented to call in Miss Pugsley, the little dress- 
 maker round the corner in the King's Road, who fash- 
 ioned such homely garments as Clementina deigned to 
 wear, and to hand over the old black dress to her for 
 alterations and repairs. Etta sighed and spent anxious 
 hours with Miss Pugsley and forced a grumbling and 
 sarcastic Clementina to stand half clad while the 
 frumpy rag attained something resembling a fit. 
 
 " At any rate there are no seams burst and it does 
 hook together," said Etta, dismally surveying the hor- 
 ror at the final fitting. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Clementina, contemplating herself 
 wryly in the mirror. " I suppose I look like a lady. 
 Now I hope you're satisfied." 
 
 Meanwhile such painting as she did in the intervals 
 of her daily excursions abroad progressed exceedingly. 
 Tommy coming into the studio one evening caught 
 sight of the picture of the lady in the grey dress stand- 
 ing on its easel. 
 
 " Stunning ! " he cried. " Stunning ! You can al- 
 most hear the stuff rustle. How the dickens do you 
 get your texture? You're a holy mystery. By Jove, 
 you are ! All this" he ran his thumb parallel with a 
 fold in the drapery " all this is a miracle." He turned 
 and faced her with worshipping eyes in which the tears 
 were ready to spring. " By God, you're great ! " 
 
 The artist was thrilled by the homage; the woman 
 laughed inwardly. She had dashed at the task tri- 
 umphantly and as if by magic the thing had come out 
 right. She was living, these days, intensely. There 
 was no miracle that she could not work. 
 
 A morning or two afterwards she issued a ukase to 
 Tommy and Etta that they were to accompany her on 
 an automobile excursion. Tommy, to whom she had
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 331 
 
 constituted herself taskmistress, boyishly glad of the 
 holiday, flew down Romney Place, and found a great 
 luxurious hired motor standing at her door. Pres- 
 ently Etta arrived, and then Clementina and Sheila and 
 the young lovers started. Where were they going? 
 Clementina explained. As she could not keep Sheila in 
 London during August, she had decided on taking a 
 furnished cottage in the country. Estate agents had 
 highly recommended one at Moleham-on-Thames. She 
 was going down to have a look at it, and wanted their 
 advice. The motor ploughed through the squalor of 
 Brentford and then sped along the Bath Road, through 
 Colnbrook and Slough and Maidenhead and through 
 the glorious greenery in which Henley is embowered, 
 and on and on by winding shady roads, with here and 
 there a flashing glimpse of river, by fields lush in 
 golden pasture, up and down the gentle hills, through 
 riverside villages where sleeping gaiety brings a smile 
 to the eyes, between the high hedges of Oxfordshire 
 lanes, through the cool verdant mystery of beech 
 woods, until it entered through a great gateway and 
 proceeded up a long avenue of elms and stopped be- 
 fore a slumbering red-brick manor-house. 
 
 " This the cottage ? " asked Tommy. 
 
 " Do you think it's a waterfall ? " asked Clementina. 
 
 They alighted. A caretaker took the order-to-view 
 given by the estate agents and conducted the party over 
 the place. The more Tommy saw the more amazed 
 did he grow. There was a park ; a garden ; a pergola 
 of roses ; a couple of tennis courts ; a lawn reaching to 
 the river. The house, richly furnished throughout, 
 contained rooms innumerable; four or five sitting- 
 rooms, large dining-room, billiard room, countless bed- 
 rooms, a magnificent studio; in the grounds another 
 studio. 
 
 " I'll take it," said Clementina.
 
 332 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " But, my dear," gasped Tommy, " have you consid- 
 ered ? I don't want to be impertinent but the rent of 
 this place must be a thousand pounds a minute." 
 
 She drew him apart from Etta and Sheila. 
 
 " My dear boy," she said. " For no reason that I 
 can see, I've lived all my life on tuppence a year. It's 
 only quite lately that I've realised that I'm a very rich 
 woman and can do anything more or less I please. I'm 
 going to take this place for August and September and 
 hire a motor-car, and you and Etta are going to stay 
 with me, and you can each bring as many idiot boys 
 and girls as you choose, and I shall paint and you can 
 paint and Sheila can run about the garden, and we're 
 all going to enjoy ourselves." 
 
 Tommy thrust his hands into the pockets of his grey 
 flannels and declared she was a wonder. Whereupon 
 they proceeded to Moleham and after lunch at " The 
 Black Boy," motored back to Chelsea. 
 
 These were days filled with a myriad activities. The 
 dinner-party engaged her curious attention. She sent 
 back proofs of the menu and name cards time 
 after time to the firm of art printers before she was 
 satisfied. Then she took them to Quixtus. He was 
 delighted. 
 
 " But, my dear Clementina, why are you taking all 
 this ridiculous trouble ? " 
 
 She laughed in her gruff way, and summoned 
 Spriggs to another dark and awful interview. 
 
 A day or two before the dinner, Mrs. Fontaine who, 
 although she had suggested the idea, did not view a 
 dinner-party as a world-shaking phenomenon, be- 
 thought her of the matter. A pretty little note had 
 summoned Quixtus to tea. They were alone. 
 
 " I have been wondering, my dear Dr. Quixtus," she 
 said, sweetly, her soft eyes on his, as soon as she had 
 heard of the acceptances of the people in whom she was
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 333 
 
 interested " I have been wondering whether we are 
 good enough friends for me to be audacious." 
 
 He smiled an assurance. 
 
 " If I brought you a few flowers for the table would 
 you accept them? And if you did, would you let me 
 come and arrange them for you ? It would be such a 
 pleasure. Even the best trained servants can't give the 
 little touch that a woman can." 
 
 Quixtus blushed. It was difficult to be ungracious 
 to the flower of womanhood ; yet the flower of woman- 
 hood had come too late in the day with her gracious 
 proposal. He explained, wishing to soften the neces- 
 sary refusal, that he had already called in the help of 
 his artistic friends, Miss Clementina Wing and Tommy 
 Burgrave. 
 
 " Why didn't you send for me ? Didn't you think 
 of me?" 
 
 " I did not venture," said he. 
 
 " I have been deluding myself with the fancy that 
 we were friends." She sighed and looked at him with 
 feminine significance. " Nothing venture, nothing 
 win." 
 
 But Quixtus, simple soul, was too genuinely dis- 
 tressed by obvious happenings to follow the insidious 
 scent. With great wisdom Clementina had shown him 
 her water-colour design, and he knew that Mrs. Fon- 
 taine, with all her daintiness, could not compete with 
 the faultless taste and poetic imagination of a great 
 artist. He wondered why so finely sensitive a nature 
 as the flower of womanhood did not divine this. Her 
 insistence jarred on him ever so little. And yet he 
 shrank from wounding susceptibilities. 
 
 " I never thought you would be interested in such 
 trivial domestic matters," said he. 
 
 " It is the little things that count." 
 
 For the first time in his intercourse with her he felt
 
 334 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 uncomfortable. Here was the lady maintaining her 
 reproach of neglect. If she took so much interest in 
 this wretched dinner-party, why had she not offered 
 her services at once? Unwittingly he contrasted her 
 inaction with Clementina's irresistible energy. In an- 
 swer to her remark he said, smiling : 
 
 " I'm not so sure about that, although it's often as- 
 serted. We lawyers have an axiom : De minimis non 
 curat lex" 
 
 " Pity a poor woman. What on earth does that 
 mean?" 
 
 He translated. 
 
 " The law is one thing and human sentiment an- 
 other." 
 
 With all her rough contradiction and violent asser- 
 tion, Clementina never pinned him down to a fine point 
 of sentimental argument. There was a spaciousness 
 about Clementina wherein he could breathe freely. 
 This close atmosphere began to grow distasteful. There 
 was a slight pause, which Mrs. Fontaine filled in by 
 handing him his second cup of tea. 
 
 " Miss Clementina Wing," said he, dashing for the 
 open, " is so intimately associated not only with the 
 object of our little entertainment, but also with myself 
 in other matters, that I could do no less than consult 
 her." 
 
 Lena Fontaine bent forward, sugar-tongs in hand, 
 ready to drop a lump into his cup a charmingly inti- 
 mate pose. 
 
 " Of course, I understand, dear Dr. Quixtus. And 
 is she really coming to the dinner ? " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She's so so unconventional. I thought she never 
 went into society." 
 
 " She is honouring me by making an exception in 
 my case," replied Quixtus, a little stiffly.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 335 
 
 " I'm delighted to hear it," she said sweetly ; but in 
 her heart she bitterly resented Clementina's interfer- 
 ence. She would get even with the fish-fag for this. 
 
 On the morning of the dinner-party Clementina sent 
 for Tommy. He found her, as usual at work. She 
 laid down her brush and handed him the water-colour 
 design. 
 
 " I'm too busy to-day to fool about with this silly 
 nonsense. I can't spare any more time for it. You 
 can carry out the scheme quite as well as I can. You'll 
 find everything there. Do you mind ? " 
 
 Tommy did not mind. In fact, he was delighted at 
 the task. The artist in him loved to deal with things 
 of beauty and exquisite colours. 
 
 " Shall I give an eye to the wines? " 
 
 " Everything's quite settled. I saw to it yesterday. 
 Now clear out. I'm busy. And look here," she cried, 
 as he was mounting the staircase, " I'm not going to 
 have you or Etta fooling round the place to-day. I'm 
 going to paint till the very last minute." 
 
 She resumed her painting. A short while after- 
 wards, a note and parcel came from Etta. From the 
 parcel she drew a long pair of black gloves. She threw 
 them to the maid, Eliza. 
 
 " What shall I do with them, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Wear 'em at your funeral," said Clementina. 
 
 A few minutes before eight Quixtus stood in the 
 great drawing-room waiting to receive his guests. On 
 the stroke came Admiral Concannon, scrupulously 
 punctual, and Etta followed by Tommy, who, having 
 given the last touches to the table, waylaid her on the 
 stairs. Then came Lady Louisa Mailing and Lena 
 Fontaine demure in pale heliotrope. After them Lord 
 and Lady Radfield, he, tall and distinguished, with 
 white moustache and imperial, she, much younger than
 
 336 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 he, dumpy, expensively dressed, wearing a false air 
 of vivacity. Then came in quick succession General 
 and Lady Barnes, Griffiths (Quixtus's colleague in the 
 Anthropological Society), and his wife, John Powers- 
 foot (the Royal Academician), Mr. and Mrs. Wilmour- 
 Jackson, physically polished, vacant, opulent, friends of 
 Mrs. Fontaine. Gradually the party assembled and the 
 hum of talk filled the room. During an interval Quix- 
 tus turned to Tommy. What had become of Clemen- 
 tina, who had promised to play hostess? Tommy 
 could give no information. All he knew about her was 
 that he had stopped at her door and offered a lift in 
 his cab, and Eliza had come down with a verbal mes- 
 sage to the effect that he was to go away and that Miss 
 Wing was not coming in his cab. Tommy opined that 
 Clementina was in one of her crotchety humours. Pos- 
 sibly she would not turn up at all. Etta took Tommy 
 aside. 
 
 " I'm sure that old black frock has split down the 
 back and Eliza is mending it with black thread." 
 
 Only the Quinns and Clementina to arrive; and at 
 ten minutes past the Quinns, Sir Edward, Member of 
 Parliament, and Lady, genial, flustered folk with many 
 apologies for lateness. The hands of the clock on the 
 mantelpiece marked the quarter. Still no Clementina. , 
 Quixtus grew uneasy. What could have happened? 
 Lena Fontaine turned from him and whispered to 
 Lord Radfield. 
 
 " She has forgotten to put on her boots and is driv- 
 ing back for them." 
 
 Then Spriggs appeared at the door and announced : 
 
 " Miss Clementina Wing*" 
 
 And Clementina sailed into the room. 
 
 For the first and only time in his life did Quixtus 
 lose his courtliness of manner. For a perceptible in- 
 stant he stood stock still and stared open-mouthed. It
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 337 
 
 was a Clementina that he had never seen before; a 
 Clementina that no one had ever seen before. It was 
 Clementina in a hundred-guinea gown, gold silk gleam- 
 ing through ambergris net, Clementina exquisitely cor- 
 seted and revealing a beautifully curved and rounded 
 figure ; Clementina with a smooth, clear olive skin, with 
 her fine black hair coiled by a miracle of the hairdress- 
 er's art, majestically on her head, and set off with a 
 great diamond comb ; Clementina wearing diamonds 
 at her throat; Clementina perfectly gloved; Clemen- 
 tina carrying an ostrich feather fan ; Clementina erect, 
 proud, smiling, her strong face illuminated by her fine 
 eyes a-glitter with suppressed excitement; Clementina 
 a very great lady and almost a beautiful woman. Those 
 who knew her stared like Quixtus; those who did not 
 looked at her appreciatively. 
 
 She sailed across the room, hand outstretched to 
 Quixtus. 
 
 " I'm so sorry I'm late, and so sorry I could not run 
 in to-day. I've been up to my ears in work. I hope 
 Tommy has been a satisfactory lieutenant." 
 
 " He has most faithfully carried out your instruc- 
 tions," said Quixtus, recovering his balance. 
 
 Clementina smiled on Mrs. Fontaine. " How d'ye 
 do. How charming to meet you again. But you're 
 looking pale to-night, my dear, quite fagged out, I 
 hope nothing's the matter." 
 
 She turned round quickly, leaving Lena Fontaine 
 speechless with amazement and indignation, and shook 
 hands with the astonished Admiral. Was this regal- 
 looking woman the same paint-daubed rabbit-skinner 
 of the studio ? He murmured vague nothings. 
 
 "Well, my dears?" 
 
 Tommy and Etta thus greeted stood paralysed be- 
 fore her like village children at a school feast when 
 they are addressed by the awe-inspiring squire's lady.
 
 338 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Pinch me. Pinch me hard," Tommy whispered 
 when Clementina had turned to meet Lord Radfield, 
 whom Quixtus was presenting. 
 
 " I believe I have the pleasure of taking you down 
 to dinner," said Lord Radfield. 
 
 " I'm a sort of brevet hostess in this house," said 
 Clementina. " A bad one, I'm afraid, seeing how late 
 I am." 
 
 Spriggs announced dinner. Quixtus led the way 
 with Lady Radfield, Clementina on Lord Radfield's 
 arm closed the procession. The company took their 
 places in the great dining-room. Quixtus at the end 
 of the table by the door sat between Lady Radfield and 
 Lady Louisa. Clementina at the foot between Lord 
 Radfield and General Barnes. Lena Fontaine had her 
 place as near Clementina as possible, between Lord 
 Radfield and Griffiths, a dry splenetic man who had 
 taken her in. Clementina had thus arranged the table- 
 plan. 
 
 The scheme of decoration was too striking in its 
 beauty not to arouse immediate and universal com- 
 ment. It was half barbaric. Rich Chinese gold em- 
 broideries on the damask ; black and gold lacquer urns, 
 a great black-and-gold lacquer tray. Black irises, with 
 golden tongues, in gold-dust Venetian glass; tawny 
 orchids flaring profusely among the black and gold. 
 Here and there shining through greenery the glow of 
 golden fruit, and, insistent down the long table, the 
 cool sheen of ambergris grapes. Glass and silver and 
 damask; black and gold and ambergris; audacious, 
 startling, then appealing to the eye as perfect in its 
 harmony. 
 
 Quixtus and Tommy each proclaimed the author. All 
 eyes were directed to Clementina. Attention was di- 
 verted to the name and menu-cards. Lord Radfield 
 put his name-card into his pocket.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 339 
 
 " It is not every day in the week that one takes away 
 a precious work of art from a London dinner-party." 
 
 Clementina enjoyed a little triumph, the flush of 
 which mounted to her dark face. With the flush, and 
 in the setting she had prepared for herself, she looked 
 radiant. Her late entrance had produced a dramatic 
 effect ; the immediate concentration of every one on her 
 work, added to the commonplace of her reputation, had 
 at once established her as the central figure in the 
 room ; and she sat as hostess at the foot of the table a 
 symphony in ambergris, gold and black. Woman, in 
 the use of woman's weapons, has evolved no laws of 
 fence. 
 
 " One might almost have said she did it on purpose," 
 murmured the ingenuous Tommy. 
 
 " Did what ? " asked Etta. 
 
 " Why, used the table as a personal decoration. 
 Don't you see how it all leads up to her leads up, by 
 Jove, to her eyes and the diamonds in her hair. And, 
 I say, doesn't it wipe out Mrs. Fontaine ? " 
 
 Tommy was right. Lena Fontaine's pale colouring, 
 her white face and chestnut hair faded into nothingness 
 against the riot of colour. The pale heliotrope of her 
 dress was killed. She was insignificant to the eye. 
 Conscious of this eclipse, hating herself for having put 
 on heliotrope and yet wondering which of her usual 
 half-tone costumes she could have worn, she paid her 
 tribute to the designer with acid politeness. She 
 wished she had not come. Clementina as fish-fag and 
 Clementina as Princess were two totally different peo- 
 ple. She could deal with the one. How could she 
 deal with the other ? The irony in Clementina's glance 
 made her quiver with fury; her heart still burned hot 
 with the indignation of the first greeting. She felt 
 herself to be in the midst of hostile influences. Grif- 
 fiths, a man of unimaginative fact, plunged headlong
 
 340 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 into a discourse on comparative statistics of accidents 
 to railway servants. She listened absently, angry with 
 Quixtus for pairing her with so dreary a fellow. Grif- 
 fiths irritated by her non-intelligence transferred the 
 lecture to his other neighbour as soon as an oppor- 
 tunity occurred. Lena Fontaine awaited her chance 
 with Lord Radfield. But Clementina held him amused 
 and interested, and soon drew General Barnes into the 
 talk. With the slough of her old outer trappings Clem- 
 entina had cast off the slough of her abrupt and uncon- 
 ventional speech. She was a woman of acute intellect, 
 wide reading and wide observation. She had ideas 
 and wit and she had come out this evening flamingly 
 determined to use all her powers. Her success sent 
 her pulses throbbing. Here were two men, at the out- 
 set of her experiment, hanging on her words, paying 
 indubitable homage, not to the woman of brains, not 
 to the well-known painter, but to the essential woman 
 herself. The talk quickly became subtle, personal, a 
 quick interchange of hinted sentiment, that makes for 
 charm. When Lord Radfield at last turned to Lena 
 Fontaine, she could offer him nothing but common- 
 places; Goodwood, a scandal or so, the fortunes of a 
 bridge club. Clementina adroitly brought them both 
 quickly into her circle, and Lena Fontaine had the 
 chagrin to see the politely bored old face suddenly lit 
 up with reawakened interest. For a moment or two 
 Lena Fontaine flashed into the talk, determined to offer 
 battle; but after a while she felt dominated, cowed, v 
 with no fight left in her. The other woman ruled tri- 
 umphant. 
 
 Tommy could not keep his eyes off Clementina, and 
 neglected Etta and his left-hand neighbour shamefully. 
 An unprecedented rosiness of finger-nails caught his 
 keen vision. In awe-stricken tones he whispered to 
 Etta:
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 341 
 
 "Manicured!" 
 
 " Go on with your dinner," said Etta, " and don't 
 stare, Tommy. It's rude." 
 
 " She should have given us warning," groaned 
 Tommy. " We're too young to stand it." 
 
 The exquisitely cooked and served meal proceeded. 
 The French chef whom Clementina had engaged and 
 to whom she had given full scope for his art had felt 
 like an architect unrestricted by site or expense who 
 can put into concrete form the dreams of a lifetime. 
 John Powersfoot, the sculptor, sitting next to Lady 
 Louisa, cried out to his host : 
 
 " This is not a dinner you're giving us, Quixtus, it's 
 a poem." 
 
 Lady Louisa ate on, too much absorbed in flavours 
 for articulate thought. 
 
 Quixtus smiled. " I'm not responsible. The 
 mistress of the feast is facing me at the other 
 end." 
 
 Powersfoot, who knew the Clementina of everyday 
 life, threw up his hands in a Latin gesture which he 
 had learned at the Beaux-Arts and of which he was 
 proud. 
 
 " The most remarkable woman of the century." 
 
 " I think you're right," said Quixtus. 
 
 He looked down the table and caught her eye and 
 exchanged smiles. Now that he could adjust his mind 
 to the concept of Clementina transfigured, he felt con- 
 scious of a breathless admiration. He grew absurdly 
 impatient of the social conventions which pinned him 
 in his seat leagues of lacquer and orchids away from 
 her. Idiotic envy of the two men whom she was fasci- 
 nating by her talk entered his heart. She was laugh- 
 ing, showing her white strong teeth, as only once be- 
 fore she had shown her teeth to him. He longed to 
 escape from the vivaciously inane Lady Radfield and
 
 342 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 join the group at the other end of the table. Now and 
 then his eye rested on Lena Fontaine ; but she had al- 
 most faded out of sight. 
 
 At the end of the dinner he held the door open for 
 the ladies to pass out. Clementina, immediately pre- 
 ceded by Etta, whispered a needless recommendation 
 not to linger. The door closed. Etta put her arm 
 round Clementina's waist. 
 
 " Oh, darling, you look too magnificent for words. 
 But why didn't you tell me? Why did you make a 
 fool of me about the old black dress? " 
 
 Clementina disengaged the girl's arm gently. 
 
 " My child," she said, " if I have the extra pressure 
 of a feather on me, I'll yell. I'm suffering the tortures 
 of the damned." 
 
 " Oh, poor darling." 
 
 " It's worth it, though," said Clementina. 
 
 When the men came upstairs she again enjoyed a 
 triumph. Men and women crowded round her and 
 ministered instinctively to her talk. All the pent-up 
 emotions, longings, laughter of years found torrential 
 utterance. Powersfoot, standing over her, was amazed 
 to discover how shapely were her bare arms and how 
 full and graceful her neck and shoulders. 
 
 Quixtus talked for a few moments with the spotless 
 flower of womanhood. In the stiff formality of the 
 drawing-room she regained her individuality. With a 
 resumption of her air of possession she patted a vacant 
 seat on the couch beside her and invited him to sit 
 down. He obeyed. 
 
 " I thought you were going to neglect me altogeth- 
 er," she said. 
 
 He protested courteously. They sparred a little. 
 Then Wilmour-Jackson, polished and opulent, eye- 
 glass in eye, crossed over to the couch and Quixtus, 
 rising with an eagerness that made Lena Fontaine bite
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 343 
 
 her lip, yielded him the seat and joined the charmed 
 circle around Clementina. A little thrill of pleasure 
 passed through him as she glanced a welcome. He 
 gazed at her, fascinated. Something magnetic, femi- 
 nine, he was too confused to know what, emanated 
 from her and held him bound. Never in all the years 
 of his knowledge of her had she appealed to him in this 
 extraordinary manner. Why had the perfect neck and 
 arms, the graceful figure been hidden under shapeless 
 garments? Why had the magnificence of her hair 
 never been revealed ? Why had grim frown and tight- 
 ened lips locked within the features the laughter that 
 now played about them? Once he had seen her face 
 illuminated at the hotel in Marseilles but then it 
 was with generous and noble feeling and he had for- 
 gotten the disfiguring attire. But now she had the 
 stateliness of a queen, and men hung around her, ir- 
 resistibly attracted. . . . 
 
 At last Lady Radfield disentangled her lord and de- 
 parted. Others followed her example. The party 
 broke up, with the curious suddenness of London. In 
 a brief interval between adieux, Quixtus and Clemen- 
 tina found themselves alone together. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked. " Are you pleased ? " 
 
 " Pleased ? What a word ! I'm dumbfounded. I've 
 been blind and my eyes are open. I never knew you 
 before." 
 
 " Because I have a decent gown on ? I couldn't do 
 less." 
 
 " Because," said he, " I never knew what a beautiful 
 woman you were." 
 
 The blood flew to her dark cheeks. She touched 
 his arm, and looked at him. 
 
 " Do you really think I look nice ? " 
 
 His reply was cut short by the Quinns coming up
 
 344 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 to take leave, but she read it on his face. The room 
 thinned. Lena Fontaine came up. 
 
 " It's getting late. I must rescue Louisa and 
 go. Your dinner-party was quite a success, Dr. Quix- 
 tus." 
 
 " So glad you think so," said Clementina. " Espe- 
 cially now that I hear you were originally responsible 
 for it. It was most kind of you to think of our dear 
 young people. But don't go yet. Lady Louisa is quite 
 happy with Mr. Griffiths. He is feeding her with facts. 
 Let us sit down for a minute or two and chat comforta- 
 bly." 
 
 She moved to a sofa near by and motioned Mrs. 
 Fontaine to a seat. The latter had to yield. Quixtus 
 drew up a chair. 
 
 " I've done a desperate thing," said Clementina. 
 " I've taken the old Manor House at Moleham-on- 
 Thames, for August and September. It's as big as a 
 hotel, and unless I fill it with people, I shall be lost in 
 it. Now every one who wants to paint can have a 
 studio I myself am going to paint every morning 
 and any one who wants to write can have a library. 
 Sheila has picked out the library for you, Ephraim 
 takes it for granted that you're coming. I hope you 
 will. You'll break her heart if you don't and there'll 
 be a room for Mr. Huckaby, too. There'll be Etta and 
 Tommy, of course and the Admiral has promised to 
 put in a week or two and so on. And if you'll only 
 come and stay August with me, my dear Mrs. Fon- 
 taine, my cup of happiness, unlike my house, will be 
 full." 
 
 Lena Fontaine gasped for an outraged moment. 
 Then a swift, fierce temptation assailed her to take 
 the enemy at her word and fight the battle ; but, glanc- 
 ing at her, she saw the irony and banter and deadly 
 purpose behind the glittering eyes, and her courage
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 345 
 
 failed her. She was dominated again by the intense 
 personality, frightened by her sudden and unexpected 
 power. To stay under the woman's roof was an im- 
 possibility. 
 
 " I'm sorry I can't accept such a charming invita- 
 tion," she said with a smile of the lips, " for I've made 
 an engagement with some friends to go to Dinard." 
 
 " Oh you're going to Dinard, too ? " cried Clem- 
 entina. 
 
 " What do you mean by ' too ' ? " asked the other 
 shortly. 
 
 " I heard a rumour that Dr. Quixtus was going- 
 there. It seemed so silly that I paid no attention to it. 
 Are you really going Ephraim ? " 
 
 It was a trap deliberately laid. It was a defiance, a 
 challenge. From the corner of the sofa she stretched 
 out her bare arm at full length and laid her hand on 
 his shoulder. The other woman looked white and 
 pinched; her eyes lost their allurement, and regarded 
 him almost with enmity. 
 
 " You promised." 
 
 The words were snapped out before she could re- 
 alise their significance. The instant after she could 
 have thrust hat-pins into herself in punishment for 
 her folly. The manhood in Quixtus leapt at the lash. 
 He knew then, with a startling clarity of assurance, 
 that nothing in the world would induce him to strut 
 about casinos with her in Dinard. He smiled cour- 
 teously. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear Mrs. Fontaine. I made no prom- 
 ise. You must remember my little my little trope of 
 the daw and the peacocks." 
 
 Clementina, satisfied, withdrew her hand. 
 
 " Of course, dear Ephraim, if you would prefer to 
 go to Dinard with Mrs. Fontaine " 
 
 Lena Fontaine rose. " Dr. Quixtus is obviously free
 
 346 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 to do what he chooses. I wish you would kindly leave 
 me out of it." 
 
 Clementina rose, too, and held out her hand. 
 
 " I will, my dear Mrs. Fontaine," she said sweetly. 
 " If I can. Good-bye. It has been so delightful to 
 have had you." 
 
 Her exit with Lady Louisa was confused with that 
 of other stragglers. The Admiral, Etta and Tommy 
 remained. They all went down to Quixtus's study, the 
 little back room of the adventure of the drunken 
 housekeeper now cheery with decanters and syphons 
 and cigarettes, and chatted intimately till the Admi- 
 ral reminded Etta that the horses such fat horses, 
 murmured Etta had been standing for nearly 
 an hour. Tommy accompanied father and daughter 
 to the carriage. Quixtus and Clementina were left 
 alone. 
 
 " Can I tell Sheila to-morrow that you're coming 
 down to Moleham ? " 
 
 " I think you can," said Quixtus. " I think you can 
 quite safely." 
 
 " I'm sorry Mrs. Fontaine wasn't able to join us." 
 
 " Now why ? " he asked, vaguely conscious of out- 
 stretched claw and flying fur. 
 
 " Because she has such brilliant social gifts," replied 
 Clementina. 
 
 There was a span of silence. Clementina inhaled a 
 puff of the Turkish cigarette she had lit and then threw 
 it into the grate. 
 
 " For God's sake, my dear man, look in that drawer 
 and give me some tobacco I can smoke. I smuggled it 
 in yesterday." 
 
 Quixtus gave her the yellow package and papers and 
 she rolled a cigarette of Maryland and smoked con- 
 tentedly. Tommy came in.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 347 
 
 " Will you and these infants lunch with me tomor- 
 row at the Carlton ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," said Quixtus. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, " I've never been inside 
 the place ? It will be quite an adventure." 
 
 A few moments later Tommy and herself were 
 speeding westward in a taxicab. The boy spoke little. 
 All his darling conceptions of Clementina had been 
 upheaved, dynamited, tossed into the air and lay 
 around him in amorphous fragments. Nor was she 
 conversationally inclined. Tommy now was a tiny lit- 
 tle speck in her horizon. Yet when the motor drew up 
 at her house in Romney Place and he opened the gate 
 for her, something significant happened. 
 
 He put out his hand. " Good-night, Clementina." 
 
 She laughed. " Where are your manners, Tommy? 
 Aren't you going to kiss me ? " 
 
 He hesitated, just the fraction of a second, and then 
 kissed her. She ran up to her room exultant ; not be- 
 cause she had been kissed ; far from it. But because he 
 had hesitated. Between Clementina fish-fag and Clem- 
 entina princess was a mighty gulf. She knew it. She 
 exulted. She went to bed, but could not sleep-. She 
 had a headache ; such a headache ; a glorious headache ; 
 a thunder and lightning of a headache !
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 TOMMY, calling for Clementina the next morn- 
 ing, was confronted at the open door, not by 
 Eliza, but by a demure damsel in a black 
 frock, black apron, and a black bow in her hair, who 
 said " Oui, monsieur," when addressed. Tommy, still 
 bewildered, asked whether she was a new lady's maid. 
 " Oui, monsieur," said the damsel, and showed him 
 into the Sheraton drawing-room. He sat down meekly 
 and waited for Clementina. She came down soon, a 
 resplendent vision, exquisitely gowned, perfectly hat- 
 ted, delicately gloved, and in her hand she jingled a 
 small goldsmith's shop. She pirouetted round. 
 
 "Like it?" 
 
 Tommy groaned. " Clementina, darling, tell me, in 
 Heaven's name, what you're playing at, or I'll go rav- 
 ing mad." 
 
 " I told you that one of these days I was going to 
 become a lady. The day has come. Don't I look like 
 a lady?" 
 
 " That's the devil of it," he laughed. " You look 
 like an archduchess." 
 
 They picked up Etta and met Quixtus at the Carlton 
 where they lunched in the middle of the great gay 
 room. The young people's curious awe of the trans- 
 mogrified Clementina soon melted away. The big, 
 warm-hearted Clementina they loved was unchanged ; 
 but to her was added a laughter-evoking, brilliant, 
 joyous personage whose existence they had never sus- 
 pected. Quixtus went home stimulated and uplifted. 
 
 348
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 349 
 
 He had never enjoyed two hours so much in his life. 
 
 And that was the beginning of the glory of Clemen- 
 tina Wing. 
 
 Day by day the glory deepened. The pyrotechnic 
 a flash, a bedazzlement and then darkness was not in 
 Clementina's nature. She had deliberately immolated 
 the phoenix of dusty plumage and from its ashes had 
 arisen this second and radiant phoenix incarnation. She 
 suffered, as she confessed to herself, infernally; for 
 a new fire-born phoenix must have its skin peculiarly 
 tender; but she grinned and bore it for the greater 
 glory well, not of Clementina alone but of God and 
 her sex and the happiness of those she loved and the 
 things that stood for the right. 
 
 She was fighting the interloping woman with her 
 own weapons. She, Clementina, the despised and re- 
 jected of men, was pitting her sex's fascinations 
 against the professional seductress. She had won the 
 first pitched battle. She had swept the enemy from 
 the field. Sheer fierceness of love, almost animal, for 
 the child, sheer pity flaming white for the man grown 
 dear to her, sheer sex, sheer womanhood these were 
 the forces at work. It would have been easy to de- 
 nounce the woman to Quixtus. But that might have 
 thrown him back into darkness. Easy, too, to have 
 held her knowledge as a threat over the woman's head 
 and bade her begone. But where had been the tri- 
 umph ? Where the glory ? Whereas to scorn the use 
 of her knowledge and conquer otherwise, therein lay 
 matter for thrilling exultation. It was an achievement 
 worth the struggle. 
 
 And the glory of the riot through her veins of the 
 tumultuous Thing she had kept strangled to torpor 
 within her! The Thing that had been stirred by the 
 springtide in a girl's heart, that had leapt at the parrot 
 tulips in the early May, that had almost escaped from.
 
 350 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 grip on the moonlit night at Vienne, that had re- 
 mained awake and struggling ever since the glory to 
 let it go free and carry her withersoever it would! 
 Art to the devil with it ! What was Art in compari- 
 son with this new-found glory? 
 
 It made her ten years younger. It took years from 
 the man for whose fascination she brought it into play. 
 Hers was a double conquest, the rout of the woman, the 
 capture of the man. Daily she battled. Sheila, the 
 lovers, a new portrait of him which she suddenly con- 
 ceived the splendid notion of painting, all were pre- 
 texts for keeping the unconscious man within the 
 sphere of her influence. Any impression that the other 
 had made on his heart or his mind should be deleted, 
 and her impression stamped there in its place, so that 
 when he met the other out of her presence, as meet her 
 he undoubtedly must, he would wear it as a talisman 
 against her arts and blandishments. Twice also diir- 
 ing the dying days of the season, late that year, she 
 went out into the great world and gave her adversary 
 battle in the open. 
 
 It was between these two engagements that she had 
 a talk with Huckaby. 
 
 Huckaby, doing his best to act loyally towards both 
 parties, led a precarious moral existence. The sight 
 of Clementina queening it in dazzling raiment about 
 Quixtus's house and the despairing confidences of Lena 
 Fontaine had enabled him to form a fairly accurate 
 judgment of the state of affairs. His heart began to 
 bleed for Lena Fontaine. She would come to his lodg- 
 ings and claim sympathy. To not a soul in the world 
 but him could she talk freely. She was desperate. 
 That abominable woman insulted her, trampled on her, 
 poisoned Quixtus's mind against her. He had changed 
 suddenly, seemed to avoid her, and, when he found 
 himself in her company, he was just polite and courte-
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 351 
 
 ous in his gentle way, and smilingly eluded her. The 
 Dinard intimacy, on which she had reckoned, had faded 
 into the land of dreams. He was being dragged off 
 before her eyes to some fool place up the river to be 
 watched and guarded like a lunatic. What was she to 
 do ? Ruin would soon be staring her in the face. She 
 had thought of upbraiding him for neglect, of re- 
 proaching him for having played fast and loose with 
 her affections, of putting him through the ordeal of an 
 emotional scene. Of that, however, she was afraid ; it 
 might scare him away for good and all. She wept, an 
 unhappy and ill-treated woman, and Huckaby supplied 
 sympathy and handkerchiefs and a mirror so that she 
 could repair the ravages of tears. 
 
 One day Huckaby and Clementina met in the hall of 
 the Russell Square house. 
 
 " Well," she said. " Have you seen Mrs. Fontaine 
 lately?" 
 
 He admitted that he had. 
 
 " Taking it rather badly, I suppose," she remarked 
 with a reversion to her grim manner. 
 
 " She is miserable. As I told you, it means all the 
 world to her her very salvation." 
 
 Clementina caught the note of deep pleading in his 
 voice and fixed him with her shrewd eyes. 
 
 " You seem to concern yourself very deeply about 
 the lady." 
 
 Huckaby glanced at her for a moment hesitatingly ; 
 then shrugged his shoulders. Clementina was a woman 
 to whom straight dealing counted for righteousness. 
 He gave her his secret. 
 
 " I've grown to care for her to care for her very 
 much. I know I'm a fool, but I can't help it." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the lady's private affairs 
 financial, I mean how much she has honestly of her 
 own?"
 
 352 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " Four hundred pounds a year." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " When I take up the appointment of the Anthro- 
 pological Society I shall have five hundred." 
 
 " Nine hundred pounds. Have you any idea of the 
 minimum rate per annum at which she would accept 
 salvation? " 
 
 " No," said Huckaby in a dazed way. 
 
 " Well, work it out," said Clementina. " Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Her second sortie into the great world was on the 
 occasion of a garden party at the Quinns. Lady 
 Quinn had asked her verbally at Quixtus's dinner and 
 had sent her a formal card. Knowing that Quixtus 
 was going and more than suspecting that the enemy 
 would be there, too, she had kept her own invitation a 
 secret. Welcomed, flattered, surrounded by the gay 
 crowd in the large, pleasant Hampstead garden, it was 
 some time before she saw Mrs. Fontaine. At last she 
 caught sight of her sitting with Quixtus, at the end of 
 the garden, half screened by a tree-trunk from the 
 mass of guests. As soon as Clementina could work her 
 way through, she advanced quickly and smiling to- 
 wards them. Quixtus sprang to his feet and seemed 
 to take a deep breath as a man does when he flings 
 bedroom windows wide open on his first morning in 
 mountain air. 
 
 " Clementina ! I hadn't the dimmest notion that you 
 were coming! How delightful!" He surveyed her 
 for a moment as she stood before him, parasol on 
 shoulder. Clementina with a parasol ! " Pray forgive 
 my impertinence," said he, "but you're wearing the 
 most beautiful dress I ever saw." 
 
 It was hand-painted muslin a fabulous thing. She 
 laughed, turned to Lena Fontaine, demure in a simple 
 fawn costume.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 353 
 
 " He's improving. Have you ever known him to 
 compliment a woman on her dress before ? " 
 
 " Many times," said Mrs. Fontaine, mendaciously. 
 
 " It must be your excellent training," said Clemen- 
 tina. She turned to Quixtus. " I've seen Huckaby 
 this morning, and everything's quite arranged for the 
 transportation of your necessary books and specimens 
 down to Moleham. He'll do it beautifully, even though 
 it takes a pantechnicon van, and you won't be worried 
 about it at all. He's a splendid fellow." 
 
 " He is rendering me invaluable assistance." 
 
 " Dr. Quixtus tells me he is quite an old friend of 
 yours, Mrs. Fontaine," said Clementina. " What a 
 pity you can't be persuaded to come down to Mole- 
 ham." 
 
 " Are you going to have a chaperon to your rather 
 mixed house-party ? " 
 
 " I should if you would honour me by coming, my 
 dear Mrs. Fontaine a dowager dragon of propriety. 
 But an Admiral of the British navy is quite safeguard 
 enough for me." 
 
 The hostess, coming through the edge of the crowd, 
 carried off Quixtus. The two women were left alone. 
 Lena Fontaine turned suddenly, white-lipped, shaking 
 with anger. 
 
 " I've had enough of it. I'm not going to stand it. 
 I'm not going to be persecuted like this any longer." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 Lena Fontaine clenched her small hands. What 
 could she do. 
 
 " Come, come," said Clementina. " Let us have a 
 straight talk like sensible women, and put the pussy-cat 
 aside, if we can. Sit down. Do. There's only one 
 point of dissension between us. You know very well 
 what it is there's no use fencing. Give it up. Give 
 up all idea of it and I'll let you alone. Give it all up.
 
 354 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 You can see for yourself that I won't let you do it." 
 
 " It's outrageous for you to speak to me like this," 
 said the other, half hysterically. 
 
 " I know it is," said Clementina coolly. " I'm an 
 outrageous woman. Been so all my life. To do an 
 outrageous thing is only part of the day's work. So 
 I just say outrageously : give it up." 
 
 Lena Fontaine fluttered a glance at the strong face 
 and caught the magnetism of the black glittering eyes, 
 and remained silent. She knew that she was no match 
 for this vital creature. She was confronting over- 
 whelming odds. The rough fish-fag of Paris who 
 could walk straight into the mould of a great lady and 
 carry everything contemptuously before her suddenly 
 impressed her with a paralysing sense of something 
 uncanny, relentless, irresistible. She was less a woman 
 than an implacable force. For the first time in her life 
 of Hagardom, Lena Fontaine felt beaten. The nun's 
 face grew drawn and haggard. Fright replaced the al- 
 lurement of her eyes. She said nothing, but twisted 
 one gloved hand nervously in the other. She was at 
 the mercy of the victor. There was silence for some 
 moments. Then Clementina's heart smote her. All 
 this elaborate wheel to break a butterfly a very 
 naughty, sordid, frayed and empty little butterfly but 
 still a butterfly! 
 
 " My dear," she said at last, very gently, " I know 
 how hard life is on a lone and defenceless woman. I 
 know you have many reasons to hate me for prevent- 
 ing you from making that life softer and sweeter. But 
 perhaps, one of these days, you mayn't hate me so 
 much. I'm every infernal thing you like to call me, 
 and when I'm interfered with I'm a devil. But at 
 heart I'm a woman and a good sort. I won't outrage 
 you by saying such an idiot thing as ' Let us be 
 friends/ when you've every rational desire to murder
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 355 
 
 me; but I ask you to remember and I've suffered 
 enough not to be a silly fool going round saying seri- 
 ous things I don't mean I ask you to remember that 
 if ever you want a woman to turn to, you can count 
 on me. I'm a good bit older than you," she added gen- 
 erously, "I'm thirty-six." 
 
 " Oh, God ! " cried the other, bursting into tears, 
 " I'm thirty-seven." 
 
 " Impossible," said Clementina, in genuine amaze- 
 ment. " You look nothing like it." She rose and 
 touched the weeping woman's shoulder. " Anyhow," 
 she said, " I've a certain amount of female horse-sense 
 that might come in useful if you want it." 
 
 Whereupon Clementina made her way straight 
 through the throng to her hostess, and after a swift 
 farewell left the garden-party. 
 
 The enemy was finally routed ; the confession of age, 
 a confession of defeat. The victory had been achieved 
 much more easily than she had anticipated. When she 
 went home she looked with a queer smile into one of 
 the hanging wardrobes with which she had been 
 obliged to furnish her bedroom so as to accommodate 
 the prodigious quantity of new dresses. Why all the 
 lavish expenditure, the feverish preparation, the many 
 hours wasted at great dressmakers, modistes, and 
 other vendors of frippery why the hairdressers, the 
 face specialists why the exquisite torture of tight lac- 
 ing why the responsibility of valuable jewels, her 
 mother's, up till then safely stored at the bank why 
 the renting of the caravanserai at Moleham why the 
 revolution of her habits, her modes of expression, her 
 very life why, in short, such fantastic means to gain 
 so simple an end? Was it worth it? Clementina 
 slammed the wardrobe door and glanced at herself in 
 the long mirror that was exposed. She saw a happy 
 woman, and she laughed. It was worth it. She had
 
 356 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 gained infinitely more than a victory over a poor sister 
 of no account. Sheila came running into the room. 
 
 " Oh, what a beautiful auntie ! " 
 
 She caught the child to her and hugged her close. 
 
 The legal formalities with regard to Will Ham- 
 mersley's affairs were eventually concluded; but in 
 spite of all enquiries the identity of Sheila's mother re- 
 mained a curious mystery. No record of Hammers- 
 ley's marriage could be found, either at Somerset 
 House or at Shanghai. No reference to his wife ap- 
 peared in the papers he had left behind him. At last, a 
 day or two before her departure for Moleham, Clemen- 
 tina made a discovery. 
 
 A trunk of Hammersley's merely containing suits of 
 clothes and other wearing apparel had remained undis- 
 posed of, and Clementina was going through them 
 with the object of packing them off to some charitable 
 association, when from the folds of a jacket there 
 dropped a bundle of letters tied round with a bit of 
 tape. She glanced idly at the outer sheet. The hand- 
 writing was a woman's. The few words that met her 
 eyes showed that they were love-letters. Clementina 
 sat on an empty packing case all Hammersley's per- 
 sonal belongings had been dumped in her box-room 
 and balanced the bundle in her hand. They were sa- 
 cred things belonging to the hearts of the dead. Ought 
 she to read them? Yet she became conscious of a 
 feminine intuition that they might hold a secret that 
 would bring comfort to the living. So she undid the 
 tape and spread out the old crumpled pages, and as 
 she read, a tragedy, a romance as old as the world was 
 revealed to her. The letters dated from seven years 
 back. They were from one Nora Duglade, a woman 
 wretchedly married, breaking her heart for Will Ham- 
 mersley. Clementina read on. Suddenly she gave a 
 sharp cry of astonishment and leaped to her feet.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 357 
 
 There was a reference to Angela Quixtus, who was in 
 her confidence. Clementina rapidly scanned page after 
 page and found more and more of Angela. The 
 writer, like most women, could not bear to destroy the 
 beloved letters ; she dared not keep them at home ; An- 
 gela had lent her a drawer in her bureau. 
 
 Clementina telephoned to Quixtus to come imme- 
 diately on urgent business. In twenty minutes he ar- 
 rived, somewhat scared. Was anything wrong with 
 Sheila? 
 
 " I've found out who her mother was," said Clem- 
 entina. 
 
 " Who was she ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 She bade him sit down. They were in the drawing 
 room. 
 
 " Some one called Nora Duglade. ... I don't 
 remember her." 
 
 Quixtus passed his hand over his forehead as he 
 threw back his thoughts. 
 
 " Mrs. Duglade. . . ." he said in bewilderment, 
 " Mrs. Duglade. . . ." 
 
 " A friend of Angela's," said Clementina. 
 
 " Yes. A school friend. They saw very little of 
 each other. I met her only once or twice. I had no 
 notion Hammersley knew her. . . . Her husband 
 was a brute, I remember used to beat her. . . . 
 I think I heard she had left him " 
 
 " For Will Hammersley." 
 
 " He died years ago ... of drink. . . . 
 Oh-h ! " He shuddered and hid his face in his hands, 
 
 " Read these few pages," said Clementina, and she 
 left the room very quietly. 
 
 About ten minutes afterwards she came in again. 
 He sprang up from his chair and grasped both her 
 hands. His eyes were wet and his lips worked tremu- 
 lously.
 
 358 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " I found a letter from Hammersley in Angela's 
 drawer it had got stuck at the back. ... It was 
 
 for the other woman, my dear " his voice quavered 
 
 into the treble. " It was for the other woman." 
 
 She led him to the stiff sofa and sat beside him and 
 held his hand. And she had the joy of seeing a black 
 cloud melt away from a man's soul. 
 
 From that hour when he had revealed to her the 
 things deep and sacred, dark and despairing of his 
 heart, and had gone forth from her sympathy aglow 
 with a new-found faith in humanity, the bond between 
 them was strengthened a thousandfold. Quixtus found 
 that he could obtain not only swift response to his 
 thoughts from a keen intelligence, but wide, undreamed 
 of understanding of all those subtle workings of the 
 spirit, regrets, hopes, judgments, prejudices, shrink- 
 ings, wonderings, impulses, which are too elusive to 
 be thoughts, too vague to be emotions. And yet, she 
 herself was never subtle. She was direct and uncom- 
 promising. As a shivering man enters a cosy room 
 and warms himself before a blazing fire, so did he un- 
 questioningly warm his heart in Clementina's per- 
 sonality. And as the shivering man knows, without 
 speculating, that the fire is intense and strong, so did 
 he know that Clementina was intense and strong. 
 
 All through the idyll of the remaining summer, he 
 felt this more and more. She stood for something 
 that he had missed in life, something that Angela, pale, 
 passionless, negative reflection of himself, had never 
 given him. She stood for richness, bigness, meaning. 
 A simple man, not given to introspection or analysis of 
 motive, new sensations, new realisations came to him 
 as they come to a child and caused development. And 
 among other impressions that deepened on his mind 
 and his was the mind of a scholar and dreamer, sweet 
 and clean was that of Clementina (now appearing to
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 359 
 
 the world as God Almighty intended her to appear) as 
 a physically fine and splendid creature. 
 
 And, during all the summer idyll in the Manor 
 House at Moleham-on-Thames, Clementina, in her un- 
 compromising way, maintained the new phoenix's 
 plumage preened and shiny. The old habit of clawing 
 at her hair while she was painting she circumvented 
 by tying her head in an Angelica Kauffmann handker- 
 chief. Tommy made her a present of one, in cardinal 
 red, in which she flamed gipsy-like about the studio. 
 Involuntarily, inevitably, the manner of all the men in 
 her house-party, Quixtus, Huckaby, Admiral Concan- 
 non, Poynter (who spent a week-end), Tommy and 
 Tommy's cronies who came and went as they pleased, 
 was tinged with a deference and a homage which made 
 life a thing of meaning and delight. 
 
 Sometimes a little scene like this would take place : 
 
 To Clementina painting hard in the morning, enter 
 the housekeeper. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, we'll soon be out of wine." 
 
 She would frown at the canvas. " Well, what of 
 it?" 
 
 " The gentlemen, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, let them drink ginger-beer." 
 
 " Very well, ma'am." 
 
 Then with a laugh she would fling down her brushes, 
 and go and attend to her cellar. To make the men 
 in her house comfortable, the commonplace care of a 
 hostess, gave her unimagined pleasure. Etta and her 
 young friends could look after themselves, being fe- 
 males and therefore resourceful. But the men were 
 helpless children, even the Admiral; sometimes, she 
 thought especially the Admiral. Their nourishment 
 became a matter of peculiar solicitude. She invented 
 wants for them which she forthwith supplied. Some- 
 times she summoned Tommy to consultation. But
 
 360 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 when he gravely prescribed a large bath powder-puff 
 for his uncle she upbraided him for making a jest of 
 solemn things and dismissed him from her counsels. 
 Her painting suffered from these inroads on her time 
 and thoughts; but Clementina cared not. The happi- 
 ness of the trustful men around her was of more con- 
 sequence than the successful application of paint to , 
 canvas. Sometimes, sitting at the head of her table 
 she would feel herself a mother to them all, and her 
 lips would twist themselves into a new smile. 
 
 Her happiest hours were those which she spent alone 
 with Sheila and Quixtus. Since the cloud had been 
 lifted from his soul he loved the child with a new ten- 
 derness, thus inarticulately expressing his gratitude 
 to God for having put it into his heart to love her 
 while the cloud hung heavy. And Clementina knew 
 this, and invested his relations with the child in a curi- 
 ous sanctity. She loved to share with him the child's 
 affection in actual physical presence. The late after- 
 noon was Sheila's hour. Clementina would sit with 
 them beneath the great cedar tree on the lawn and 
 listen to the stories he had learned to pour into Sheila's 
 insatiable ears. They were mostly odds and ends of 
 folk-lore. But now and then she suspected heterogene- 
 ous strains ; and one day she called out : 
 
 " Are you inventing all that, Ephraim ? " 
 
 He confessed with the air of a detected schoolboy. 
 
 " To hear you playing the deuce with folk-lore which 
 you regard as a strict and sacred science amazes me. 
 From you it sounds almost immoral." 
 
 Quixtus fingered the soft curls. " What," said he, 
 " is all the science in the world compared with this 
 little head?" 
 
 Clementina was silent for a moment. Then she said 
 abruptly. " You feel like that, too, do you ? " 
 
 Quixtus nodded and dreamed over the curls.
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 361 
 
 " But what happened to the princes and the Ju-ju 
 man?" demanded Sheila, and Quixtus had to pursue 
 his immoral course. 
 
 August melted into September, and September drew 
 to its close. Admiral Concannon and Etta and all the 
 boys and girls, save Tommy, had gone, and Huckaby 
 was busy with the repacking of books and specimens. 
 The weather had broken. The trees dripped with rain 
 and the leaves began to fall. Mists rose from the 
 meadows by the river and a blue haze, sweet and sad, 
 enveloped the low-lying hills. In the garden the sun- 
 flowers, a week before so glorious, hung their heads 
 with a dying grace. The birds, even the thrushes, 
 were mute. The hour under the cedar tree had become 
 the hour of deepening twilight by the fireside. The 
 idyll was over. London called. . . . 
 
 They had been sitting before the drawing-room fire 
 for a long time without speaking. Sheila, with a toy 
 shop and an army of dolls for customers, played on the 
 floor between them, absorbed in her game. No one 
 of the three noticed that darkness had crept into the 
 room, for the fire leaped and flamed, throwing on them 
 fierce lights and shadows. 
 
 " The day after to-morrow," said Clementina, break- 
 ing the silence, and looking intently at the blaze. 
 
 " Yes," said Quixtus. " The day after to-morrow." 
 
 " I think you'll find I've made all arrangements for 
 Sheila. Atkins understands." Atkins was the nurse. 
 " I've seen about the nursery fender which I had over- 
 looked. . . . You mustn't let Atkins bully you, 
 or she'll get out of hand. . . . How these three 
 months have flown ! " 
 
 " If you didn't insist," said Quixtus, " I wouldn't 
 take her from you. But you'll miss her terribly."
 
 362 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " So will you when my turn comes again," replied 
 Clementina gruffly. " What's the good of talking rub- 
 bish?" 
 
 There was another silence. He glanced at her, and 
 a sudden flame from the fire lit up her face and he saw 
 that her brows were bent and her mouth set grimly 
 tight and that something glistened for a second on each 
 cheek and then fell quickly. And each time he glanced 
 at her he saw the same glistening drop fall. 
 
 " Uncle Ephim," said Sheila, coming and insinuat- 
 ing herself between his legs, " Mrs. Brown wants to 
 buy some matches and I haven't got any." 
 
 He gave her his silver match-box and Sheila went 
 away happy to her game. 
 
 Clementina choked a sob. 
 
 " My dear," said he at last 
 . " Yes ? " said Clementina. 
 
 " Why shouldn't we have her always with us ? " 
 
 "You mean ?" said Clementina, after a pause, 
 
 and still looking into the fire. 
 
 " Even with her, I can't face that great lonely house. 
 I can't face my empty, lonely existence. My dear," 
 said he, bending forward in his chair, " it has come to 
 this that I can't think a thought or feel an emotion 
 without you becoming inextricably interwoven with it. 
 You have grown into the texture of my life. I know 
 I may be impertinent and presumptuous in putting such 
 a proposal before you " 
 
 " You haven't put one yet," said Clementina. 
 
 " It is that you would do me the honour of marrying 
 me," replied Quixtus. 
 
 Again there was silence. For the first time in her 
 life she was afraid to speak, lest she should betray the 
 commotion in her being. She loved him. She did not 
 hide the fact from herself. It was not the mad, gor- 
 geous passion of romance; she knew it for something
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 363, 
 
 deeper, stronger, based on essentials. He lay deeply 
 rooted in her heart, half child for her mothering, all 
 man for her loving. When had she begun to care for 
 him ? She scarcely knew. Perhaps at Marseilles, when 
 he had returned to her for companionship and they had 
 walked out arm in arm. She knew that he spoke truly 
 of his need of her. But the words that mattered, the 
 foolish little words, he had not uttered. 
 
 " Do you care for me enough to marry me ? " she 
 asked at last. 
 
 He glanced at Sheila weighing out matches in her 
 toy scales. It is difficult to carry on a love-scene with 
 conviction in the presence of a third party, even of that 
 of a beloved child of five. 
 
 " Very, very, deeply," he said in a low voice. 
 
 The dressing-bell rang and Clementina rose. " Put 
 up your shop, darling. It's time to go to bed." Then 
 she crossed to Quixtus's chair and stood behind him 
 and laid one arm on his shoulder. He kissed her hand. 
 
 " Well ? " said he, looking up. 
 
 " I'll tell you presently," she said, and in withdraw- 
 ing her hand she lightly brushed his cheek. 
 
 Quixtus dressed quickly and came down early to the 
 drawing-room, and soon Clementina appeared. She 
 was wearing a red dress which she had bought during 
 her wholesale purchasing of raiment, but had never yet 
 worn, thinking it too flaring, and she had a red dahlia 
 in her hair. Quixtus took both her hands and raised 
 them to his shoulders, and she stood away from him 
 at the distance of her bare, shapely arms, and she 
 smiled into his eyes. 
 
 " Your answer ? " said he. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, " what do you really want me 
 for?" 
 
 " For yourself," he cried, and he caught her in his 
 arms with swift passion and kissed her.
 
 364 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 " If you hadn't said that," she remarked a few mo- 
 ments afterwards, " I don't know what my answer 
 would have been. At any rate," she added, touching 
 her hair with uplifted hands, " it would not have been 
 quite so spontaneous.' 
 
 He leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece and a great 
 light came into his pale blue eyes as he looked at her. 
 
 " Do you think, my dear," said he, " that I'm such 
 a dry stick of a man as not to want you for your great 
 self your great, splendid, and wonderful self ? I want 
 you with everything in me." 
 
 She turned half aside and said gently: 
 
 " That's all a woman wants, Ephraim." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " To be wanted," said Clementina. 
 
 It was not till the next day that she told Tommy the 
 great news. She took him for a walk and broke it to 
 him bluntly. But he was prepared for it. Etta had 
 foreseen and had prophesied to his sceptical ears. He 
 murmured well-bred congratulations. 
 
 " But your painting," said he, after a while. 
 
 " It can go hang," said Clementina. She laughed at 
 his look of horror. " Art for the polygamous man and 
 the celibate woman. A man can throw his soul into 
 his pictures and also attend to his wife and family. 
 That's out of a woman's power. She must choose be- 
 tween her art on the one side, and husband and chil- 
 dren on the other I'm telling you this, mon petit, for 
 your education. I've chosen husband and children as 
 any woman with blood in her veins would choose. It's 
 the women without blood that choose art don't make 
 any mistake about it. Now and then one of 'em 
 chooses the other and, as she doesn't get any children 
 and doesn't know what the deuce to do with a husband, 
 falls back on her art again and gives the poor devil 
 soup with camel-hair brushes floating about it and a
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 365 
 
 painting-rag for a napkin, and then there are ructions, 
 and she goes among her weary pals and says that their 
 sex is misunderstood and down-trodden, and they must 
 clamour for their rights. Bosh ! " 
 
 She sniffed in her old way. Tommy insisted. 
 
 " But you're a born painter, Clementina. A great 
 painter. It means such a tremendous sacrifice." 
 
 " You young men of the present day make me 
 tired ! " she exclaimed. " You all seem to think that 
 larks ought to fall ready roasted into your mouth. 
 There's not a blessed thing in this world worth having 
 without sacrifice. The big people, the people that have 
 the big things in life are those that have paid or are 
 prepared to pay the big price for them." 
 
 " I don't see why you should round on me like that," 
 said Tommy. " After all, a little while ago I made no 
 bones about sacrificing the loaves and fishes for the 
 sake of my art I don't want to brag but fiat justicia 
 at any rate." 
 
 " I know what you did," said Clementina, mollified, 
 " and if you hadn't done it, I shouldn't be talking like 
 this to you. And you're a painter and my very dear 
 Tommy, and you can understand Of course, I'll go 
 on painting I've got it in my blood. I could no more 
 do without a paint brush handy than a tooth brush. 
 But it's going to be secondary. I'll be the gifted ama- 
 teur. Clementina Wing, painter of portraits to the no- 
 bility, gentry, mayoralty, and pork-butchery of Great 
 Britain and Ireland is dead. You can paraphrase the 
 epitaph. * Here lies Clementina Wing, the married 
 woman/ And, Tommy, my dear," she added in a 
 softer voice, " You can add to it : ' Sic itur ad astro,! " 
 
 " I do hope you'll be jolly happy," said Tommy. 
 
 On their way back it happened that the postman met 
 them with the household budget. She took the letters 
 into the hall and sorted them. Tommy went off with
 
 366 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 
 
 his precious epistle from Etta. Huckaby appeared in 
 quest of his chiefs correspondence, and, seeing her 
 alone, congratulated her on her approaching marriage. 
 She thanked him and held out a letter addressed to him 
 from Dinard. 
 
 " I've been dealing in quotations lately," she said, 
 " and I find I've got one for you, ' Go thou and do 
 likewise.' ' 
 
 Huckaby sighed and laughed. 
 
 " One of these days, perhaps," said he. 
 
 So the idyll that seemed to be coming to an end had 
 only just begun. They returned to London, and while 
 Clementina (in whose charge Sheila now remained) 
 painted frenziedly to finish the work she had in hand, 
 Quixtus, with her help, reorganised the great gaunt 
 house in Russell Square. The worm-eaten scarecrow of 
 a billiard table was removed from the billiard-room 
 built by Quixtus' s father over the garden at the back 
 of the house, and the room, spacious and top-lighted, 
 was converted into a studio for the bride to be. Tom- 
 my, enthusiastically iconoclast, being given authority, 
 under Clementina's directions, to refurnish, condemned 
 rep curtains, mahogany mid- Victorian furniture a 
 dining-room sideboard disfigured by carvings of ple- 
 thoric fruit had sent shivers down his back since in- 
 fancy Turkey carpets and all the gloom of a bygone 
 age, and converted the grim abode into a bower of de- 
 light. 
 
 And towards the end of October the oddly mated 
 pair were married, and Clementina went to her hus- 
 band's home and the patter of the feet of the beloved 
 child of their adoption was heard about the house and 
 great joy fell upon them. 
 
 One day, in the early spring, Quixtus burst into the 
 studio, a letter in hand. The greatest of all honours 
 that the civilised world has to give to the scholar had
 
 THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA 367 
 
 fallen on him honorary membership of the Institut de 
 France. She must know of it at once. 
 
 She was sitting before the easel, a bit of charcoal in 
 hand, absorbed in her drawing. What he saw on the 
 drawing-paper put, for the moment, the Institute of 
 France out of his mind. Two arms came from the 
 vague, headless trunk of a draped woman; one arm 
 clasped Sheila, a living portrait, and the other some- 
 thing all chubby, kissable curves, such as Murillo has 
 rendered immortal. As soon as she was aware of his 
 presence she tore the sheet from the board, and looked 
 at him somewhat defiantly. He went up and put his 
 arm round her, deeply moved. 
 
 " My dear," said he, " I saw. You're the only 
 woman in the world that could have done it. Let me 
 look. I can share it with you, dear." 
 
 She yielded. His delicate perception of the inner- 
 most sweetnesses of life was infinitely dear to her. She 
 set the drawing upright on the ledge. He drew a chair 
 close to her and sat down, and he forgot the crowning 
 glory of his intellectual life. 
 
 " It's not bad of Sheila, is it? " she said. 
 
 "And the other?" 
 
 She kissed him. " The very image. It's bound to 
 be." 
 
 Presently she laughed and said : 
 
 " I've been thinking of the good St. Paul lately. He 
 has a lot to say about glory. Do you remember? 
 About the glory of celestial bodies and bodies terres- 
 trial. ' There is one glory of the sun and another glory 
 of the moon and another glory of the stars.' But there 
 is one glory which that eminent bachelor never 
 dreamed of." 
 
 " And what is that, my dear? " asked Quixtus. 
 
 " The glory of being a woman," said Clementina. 
 
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 Simon the Jester. By William J. Locke. 
 
 Silver Eiada, The. By Charles E. Walk. 
 
 Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Sir Richard Caimady. By Lucas Malet. 
 
 Skyman, The. By Henry Ketchell Webster. 
 
 Slim Princess, The. By George Ade. 
 
 Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Spirit In Prison, A. By Robert Hichens. 
 
 Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey. 
 
 Spirit Trail, The. By Kate and Virgil D. Boyles. 
 
 Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach. 
 
 Stanton Wins. By Eleanor M. Ingram. 
 
 St. Elmo. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans. 
 
 Stolen Singer, The. By Martha Bellinger. 
 
 Stooping Lady, The. By Maurice Hewlett. 
 
 Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough. 
 
 Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Strawberry Handkerchief, The. By Amelia E. Barr. 
 
 Sunnyside of the Hill. The. By Rosa N r . Carey. 
 
 Sunset Trail, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
 
 Popular Copyright Books 
 
 AT MODERATE PRICES 
 
 Ask your dealer for a complete list of 
 A. L. Burt Company a Popular Copyright Fiction. 
 
 Susan Clegg and Her Friend Mrs. Lathrop. By Anne Warner. 
 
 Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrlsh. 
 
 Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. 
 
 Tennessee Shad, The. By Owen Johnson. 
 
 Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thomas Hardy. 
 
 Texican, The. By Dane Coolidge. 
 
 That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 Three Brothers, The. By Eden Phlllpotts. 
 
 Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis. 
 
 Thurston of Orchard Valley. By Harold Bindloss. 
 
 Title Market, The. By Emily Post. 
 
 Torn Sails. A Tale of a Welsh Village. By Allen Raine. 
 
 Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. 
 
 Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 Two-Gun Man, The. By Charles Alden Seltzer. 
 
 Two Van revels, The. By Booth Tarkington. 
 
 Uncle William. By Jennette Lee. 
 
 Up from Slavery. By Booker T. Washington. 
 
 Vanity Box, The. By C. N. Williamson. 
 
 Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson. 
 
 Varmint, The. By Owen Johnson. 
 
 Vigilante Girl, A. By Jerome Hart. 
 
 Village of Vagabonds, A. By F. Berkeley Smith. 
 
 Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell. 
 
 Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow. 
 
 Wanted A Chaperon. By Paul Leicester Ford. 
 
 Wanted: A Matchmaker. By Paul Leicester Ford. 
 
 Watchers of the Plains, The. Ridgwell Cullum, 
 
 Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting. 
 
 Way of a Man, The. By Emerson Hough. 
 
 Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker. 
 
 When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish. 
 
 Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge. 
 
 White Sister, The. By Marlon Crawford. 
 
 Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rhinehart. 
 
 Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright. 
 
 With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond. 
 
 Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Woman In Question, The. By John Reed Scott. 
 
 Woman In the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green. 
 
 Yellow Circle, The. By Charles E. Walk. 
 
 Yellow Letter, The. By William Johnston. 
 
 Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
 
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