I ES ^LIBRARY,
 
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 The Business of a Gentleman
 
 NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS 
 
 THE MERCY OF THE LORD. By Flora 
 
 Annie Steel. 
 
 WHEN GHOST MEETS GHOST. By 
 
 William de Morgan. 
 
 KATYA. By Franz de Jesse*. 
 
 SMALL SOULS. By Louis Couperus. 
 
 A LADY AND HER HUSBAND. By 
 
 Amber Rteves. 
 
 THE DARK FLOWER. By John Galsworthy. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN APART. By James 
 
 Prosper. 
 
 THE MILKY WAY. By F. Tennyson Jesse. 
 
 THE TRUTH ABOUT CAMILLA. By 
 
 Gertrude Hall. 
 
 A BAND OF BROTHERS. By Charles 
 
 Turley. 
 
 LETTERS FROM LA BAS. By Rachel 
 
 Hayward. 
 
 DIANA AND TWO SYMPHONIES. By 
 
 Francis Toye. 
 
 THE WOMAN THOU GAYEST ME. By 
 
 Hall Caine. 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
 
 The Business of 
 a Gentleman 
 
 BY 
 
 H. N. Dickinson 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "KEDDY," ETC. 
 
 London 
 William Heincmann
 
 Copyright. I9U
 
 To the Hon. Aubrey Herbert, M.P. 
 
 My dear Aubrey : 
 
 You have said that I may put your name upon this page. Many 
 reasons make me glad to do this, but chief among them is the pleasure oj 
 giving my book and myself so great a recommendation. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 H. N. D.
 
 The Business of a Gentleman 
 
 "Bobby, tell them the story of the Voluntary Inspector." 
 
 "Not for worlds!" 
 
 "Oh, you must." 
 
 "No, it's too awful. It would shock every one. It 
 would corrupt this innocent boy." 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" 
 
 "These two fellows on the sofa, I never met them till 
 to-day. It will turn out that she is an aunt of one of them 
 and I shall have to fight a duel." 
 
 "We have no aunts," said one. 
 
 "None whatever," said the other. 
 
 "And I," said the boy above mentioned, "am an incor- 
 ruptibility." 
 
 "Very well," said Bobby, "but mind, I don't answer for 
 the consequences." 
 
 First he lit his pipe. They were gathered round the 
 fire in the hall of a country house, having returned from 
 shooting the earliest partridges that the law permits to be 
 shot. Yardale was their host. He lay sideways in a large 
 chair, with his legs over one arm and his neck over the other, 
 a pipe full of hot tobacco waving perilously above his eyes 
 as he gazed up at a group of voluptuous figures painted on 
 the ceiling. He was twenty-six years old. That may be
 
 2 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 taken as an average age for the party, with the exception 
 of Durwold, a schoolboy, who lay on the hearth-rug like a 
 dead Knight Templar. Two other young men sprawled on 
 a sofa. A fourth sat on a table with the drinks, and swung 
 his legs. A fifth had curled himself Z-shaped in a chair. 
 The last, who was Bobby, sat tailorwise on a cushion in an 
 angle formed by the fender and a large arm-chair. 
 
 "It isn't much of a story, after all," he said. "But it 's 
 a damn good lesson in minding your own business. The 
 fact is that some silly asses somewhere have a league of 
 women who go round finding scandals in country villages. 
 Not what Yardale calls scandals, but things like over- 
 crowding in cottages and bad wages and dirty children and 
 drink and intimidation by wicked landlords like me. Well, 
 they sent one of their women down to us, but they made the 
 slight tactical error of telling the rector she was coming. 
 The rector never told us, because of hurting our feelings, 
 but like a cunning old devil he told his gardener and then 
 went off for the day. What he told the gardener exactly 
 nobody has ever found out, but the result was that all the 
 village thought it had something to do with running people 
 in for taking their kids into the public houses. And the 
 result of that was that there was what you call a swelling 
 of the great heart of the people. One woman had been 
 fined for it, just before, under the new Act of Parliament. 
 Not that it mattered much, because I always pay the 
 money when they 're fined for things like that. Anyhow, 
 when the voluntary inspector came, she found all the doors 
 in the village locked, and the blinds down, and nobody 
 would take any notice of her at all. She might as well have 
 called on a row of catacombs. I 'm sorry to make such a 
 long story of it. Of course the next point is that all the 
 boys in my stables are simply young angels. They are all 
 in the village choir, and they swallow my aunt's pills when 
 she thinks they look ill. That 's perfectly true. But they
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 3 
 
 got wind about the voluntary inspector and they went 
 down to the street, armed with a razor, which sounds very 
 alarming, and they caught her and cut off her skirts. Yes, 
 they did. They took that part of her away. The result 
 was that as a voluntary inspector she was ruined. She 
 was no more good at all that day. She shouted and banged 
 at the cottage doors, but the harder she banged the more 
 frightened they were of her. And then, by the special 
 guidance of providence, I happened to ride in on my way 
 back from a district council." 
 
 They were grimly pleased by the story; indeed they were 
 more pleased than amused, though Durwold, the schoolboy, 
 beat his legs up and down as he lay upon the hearth-rug 
 and shouted till he groaned with the pain of his own laugh- 
 ter. The others begged Bobby to tell what he had said 
 and done to the voluntary inspector when he found her, 
 but he refused. He said it must remain a secret between 
 himself and his Maker, or that it was at least a thing to be 
 told only to his eldest son on reaching the age of twenty-one. 
 
 A few minutes later he was engaged in a conversation 
 surprisingly different. 
 
 Yardale had taken them to the drawing-room where his 
 mother and grandmother, and his two sisters and several 
 of their friends, were gathered already round the tea-table. 
 Of these, as of the young men, a due account would only 
 mislead the reader, for the names of few of them will be 
 found in the pages to follow. But there was one of whom a 
 word must be said. This was the Duchess of Bracken- 
 bury, grandmother of Yardale and of his young cousin 
 Eddie Durwold. The relations between this lady and 
 humanity at large were illustrated by something that 
 happened immediately the young men entered.
 
 4 ? THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Are you better, Eddie?" said Lady Yardale genially as 
 she poured out tea. 
 
 "What from?" he asked. 
 
 " The joke that nearly killed you just now in the hall." 
 
 He blushed the rich blush of a sixteen-year-old, and began 
 to giggle, saying he wondered how they could have heard 
 him. One of his cousins was unkind enough to enquire 
 with a great show of interest what the joke had been, a 
 question that Lady Yardale had not meant to ask. This 
 stiffened his courage and he looked her amiably and un- 
 flinchingly in the eyes and said he had been laughing 
 because Yardale had fallen off a chair. The reproof to 
 curiosity pleased them all, and they laughed, all of them, 
 with the conspicuous exception of the Duchess. She, on 
 the contrary, looked darkly at Durwold. It was unfor- 
 tunate for him that she used to make her birthday and 
 Christmas tips vary with her varying estimate of his morals. 
 From him she looked at the other young men, without much 
 more approval. 
 
 She was a widow of long standing and was well over sixty 
 years of age. She was the centre of a vast organisation of 
 patronage for governesses, companions, secretaries, typists, 
 and clerks, or, to put it plainly, she kept a registry office. 
 She did not profit by it, naturally, but it was a registry 
 office all the same, for employers and employed were cor- 
 responding with her from year's end to year's end. With 
 tireless energy and an active but narrow intelligence she 
 had done some good in the world, and some harm too. 
 That she was firm and full of opinions was plainly written 
 on her face. That she was fervently kind-hearted was 
 written less clearly. You had to look deeper to see it. 
 
 Her scrutiny of the young men ended by becoming a 
 scrutiny of Bobby Wilton, who was unquestionably the 
 most interesting to look at. He was handsome beyond the 
 point that attracts attention, and his face so clearly showed
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 5 
 
 the spirit of adventure that the Duchess could well believe 
 the bad things she had heard of him. She was inclined to 
 condemn him, and yet, to her surprise, she was not sure 
 that she did not like him. It was not for his good looks, 
 which she valued at less than nothing. Nor was it because 
 he lacked self-consciousness, for she wrote that off as a 
 matter of mere breeding. But it was because he seemed un- 
 tainted by the staleness and weariness and cynicism which 
 she was coming to blame most severely in the young men 
 of the day. She liked him because he seemed interested 
 in what he said and did. Eventually she decided that she 
 would do him a certain favour, though she gravely doubted 
 the virtue of his reasons for requiring it. 
 
 She rose and crossed the room and sat down near him, 
 active woman that she was, instead of having him brought 
 to her. 
 
 "Sir Robert," she said, "I hear that you were asking my 
 daughter about a situation for a typist." 
 
 He turned to her with that eager and undivided atten- 
 tion which he was wont to give to every one, friend and foe, 
 a manner well suited for use with duchesses. 
 
 "I 'm asking everybody I meet," he said. "I want to 
 find the best place to be had." 
 
 "Then I shall probably be able to help you," said she. 
 
 "Well, really, that's most awfully good of you," he 
 said. "Ton my word, it is really. When I asked Lady 
 Yardale about it I didn't mean to make a fuss. Could 
 you really find a place for her?" 
 
 "Probably," said the Duchess, "if she is satisfactory." 
 
 "Oh, but she is," said he with all eagerness. 
 
 "How old is she?" asked the Duchess. 
 
 "Seventeen." 
 
 "Pretty?" 
 
 "Nothing much." 
 
 "Able to write shorthand?"
 
 6 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Oh yes; my wife has had her taught everything; she 
 has been to classes in Newton Royal." 
 
 "What has been her position?" 
 
 "A farmer's daughter quite a small farmer." 
 
 "And why is she leaving home?" the Duchess asked. 
 
 The question was accompanied by a glance that gave it a 
 barb, or hook, on which Bobby's conscience was to be 
 caught and torn, if it was a guilty one. In the result the 
 Duchess's suspicions were disarmed. 
 
 " Why, indeed?" he said hotly. "Because she's mad; 
 that 's what I say. She has the best life any girl could look 
 for lying on her very doorstep, but her head 's full of crazy 
 nonsense about the dullness of the country, and she 11 
 throw it all up, she '11 throw it all up, and work a typewriter 
 in an office in London, and marry a consumptive clerk 
 instead of marrying a farmer. We 've all told her, but 
 it 's useless. There 's no stopping people's folly. So all 
 we can do is to get her a good place." 
 
 "Well, there are many who share her views," said the 
 Duchess with decision. "Now to put it quite plainly, I 
 suppose she has been in no trouble?" 
 
 "Good gracious, no, I hope not," Bobby answered, 
 astonished. 
 
 "And she is not the sort of girl to find trouble?" 
 
 "I couldn't say at all," he replied, with a blank face. 
 "If you like, I '11 ask my wife, but I 'm sure it 's not a bit 
 likely. Not a bit." 
 
 "I only ask because one's responsibility is so great," 
 said the Duchess. "Now I suppose she could come to 
 town to be inspected?" 
 
 "Rather," said Bobby, eager again. "And I'm tre- 
 mendously grateful. I really am." 
 
 "Not at all," said the Duchess. "But I hope I shall be 
 able to find her a situation more attractive than what you 
 picture. Life in towns is not so terrible always."
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 At this time, in the autumn of 1911, Mr. Stanborough 
 was still rector of Coulscombe. He was growing old and 
 feeble. It was the period at which his lifelong fondness 
 for the later Roman history was passing in a senile folly 
 that was noticed by visiting archdeacons. "It is written 
 in Gibbon, 'I am the General of Valentinian the Lord 
 of the World,' " he had once announced, as the text for a 
 sermon, and he then preached effectively on the splendour 
 of Christ's universal sovereignty. A good man can find 
 texts anywhere, and preach effectively because it is a good 
 man who preaches. The proportion of Mr. Stanborough's 
 sermons that came bodily out of Gibbon was quite as useful 
 as much that comes in other sermons from the history of 
 the Old Testament, while the lessons he drew were admirable. 
 Latterly, however, decay began to show itself in such 
 things as his choice of imperial names for children whom he 
 baptised, which he would urge upon parents with the 
 half-knowledge that he was acting foolishly. Bobby Wil- 
 ton, who suffered himself from an excess of Roman history 
 at the dinner table, and on rides, was aware that the habit 
 ran now in silly directions, but was too tender-hearted to 
 interfere. What made the rector irresistible in his hobby 
 was that he knew it to be tedious to others and was often 
 taken with remorse. He had hesitated before he settled 
 upon a copy of his Lives and Deaths of Six Bad Emperors as 
 a farewell present for Bessie Wake. 
 
 It was after six o'clock when he reached The Three Ashes 
 with the book. The farmer was at home, with his wife 
 and daughter and two of his sons. They all showed great 
 interest in a powerful electric lantern which the rector had 
 with him, given him by Lady Wilton just before her baby 
 was born, in a fit of fright for his safety after dark. This 
 was placed on the table and turned on and off for about ten
 
 8 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 minutes. The book also lay on the table, wrapped in 
 brown paper, and they all knew quite well what it was. 
 They talked of indifferent things for a full quarter of an 
 hour before the rector saw his way to achieving the object 
 of his visit. 
 
 The conversation was beginning to flag, and they asked 
 him if he was to have a great party at Christmas. He 
 admitted that he was expecting eleven grandchildren, and 
 added with perfect gravity that he intended enlarging the 
 rectory. This was an old joke, though not, as the rector 
 knew, a good one. He changed the topic, and said that the 
 new bridge over the Went was to be of stone, not of wood. 
 That would be a grand bridge. He had seen the plans. 
 It would last for hundreds and hundreds of years. " But it 
 will not be ready for your journey to the station to-morrow, 
 Bessie," he added, with awkward jocosity. 
 
 Bessie, a fine round country girl of seventeen, dark 
 haired and dark eyed, laughed self-consciously. 
 
 "Be ready when she comes back again, perhaps," said 
 her mother. 
 
 "Well, every one is sorry you are going," said the rector, 
 having now reached the goal of his conversation. 
 
 "I reckon Master Bobby 'd better have left her as she 
 is," her father observed gloomily. 
 
 "It was not Sir Robert, it was the Duchess of Bracken- 
 bury," said the girl. 
 
 "Why, the Duchess is only one of Master Bobby's 
 friends," said her mother. 
 
 "The Duchess did it," said the girl in a tone of finality. 
 
 "And what will be your new home?" asked the rector. 
 
 "Care of Mrs. Hope, sir, The Arches, Maryhill, Middle- 
 sex," she answered; " Mrs. Hope is a friend of the Duchess." 
 
 " Maryhill is my old school," said the rector. " I suppose 
 it must be thirty years since I set foot in it. It will have 
 changed a great deal. I don't remember The Arches."
 
 "Mr. Hope is a retired clergyman," the girl said, " and 
 Mrs. Hope is a friend of the Duchess. I am to work for 
 Mrs. Hope mostly, and sometimes for the Duchess." 
 
 "When you've been good," said one of her brothers 
 viciously. 
 
 The rector rose from his chair. "I expect things have 
 changed," he said. "I daresay, when you see Maryhill 
 to-morrow, you will hardly believe that I saw a stag in the 
 street there, and the hounds followed it into one of the 
 houses, upstairs into the nursery, where there was a young 
 baby in a cradle. Now, my dear, it was just for the sake 
 of writing your name in it, but I have brought you a book. 
 Do not forget your old home, and may God bless you 
 always." 
 
 He handed her the book, looking at it, not at her, and 
 then abruptly said good-night to the others and left the 
 house. One of the boys ran after him with the electric 
 lantern. 
 
 When the cab had brought Bessie and her boxes to the 
 door of The Arches, Maryhill, Middlesex, the parlour-maid 
 told her that Mrs. Hope was at the Parish Room in East 
 Street with the Little Soldiers, and that she hoped to be 
 joined there by Bessie or Miss Wake, as Bessie was now 
 called. So Bessie walked back along the old High-Street 
 of Maryhill, which remains a village street even to this day, 
 though a large residential suburb has grown round it, and 
 she turned down the hill into East Street. A policeman 
 pointed out the Parish Room to her. Outside the Room 
 she was greeted by a great good-natured mastiff and she 
 stopped to caress him and be caressed by him. He gave 
 her a kinder welcome than she had had from the cabman 
 or the parlour-maid or the policeman, and she was grateful
 
 10 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 because she was now feeling very shy. Yet she was 
 cheered by the thought of the Little Soldiers. She could 
 not guess who or what they were, but the name pleased 
 her. 
 
 The Parish Room had a porch and a big oak door like 
 that of a church. Bessie opened the door, after some hesi- 
 tation, and then, before she could prevent it, the mastiff 
 forced his way inside. She was much distressed by this, 
 thinking it must certainly be wrong. She wondered if she 
 could creep away and so escape responsibility, and whether 
 this would be dishonest. But before she could make up 
 her mind there arose such a tumult of screams and cries 
 from within the Room that she was held transfixed . Though 
 unable to distinguish the words, she could hear that they 
 expressed the utmost panic and indignation. Then the 
 mastiff was led out into the street by a curate and after 
 the curate came a lady who looked so grieved and shocked 
 that Bessie was more frightened than ever. 
 
 This lady was about thirty-five years old, and she was 
 pretty in a trivial, commonplace, way. But she had schooled 
 the expression of her face and her voice and deportment 
 into a preternatural demureness. It seemed as though 
 the wind must have changed one day while she was reading 
 an improper novel, leaving her unable ever after to appear 
 otherwise than just about to be shocked. She was short 
 and slight, flat-figured, and quite without affectation in her 
 dress. 
 
 "I think you must be Miss Wake," she said to Bessie. 
 "I am Mrs. Hope. What a pity that dog came into the 
 room! But never mind, you must be tired after your 
 journey. There is some tea inside the room. I wanted 
 you to come because you will meet some of my friends, 
 and you will like to see the Little Soldiers." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Bessie. 
 
 "You mustn't call me ma'am," Mrs. Hope told her;
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN n 
 
 "you must call me Mrs. Hope. Now let us go back into 
 the room." 
 
 Bessie could hardly keep herself from crying aloud in 
 terror at what she saw inside the room. She had never 
 seen or imagined anything like it. She found herself in 
 the midst of forty or fifty boys and girls, from eight to 
 fourteen years old, who were all cripples. Some were 
 hunchbacks, some had lost limbs, some were crooked, all 
 were pale and sickly, and nearly all had faces which Bessie 
 found it terrible to behold. They were listening to a song 
 out of a gramophone, having recovered quickly from the 
 dog's incursion. 
 
 "They are from the east end," Mrs. Hope whispered, 
 and Bessie took her to mean the east end of Maryhill. 
 "This is the annual day." 
 
 When the song was finished Mrs. Hope led her to a tall 
 thin lady and said, "This is Miss Wake, my new secretary; 
 this is Miss Free, Miss Wake." 
 
 "Aren't they darlings?" said Miss Free. 
 
 Bessie thought they were dreadful, but had a strong 
 feeling that this was wrong of her. "What a lot of them 
 there is, Miss," she exclaimed, in awestruck tones. 
 
 "Oh, this is only branch Q," said Miss Free; "we have 
 hundreds and hundreds more. Every year we seem to be 
 more successful. I 'm the secretary, you know." 
 
 "Now, Miss Wake, look at this one," said Mrs. Hope, 
 leading her to a couch that held a hunchback girl with an 
 appallingly sad and suffering face. "This shall be your 
 first little friend. This is little Annie. Our little darling 
 brave Annie. You kiss her, Miss Wake. She has four 
 sores on her leg." 
 
 At the sight of this poor victim of industrialism Bessie's 
 eyes filled with tears. She was so sorry for the child that 
 she would have given one of her own clean limbs outright 
 if that could have made it well.
 
 12 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "She is one of our little favourites," said Mrs. Hope 
 "You kiss her." 
 
 "I I can't," sobbed Bessie, suddenly losing control of 
 herself. 
 
 Then the child sobbed too, and every one looked round, 
 and there was a painful scene. 
 
 "I think you had better go and learn more sense," said 
 Miss Free, while Mrs. Hope looked sadly grieved, and 
 another lady ran up and smothered little Annie in as many 
 kisses as she could possibly have needed. 
 
 That night Bessie cried a great deal in bed, and prayed 
 that Jesus might come again and heal all the cripples as he 
 did before. 
 
 Mrs. Hope only made one allusion to the catastrophe of 
 the cripple child. "Of course I know you were upset," she 
 said to Bessie, "and I know it was only because you were 
 so sorry for her. Of course we are all sorry for them, but 
 we ought to remember that they do a great deal of good in 
 the world, and we would not be without them if we could. 
 They teach us a great deal that some people need to learn 
 very badly. We ought to be grateful that they are sent 
 to us." 
 
 "Now these will be your duties," she said to Bessie in 
 the morning. "After breakfast there will be my letters, 
 and you will open them and sort them, and then I shall 
 come and dictate the answers. Then you will type them 
 out, and after that Mr. Hope has sometimes a few letters 
 which you could do for him. Then after lunch I shall 
 generally want you to go and do some work for some of my 
 friends, Miss Free or Mrs. Brimston or Miss Agg, or even 
 Miss Baker if she is in Maryhill, and that will mean some- 
 times walking through the town, and I want to warn you
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 13 
 
 not to pay any attention to the schoolboys; they walk 
 about all over the town, and " 
 
 "Mr. Stanborough, ma'am, that's our rector, he was 
 one of them once," said Bessie brightly. 
 
 " You really must try not to call me ma'am," Mrs. Hope 
 replied. "If your rector used to be at school here it will 
 make it interesting for you to see the buildings he used to 
 be among. Then when you have finished the work in the 
 afternoon I want you always to give two good hours to 
 reading. But I do not want you ever to borrow books 
 from Miss Baker. You may borrow from Miss Agg, but 
 not from Miss Baker." 
 
 "I brought a book the rector gave me about the bad 
 Emperors of Rome," said Bessie with interest. 
 
 "Your rector seems to be very peculiar," said Mrs. 
 Hope. "But you will find plenty of books in Mr. Hope's 
 library to tell you all you need to know at present about 
 the lives of the poor and the right way to treat them. 
 That is the work you will be doing, and so that is what you 
 will find it most useful to read about. And I want to say 
 to you, Miss Wake, that I shall take a great interest in 
 you, and being with me ought to give you the opportunity 
 of making a good start. We are very humble people 
 ourselves but we have some very powerful friends. I shall 
 never blame you for leaving me and rising to some higher 
 work when you are fit for it. You will have plenty of 
 chances, if you are clever and industrious, and you might 
 end by being in a really great position. Women have great 
 opportunities in these days. You ought to let that thought 
 be an inspiration to you." 
 
 "The Arches" was the sort of house that advertisements 
 describe as having "eleven bedrooms and three good re-
 
 14 I'HE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 ception-rooms." Mr. and Mrs. Hope had no children, 
 and kept only three servants, so that the eleven bedrooms 
 were not all needed as bedrooms. Several of the larger 
 ones were used as sitting-rooms and work-rooms. One 
 was the library of Mr. Hope, from which he very seldom 
 emerged. He was an amiable but obscure man, many 
 years older than his wife, wrecked by the strain of work in 
 his early days as a curate, and now engaged upon theo- 
 logical writings which he well knew to be of poor quality. 
 His attitude towards his wife can be seen by the light of a 
 single fact. During ten years of married life he had never 
 confessed to her that the income which kept them both in 
 comfort and paid for her innumerable activities among the 
 poor was drawn exclusively from shares in a brewery. 
 
 Another of the eleven bedrooms was known as the busi- 
 ness room. This was where Bessie worked, kept her type- 
 writer, and read the books given her to read. In this room 
 also, nestling in countless pigeonholes, were the papers 
 connected with Mrs. Hope's good works. 
 
 Mrs. Hope gave Bessie rule over all the pigeonholes 
 in the business room. There was one set labelled from A 
 to Z for letters from unclassified persons on unclassified 
 subjects. But these were rather empty. The classified 
 pigeonholes were much better filled. One lot was devoted 
 to the Little Soldiers. Another lot, much bigger, held 
 information about the characters of the people of the 
 parish, sixteen holes being given to the characters of the 
 poor and one hole to the characters of the rich. This hole 
 contained a set of intercepted love letters from a schoolboy 
 to a nursemaid, all of which Bessie read one morning with 
 rapture and amazement. Here also was to be found an 
 acrimonious correspondence between Mrs. Hope and a Mrs.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 15 
 
 Berkeley as to whether the latter ought to have asked a 
 Mr. Callaghan to help at the children's Easter Monday 
 Evening. Bessie read this with astonishment, marvel- 
 ling that any one should have dared to suggest that Mrs. 
 Hope had said what was not true, and wondering much 
 what poor Mr. Callaghan had done to be in such disgrace. 
 There was also a bundle of letters about the curate, but 
 Bessie did not read these. 
 
 One of the pigeonholes was labelled "Denbury," and 
 the letters inside were about a strike in some pottery works. 
 They were very dull. Most of them were written by Miss 
 Baker. 
 
 Other pigeonholes, more or less well filled, were labelled 
 "London Society for Municipal Extension," "Peace 
 Union" "Home League," "Y. M. C. A.," "Anti-Nicotine 
 Union," "Voluntary Inspection Association," "Coal and 
 Blanket Club," "Straight Talks Club," "London Society," 
 "Purity Chatting League," "Christian Social Union," 
 "Humane Diet Union," "Partial Dipsomaniacs' Home." 
 The contents of most of them were very dull indeed. 
 
 Then there were the classified pigeonholes which held 
 letters from special persons. Of these latter the best filled 
 was that labelled "Miss Baker." But Bessie had not met 
 Miss Baker, so she did not read them. 
 
 8 
 
 "We ought all to wish," said Mrs. Hope one evening, in 
 her most intimate vein, "that you will some day be taken 
 into Miss Baker's service. If you were, it would be as 
 much as you could possibly wish for. Miss Baker is one 
 of the greatest women in the world. She is far more clever 
 than any one you have ever met. She is coming to tea with 
 us on Saturday. She is a really great influence in England, 
 and I am going to give you her books to read after you have
 
 16 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 met her. They are novels, so you will enjoy them. She 
 knows Mr. Lloyd George and Mr. Keir Hardie and she 
 has one of the greatest minds we have amongst us. I 
 suppose she is more truly intellectual even than Mr. Lloyd 
 George. Years ago she used always to live in Maryhill 
 and she did a great deal of work here. But she has very 
 little time for that now, except when she can get away from 
 all her work in London. But she still has her house here, 
 and she still does work here sometimes, especially one very 
 important work which she is particularly interested in. 
 What I want to tell you about her is that it is very sad but 
 she is not a Christian. She does not believe in God or 
 Christ. It is very odd, because she does such a great deal 
 of good work. But it teaches us that God moves in mys- 
 terious ways. Intellectual people very often do not believe 
 in God. Mr. Hope thinks that the reason why Miss Baker 
 does not believe in God is that when she first wrote her 
 books she was laughed at a great deal, because people did 
 not know what a great intellect she has. Mr. Hope thinks 
 that is the explanation. But now I have warned you about 
 it you will know, and it will be a great honour for you to 
 meet such a famous woman. Do you know, a great many 
 of the dreadful things that have been found out about peers 
 and peeresses have been found out by Miss Baker all by 
 herself! She has made a study of that subject, and she has 
 such a wonderful mind that she was able to guess a great 
 many things which everybody now feels sure are true. 
 And the wonderful thing is that she has been able to learn 
 all about the vices of the poor too. She knows the great 
 towns and she has done a great deal of the voluntary inspec- 
 tion in country districts. She has such a sympathy with 
 the poor that even some of the Labour members of Par- 
 liament have sometimes consulted her. At the present 
 moment she is very busy about the working men and women 
 at Denbury who are striking against their cruel employer.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 17 
 
 She is really their leader, and she is doing wonderful work, 
 and she has written a novel specially about them, and 
 about their employer, of course. Now I think you are a 
 very lucky girl to be going to meet such a great woman, and 
 I shouldn't wonder if she had something specially to say 
 to you. She is going to be one of the rulers of England, 
 you know, and we can't tell that you won't be one of the 
 rulers of England too some day. Small beginnings lead 
 to great endings sometimes." 
 
 And thus Mrs. Hope herself ended. Her discourse was 
 more like a letter than a conversation, which was inevitable 
 because there was no one to interrupt her and not the 
 remotest fear of a difference of opinion. She ended, serene, 
 and secure, and altogether happy. 
 
 Saturday came, a fine day at the end of October, and 
 Miss Baker entered The Arches at ten minutes to four in 
 the afternoon. Bessie was in the drawing-room when she 
 was brought in, and was introduced by Mrs. Hope. Miss 
 Baker gave her no more than a casual nod, and sat down in 
 one of the arm-chairs by the fireplace. Mrs. Hope at 
 once began to give an account of her success in the collec- 
 tion of money for the Denbury strikers. 
 
 Deeply as Bessie was prepared to be impressed by Miss 
 Baker she had not expected the half of what she saw. She 
 was awed beyond measure, for Miss Baker was utterly 
 different from Mrs. Hope and Miss Agg and Miss Free and 
 the other important ladies of Maryhill. Miss Baker had 
 a personality, and could have staggered firmer minds than 
 Bessie's. Though she said nothing but what was gruffly 
 good-natured, and though she directed her fierce eyes at 
 nothing but the fire, she oppressed the atmosphere of Mrs. 
 Hope's pretty drawing-room as thunder oppresses a summer
 
 18 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 day. She was large, angular, and bony, and was dressed 
 in such a way as to emphasise these characteristics, by 
 accident indeed, for she would have scorned the affectation 
 of looking wilfully a guy. Three quarters of her person 
 was enveloped in a closely fitting coat of sombre grey serge. 
 Above this were a collar and tie such as are worn by men. 
 Below it was a black skirt which she had placed slightly 
 crooked upon her waist so that it hung awry. Her hat 
 was like a clergyman's, except that it was grey and sparingly 
 trimmed with satin to match. 
 
 Bessie could not look at Miss Baker without fearing 
 every moment that she would say something very dis- 
 agreeable. It was that which inspired awe. Miss Baker's 
 face itself was disagreeable. Her brow was broad and 
 frowning. Her eyes were dark and angry. Her complexion 
 was sallow. Her mouth was a picture of discontent. 
 Thus, clever and bitter as she looked, it was to be supposed 
 that she would be snappish. Yet she was not. On the 
 contrary, she was tolerant and easy-going and her manner 
 was like an eternal shrug of the shoulders. She was forty- 
 six years old, and had enjoyed ample opportunities of 
 learning to keep her temper. Before success came to her, 
 before she learned that people would read her writings if 
 they were sufficiently libellous, she had passed through 
 several schools of disappointment. The poems and novels 
 of her hopeful years had met with ridicule. Most of her 
 associates had turned out to be fools. By none of those 
 who are gay and splendid in life had she ever been loved, 
 or even liked, and she knew it; she knew it so well that a 
 thousand blighted instincts were wound together in her 
 heart to make the scourge of vengeance with which she 
 lashed the rich and powerful and happy. 
 
 Bessie, a poor typist, had no need to fear her. She was 
 in no danger even of a sharp word or glance. Yet there 
 were others, hardly less obscure, at whom Miss Baker
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 19 
 
 condescended to strike when the mood was on her. Though 
 dukes and capitalists, and nothing meaner, were the usual 
 objects of her attack, and though the Labour politicians 
 had lately welcomed her assistance, she did not altogether 
 forget the simpler pleasures of her past. It was not only 
 by collecting subscriptions and donations that the ladies 
 of Maryhill were able to give her what she liked and wanted. 
 
 She drank her tea and ate her bread and butter while she 
 listened indifferently to Mrs. Hope's tale of donations 
 asked and obtained for the Denbury strikers. Her com- 
 ments were brief and commonplace, and she never looked 
 Mrs. Hope in the eyes, though occasionally she glanced at 
 Bessie. At about half-past four she began to put on her 
 gloves and said that she must "start." She asked, in her 
 gruff and casual voice, if Miss Wake could come with her. 
 
 "You would enjoy a walk with Miss Baker, wouldn't 
 you?" said Mrs. Hope, in the tone which expects, as the 
 Latin Grammars say, an affirmative answer. 
 
 Bessie ran off and put on her hat and jacket and found 
 Miss Baker waiting in the hall. "Come along, it is late," 
 she said. 
 
 As they went out of the garden gate they saw two of the 
 schoolboys standing in talk. The boys said "good-night" 
 to one another just as Bessie was shutting the gate. One 
 boy walked on towards the town, going ahead of Bessie 
 and Miss Baker; the other went in the opposite direction. 
 
 "The school will be brought under the Government one 
 day," said Miss Baker, presently, "and thrown open to 
 boys and girls of all classes. You must walk faster, Miss 
 Wake. Did you realise that every one of these boys is the 
 son of rich people? Maryhill School is as much a rich 
 man's monopoly as the Court of Appeal and the Order of 
 the Garter. Did you notice those two boys at the gate?" 
 ,, "Yes, I saw them," said Bessie. 
 
 " Do you think you would know them again? "
 
 20 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Oh, I don't think I should, Miss Baker." 
 "Could you describe either of them to me now?" 
 ' ' What ? Tell you what they looked like ? " 
 "Yes. See if you can do that. Use your memory." 
 "Well, one of them was tall and had his hands in his 
 pockets, and the other one had a laughing sort of face," 
 Bessie said, after due reflection. 
 
 "You will have to do a great deal better than that," 
 Miss Baker observed. "Now listen to me. I had no 
 time to notice both of them, so I took no trouble with the 
 one who went the other way, and gave all my attention to 
 the one who has gone on in front of us. - He was about 
 five feet eight inches tall, and had a rolling, swaggering 
 walk until he started to go on in such a hurry. He had 
 very black straight hair, thick and glossy, and a pale face. 
 You were quite right, he had a laughing sort of face, as 
 you put it. He had dark brown eyes. He wore an upright 
 collar with the corners turned down. He was about sixteen 
 or seventeen years old. I was able to notice all that, and 
 if we had chosen to follow him we could have found out 
 which of the school houses he went back to." 
 
 Bessie thought this was wonderful, and said so. She 
 wondered which of her accomplishments Miss Baker would 
 exhibit next. 
 
 "You will soon learn to be observant if you try," Miss 
 Baker said as they walked on through the high-street. 
 "How many of the masters' houses do you know?" 
 
 " None of them, I 'm afraid," said Bessie. " I only know 
 Miss Agg's house, and the Vicarage, and Miss Pree's and 
 
 " Oh, those are not masters' houses," Miss Baker told her. 
 "Now I will teach you two of them. That is Mr. Sifton's 
 on the left with the tall chimneys, and this one on the right 
 with the blue front door is Mr. Mandeville's. Now, you 
 remember those."
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 21 
 
 Silence ensued, and they walked on. 
 
 "Our rector was at school here many years ago and he 
 remembers seeing a stag in this street, and the hounds after 
 it," said Bessie presently. 
 
 "H'm," said Miss Baker. "We are not hunting stags 
 this evening." 
 
 The street was full of boys, some strolling along the 
 pavement, some walking arm in arm in line in the middle 
 of the road. The town looked pleasantly cheerful and 
 busy. But presently Miss Baker took Bessie up the hill 
 leading to the church, and there were not many boys here. 
 The light was failing. They entered the churchyard, 
 where there are a number of fine elms standing here and 
 there among the tombstones. 
 
 "We will wait here, for a moment," said Miss Baker, 
 pointing to two trees near the wall of the churchyard. 
 "It is about this time in the evening that some of the boys 
 have a habit of coming to meet girls in the churchyard or in 
 the paths down there. Some years ago I used to do a 
 great deal of inspection work here, and recently I have 
 been able to do a little more, though I can't continue it. 
 We wish you to learn this work." 
 
 "Really!" said Bessie. 
 
 "Yes; there is no need to go on talking now." 
 
 They waited, but nothing occurred. No one passed 
 along the churchyard path. 
 
 "We will move to those trees over there," Miss Baker 
 whispered. 
 
 They did so, and waited in silence for about ten minutes. 
 Bessie was greatly excited. She remembered the inter- 
 cepted letters in the pigeonhole. But the inspection had 
 no luck to-night, and presently Miss Baker tapped her 
 foot impatiently on the grass, which happened to be damp. 
 "We will move down the path to the wood," she said. 
 
 They returned across the grass to the main path through
 
 22 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 the churchyard, and took the direction suggested. As 
 they did so, they heard from ahead of them the sound of 
 the blowing of a penny tin trumpet toot-te-toot-toot- 
 toot- toot- toot. It was immediately followed by a similar 
 sound from behind, on a higher note, teet-te-teet-teet-teet- 
 teet-teet. 
 
 "What were those?" Bessie asked. 
 
 " It may be some children," said Miss Baker in a peculiar 
 tone. "Come on now, quickly." 
 
 They walked rapidly towards the other end of the church- 
 yard; before they reached it, both the trumpets had sounded 
 again, one still ahead, the other behind. Miss Baker 
 walked yet faster. They descended a steep hill, for the 
 churchyard extends down the slope, and came to a gate 
 leading out to a lonely road. They passed through. There, 
 in the road, twenty yards in front of them, they saw one 
 of the schoolboys. Both the trumpets sounded once more. 
 
 Little as Bessie understood the art of inspection she felt 
 sure that the trumpets did not usually form part of it. 
 She could clearly see that they must afford a warning to 
 those who were to be inspected. She was also aware that 
 there was agitation in Miss Baker's mind and anger in her 
 heart. Suddenly Miss Baker seized her arm and turned 
 her aside into a passage that ran between high wooden 
 palings through the copse to the right. Within the mouth 
 of this passage they waited. If the boy in front had thought 
 that they would follow him patiently while he trumpeted 
 forth their approach he was mistaken. In less than a 
 minute he came swinging back round the corner into the 
 passage. He had doubtless meant to follow them. But 
 Miss Baker's ruse had succeeded, for the boy now almost 
 ran into her arms. It was he whom she bad so fully ob- 
 served outside Mrs. Hope's gate. 
 
 "Give me that trumpet," she commanded. 
 
 For reply, the boy took a step back and sounded the
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 23 
 
 trumpet again. Then he put it, with his hands, behind 
 his back. He had precisely the laughing expression which 
 had been noticed. "As I always say to my great-grand- 
 father," he remarked, looking her in the eyes and speaking 
 in a clear pleasant voice, "the boy scouts are a very per- 
 nicious movement." 
 
 "If you do not give me that trumpet it will be the worse 
 for you," said Miss Baker, very angrily. 
 
 "I blow my own trumpet," he answered, and blew it 
 once more. 
 
 "If you can follow me, I can follow you," Miss Baker 
 threatened. 
 
 "All right," said he. "Good-bye! My friend will do 
 the rest of the trumpeting this evening," and then, running 
 a few yards down the passage, he leaped up to the top of 
 the palings and swung himself lightly over them. From 
 the darkness of the wood they heard his trumpet again. 
 
 "We had better go home," said Miss Baker ominously. 
 "At present we are doing more harm than good." 
 
 10 
 
 Mrs. Hope was quite tender and loving in her sympathy 
 with Bessie about the afternoon's disaster. It was clear 
 that the present generation of boys had come to recognise 
 Miss Baker as a former generation had once recognised her 
 in the past. It did not really signify, because Miss Baker 
 was too much occupied in London and at Denbury to be 
 able to spare much time for Maryhill now. The only serious 
 aspect of the matter was that Bessie herself might have been 
 recognised and remembered as one of Miss Baker's assistants, 
 which would greatly impair her value as an inspector. 
 Miss Baker's own opinion, however, was that this had not 
 occurred. The mantle was handed down in good hope 
 that the moths were not in it.
 
 24 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "You ought to be very proud," Mrs. Hope told her, 
 "that we should trust you with this work. Of course it is 
 work that we should never give to a girl we did not abso- 
 lutely trust. But there will be more and more of this sort 
 of work done in England now, and it will be very good for 
 you to learn it early. If you do this humble work well, 
 you may one day be one of the voluntary inspectors, or 
 you may be employed by the Government and have really 
 great powers in some part of the country. You will go 
 out now every half-holiday afternoon, except when it is 
 wet, and you will see what information you can bring us 
 back, both about the boys and about the "girls too if you 
 can manage it. We shall want to know what the boys are 
 like and what houses they go back to. Even if they only 
 go to smoke cigarettes it is quite worth while taking trouble 
 because of course one thing leads to another and the smoking 
 in itself is quite worth while. All the information is very 
 useful. We can very often get the boys punished and we 
 can nearly always make use of the information about the 
 girls. But of course you must be very careful and remember 
 your responsibilities." 
 
 II 
 
 So Bessie started in the career which might lead her to 
 such a great position, if she had talent; to be one of those 
 like Miss Baker who punish the rich for being rich and the 
 poor for being poor, make the rich poor and the poor vir- 
 tuous, and perhaps even lead the rich through poverty into 
 virtue. Subjection needs inspection, even in barbarous 
 countries, and so Bessie was to begin by inspecting. First 
 she was to inspect the churchyard; afterwards she might 
 hope to inspect the houses in East Street or Lingbury Lane 
 when Miss Agg should go higher. Might she not hope 
 that one day it would be Blenheim or Chatsworth or 
 Lambeth?
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 25 
 
 Fortune smiled on her from the very outset. On her 
 first assumption of her duties she had not walked for ten 
 seconds beyond the further gate of the churchyard before 
 she found, standing in the passage on the right, a girl of 
 about her own age talking with the very boy who had blown 
 the trumpet in front of Miss Baker on the previous Saturday. 
 The capture was complete. She had reached them before 
 hey had a suspicion that any one was near. She had 
 plenty of time to study their appearance, and the guilty 
 surprise they showed at last when they perceived her 
 presence removed all doubt that this was a genuine case 
 for inspection. Then the girl ran away down the passage, 
 and the boy stood covering her retreat, his hands in his 
 pockets, his legs apart, and his face once more adorned 
 with the most genial of smiles. 
 
 "How-do-you-do?" he said. "Are you the new spy?" 
 Poor Bessie felt suddenly ashamed of herself; it was the 
 first distinguishable emotion that had visited her in con- 
 nection with her new duties. "I 'm Bessie Miss Wake," 
 she faltered. "I 'm inspecting." 
 
 "Well that is jolly," said the boy, whose face became 
 more and more merry as hers became more distressed. 
 "Now I expect what would help you most of all would be 
 to have my name. I 'm very sorry about that girl who has 
 run away, but I can't tell you her name, partly because it 
 wouldn't be honourable and partly because I don't really 
 know what it is, as I do yours, Bessie. You 've told me 
 your name, you see, and she hasn't. But my name is 
 Durwold, D-U-R-W-O-L-D, and my initials are C. E. M., 
 which spells Kem, and I am in Mr. Robinson's house, 
 which is in the High-Street, and I was born in London on 
 the twentieth of June, eighteen hundred and ninety-five 
 and christened shortly afterwards by the Right Reverend 
 His Eminence the Most Holy Prince Cardinal Spifkins. 
 Now that 's all true except the last."
 
 26 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Oh sir!" said Bessie, who was, if the expression be 
 allowed, quite unmanned. 
 
 "Now, do you think you will be able to remember it all? " 
 he said, beaming with amusement. 
 
 "Oh yes, sir," she faltered. 
 
 "Well, then, I should go straight away and tell Mr. 
 Robinson before you forget it," said he. 
 
 "It isn't Mr. Robinson, it 's Mrs. Hope I ought to tell," 
 she said, being crimson with embarrassment and much more 
 interesting to behold in the stress of her trouble than at 
 ordinary times. 
 
 "Oh! Mrs. Hope, is it?" he said. "Well, of course I 
 haven't the least idea who Mrs. Hope is, but I suppose 
 she tells Mr. Robinson, doesn't she?" 
 
 "Yes sir, I 'm afraid so," Bessie murmured. "And I 'm 
 afraid it gets you into trouble, sir, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, heaps!" he exclaimed, more cheerfully than ever. 
 "But why don't you go back and tell the news before you 
 forget it ? You won't catch any other fellows here to-night ; 
 you won't really, 'pon my word of honour. Because I 
 shall warn 'em, you see. Why don't you go back at once 
 and tell?" 
 
 "Oh sir," she said, " I don't like to. I can't bear to." 
 
 " I say! You 're not much of a spy," he replied. 
 
 "You 've been so good to me," she murmured. 
 
 " Look here," he said, quite gravely, " I 've got something 
 to say to you presently, but we '11 get the business done 
 first. It won't make any difference how you answer me. 
 If you like to let me off, you know, so much the better. 
 But if you must tell, you must. All I say is that you ought 
 to say straight away now whether you are going to tell or 
 not. Don't you think that 's fair?" 
 
 It was a dreadful moment. There was an awful battle 
 between duty and inclination, not to mention the battle 
 between duty and charity.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 27 
 
 The boy broke again into radiant smiles. 
 
 "Of course I don't want to influence your decision," he 
 said, "But I do think you ought to say Yes or No. I 
 think that 's fair." 
 
 "I '11 say No," Bessie gasped hoarsely. 
 
 "That means you refuse to let me off, I suppose," he 
 answered, knowing perfectly well that it meant the con- 
 trary. "Well, never mind, I shan't bear any malice. It 's 
 your duty, I know." 
 
 She looked up, and found his eyes twinkling delightfully, 
 and her spirit was moved to distress. "Oh," she said, 
 "I meant I would let you off; I mean, I meant I would not 
 tell." 
 
 "By Jove," he said; "well, I 'm jolly glad to hear it. 
 I should have got into no end of a row. First I should have 
 been decimated like a regiment of soldiers and then they 
 would have sent my mamma into ninety-nine fits by telling 
 her that I was a regular rip. Well, that 's all over, and now 
 1 11 tell you what I was going to say. I was going to say 
 I didn't a bit mind your making that girl run away, because 
 she was as dull as ditchwater and I was quite tired of her, 
 and I 've got you to talk to instead, and you are absolutely 
 A i beautiful. And if you would believe it, which you 
 won't, you haven't got anything to be afraid of in me, 
 because I am a Catholic and I have to confess to my priest 
 every fortnight. So I jolly well do everything the old boy 
 doesn't really mind and I keep clear of what he does mind. 
 Now after that pourparler what do you think about it?" 
 
 "I don't know what to say, sir," said Bessie. 
 
 "Well then, let me say this," he replied. "The real and 
 true reason why I have come to these purlieus is that I wish 
 to smoke a cigarette. Do you think you would mind if I 
 did?" 
 
 "Oh no, sir," she said. "My brothers do, but father 
 still smokes a pipe." *
 
 28 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 ( 
 
 "In the holidays I follow the example of your father," 
 said Durwold. "In the term I follow the example of your 
 brothers. Look here, Bessie, you really are beautiful, 
 though it sounds uncomplimentary to say it while I am 
 lighting this. What I want to say is this : Do you think 
 we could sometimes meet and talk, in the intervals of your 
 duty, without either of us falling in love? I mustn't fall 
 in love because my mamma has settled who I 've got to 
 marry. And you mustn't, because it simply wouldn't 
 do at all. But do you think we could sometimes meet on 
 strictly non-party lines and discuss the deplorable state 
 of the weather? What do you think?" 
 
 "I 'm thinking about when I get back to Mrs. Hope," 
 said Bessie in much distress. "What shall I say to her? 
 I ought to be able to give her descriptions of boys, and show 
 what I 've been doing, and have things to tell." 
 
 " Oh, is that it? " said Durwold. " Well, I will soon make 
 that all right. I will give you the descriptions of lots and 
 lots of boys and of half the girls in Maryhill. I '11 give you 
 the descriptions of the head of the school, and the captain 
 of the footer eleven, and a boy who is ill with pneumonia 
 and may be dead by to-morrow, and a fellow who had me 
 licked last night, and as many more as you could possibly 
 want. I will write it all down for you and you can sit on a 
 tombstone and learn it by heart. And then I '11 hear you, 
 to see if you know it." 
 
 " I 'm afraid that wouldn't do," said Bessie. 
 
 "Well, I 'm afraid it really wouldn't" he agreed. "But 
 what I really advise is this. Now you won't mind my 
 giving you advice, will you. I advise you to go back and 
 tell Mrs. Hope that you found so many boys here that you 
 were quite confused, and those you followed all got away 
 from you before you could see what they were like. It is 
 your first shot, so no one can really blame you. And there 's 
 just one thing, Bessie, before we say good-night, if you
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 29 
 
 really must go. Whenever you come down here any night 
 in the course of your delightful avocation you are sure to 
 find me here and I give you my word of honour that I '11 
 never say a word to any other girl if you '11 let me talk to 
 you. You 're beautiful, you know, and that 's why I 
 promise. Do you see, Bessie? And when you are tired 
 of me you can take my name to Mrs. Hope and get me into 
 no end of a row. And I shan't mind one bit if only I 've 
 had some talks with you first. Can you remember all that 
 long allocution? Do you want to go away? Well, go 
 along, and remember that whatever happens I shall be 
 here on Thursday." 
 
 12 
 
 Mr. Charles Edward Marcus Durwold was an utterly 
 reckless young gentleman, and recklessness is one of the 
 most fascinating qualities of the male animal. In Bessie's 
 eyes he was of the same denomination and value as the 
 young men in pink coats who looked nice on the hills and 
 in the vales of her own country, or the Prince Imperial 
 whose death was depicted in the oleograph at home, or 
 Sir Robert Wilton when he came to talk with her father 
 on some evening in winter. But Durwold had done what 
 had not been done either by the pink coats or the Prince 
 or by Wilton. He had taken notice of her. The result 
 was that the impression made by him was more enduring. 
 More and more she thought about him. Also she began to 
 be afraid of meeting him again, and on the occasion of the 
 next half -holiday she pleaded a headache and was excused 
 from her duties in the churchyard. The next morning, 
 while she was carrying the flower vases to the pantry, a 
 letter was put into her hand by the boy who came to clean 
 the boots and knives. 
 
 She guessed the truth. She fled to her bedroom to con-
 
 30 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 ceal both the letter and her blushes. She opened the 
 envelope, and found a letter written on paper stamped 
 with the school crest and the name of Mr. Robinson's 
 house. It read thus: " November 2nd, 1911. Dear Miss 
 Bessie Wake : It was not kind of you not to come this after- 
 noon. Was it? There is nothing to stop you putting this 
 note in the headmaster's letter box, if you like, but if you 
 don't I think you ought to come on Saturday. That is 
 only fair. Yours sincerely, C. E. M. Durwold." 
 
 Bessie had a writing-case which locked with a key about 
 the size of an earwig. Into this she put Master Durwold's 
 note, and into this she put all other notes which she received 
 from him in the weeks that followed. She locked the 
 writing-case and returned to her duties with a heart full of 
 care. She had now the fatal conviction that by absenting 
 herself on Thursday she had treated Durwold unkindly. 
 
 On Saturday they met. They walked together up and 
 down the passage through the wood, Durwold with the 
 most complete unconcern and Bessie in a condition of 
 helpless acquiescence. Her stake was far greater that his. 
 
 "Oh, suppose Miss Agg were to meet us, or Mrs. Hope," 
 she murmured. 
 
 "I have always found that it doesn't do to suppose things 
 like that," he replied. " Do you eat chocolates?" 
 
 "Sometimes," she said. 
 
 ^ "Have some out of this packet. Hold out your hands. 
 No! More, more, more." 
 
 Their conversation, on this and other occasions, was of 
 the most innocent description. He questioned her much 
 about Mrs. Hope and Miss Agg and Miss Baker, and was 
 vastly amused by all she told him. In return he talked to 
 her about his life at school and at home, telling incredible 
 things. She knew that he did not speak the truth, but he 
 was always amusing. Their greatest difficulty was that 
 Bessie had no information to take back to Mrs. Hope, and
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 31 
 
 in this respect she came very much into his hands. He 
 supplied her with the necessary fictions. He gave her the 
 descriptions of imaginary girls who had been seen after- 
 wards to take the train for London; of boys who were 
 untraceable because they had entered public houses and 
 never emerged; and once a very shocking and circumstan- 
 tial narrative about a boy who, spending all his half -holidays 
 in the pains of special tuition, could prove a triumphant 
 alibi. Durwold delighted extremely in concocting these 
 stories. Bessie, too, after a while began to find them amus- 
 ing, and it must be added that Mrs. Hope took the keenest 
 pleasure in hearing them. And so, for a time, every one 
 was pleased. But Durwold's unbridled sense of the ludi- 
 crous prevented his being a really safe collaborator, and it 
 was bound eventually to occur to some one's mind that 
 Bessie's information never led to convictions or executions. 
 Bessie, therefore, had much cause for anxiety. 
 
 13 
 
 "This will be a busy morning," said Mrs. Hope. "We 
 are going to start writing letters to the rich people in the 
 correspondence list and ask them for help for the poor 
 strikers at Denbury. My sister, Mrs. Trevanion, lives 
 at Denbury. Her husband is the vicar. We ought to be 
 very proud to do this work, because it is really for Miss 
 Baker's sake. She is quite the leader of the strike and she 
 thinks it is one of the most important things that have 
 ever happened. The first letter will be one which you will 
 enjoy writing because it is to a friend of yours. Address it 
 to Sir Robert Wilton, Baronet, Orchard Wilton, Coulscombe, 
 Somerset. Dear Sir Robert Wilton, I venture to write to 
 you because it was through your information to the Duch- 
 ess of Brackenbury that I heard of my present secretary, 
 Miss Wake, who is giving me every satisfaction. I feel sure
 
 32 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 you would be glad to have the opportunity of doing some- 
 thing to help the poor people of Denbury who are now 
 engaged in a prolonged strike and are suffering great hard- 
 ships. They are quite without food or coals or money, 
 and with the advance of the cold weather their hardships 
 will become greater and greater unless we can collect money 
 to help them. I ought to say that the very greatest care 
 will be used in spending the money and it will go to deserving 
 cases only, as we have means of finding out all about each 
 case of distress and Miss Baker has practically agreed to 
 this policy. I am sure all who are happy and comfortable 
 will like to have an opportunity of helping those who are 
 in trouble. I remain, yours very sincerely. " 
 
 14 
 
 " Now that is what I call a damn bad letter," said Bobby 
 to his wife. " A, it is impertinent. B, it is silly. C, I don't 
 care a tinker's curse whether the Denbury strikers starve 
 or not. D, if I did give them money I should make a special 
 point of giving it to those who deserve it least." 
 
 It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and Bobby was 
 sitting astride a chair in his wife's bedroom, with his back 
 to the fire, wearing a coat and trousers that were made of 
 the same stuff as bath towels. Beside him was a low round 
 table that held a teapot and cups and a number of letters 
 already read and thrown aside. Lady Wilton, whose toilet 
 was usually completed at an earlier hour than Bobby's, since 
 it included neither a swim in the lake nor a gallop in the 
 park, stood by the fire and told him to go away and dress 
 and not to get angry with people two hundred miles away. 
 5 Here it will be convenient to state some facts about 
 Bobby. About those who meet in London or stay at the 
 same houses there is a floating mass of information, just 
 complete enough to prevent mistakes in conversation. In
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 33 
 
 Bobby's case it was as follows. His family was an old one 
 in Somerset, and had a Jacobean house of peculiar beauty 
 at Coulscombe. He was the grandson of that Sir Francis 
 Wilton who used to ask people to subscribe to funds for 
 restoring churches. He was the son of that Major Wilton 
 who was mortally wounded on the Indian frontier twenty 
 years ago. His own record was less creditable. He had 
 been a particularly naughty boy at Eton, and was involved 
 in a silly case of breach of promise of marriage as an under- 
 graduate at Oxford. After this his grandfather sent him 
 into an office in London, on puritanic principles, and there 
 he remained during the last few months of his grandfather's 
 life. Since then he had lived at Coulscombe, hunting, 
 shooting, looking after his property, and forming his opin- 
 ions about men and things. In 1910, when he was twenty- 
 six, he married the widow of Guy Rannard, the madman, 
 who was five years older than himself. Meanwhile his 
 respectability had carried him so far that he was the Con- 
 servative candidate for a division of Cornwall. He fought 
 the two elections of 1910, but it was understood that he 
 had not been a good candidate, and he had resigned the 
 position. One merit he had. He was handsome; by those 
 who rate the spirit above the flesh he would have been 
 thought handsome in a supreme degree. He was slight, 
 wiry, of no imposing height, and without any military 
 smartness. But he had plenty of what is harder to breed 
 for, an alert and easy gracefulness of movement or attitude. 
 In colour he was dark, with a clear complexion and blue eyes. 
 He was little troubled with the labour of shaving and alto- 
 gether he looked younger than his years. His features 
 were regular and fine, but here again the spirit was likely 
 to attract more notice than the form. His point, to use the 
 word used about animals, was a watchful adventurousness 
 of expression. No one can be always on a stretch, and there 
 were times when Bobby was moody, or reserved, or on his
 
 34 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 dignity, or affectionate, or merely pugnacious, but the look 
 of adventure, the look of watchfulness for adventure and 
 for conflict, was never quite eclipsed. Quick and hot as 
 he usually was, this gave his face a singular attractiveness. 
 
 Such was the man whom Marian Rannard had married 
 after three years of widowhood and after the eight terrible 
 months of her first marriage. She had no child by Rannard 
 but had borne a son to Bobby in the month of July, 1911. 
 Though she was good looking, and had brown hair that 
 was really beautiful, it had been expected that Bobby's 
 choice among women would have been some one a little 
 less coldly serene. The serenity, however) was mostly on 
 the surface. Also Bobby had his own tastes, and quite 
 enough experience to justify a judgment. He was vastly 
 proud of Marian, and happy with her, and loved her none 
 the worse because he was the least bit in awe of her. 
 
 She stood looking over his shoulder at the letter poor 
 Bessie had typewritten, at which Bobby still gazed with the 
 strongest disapproval, and she said, "It is Uncle George's 
 strike." 
 
 "Your Uncle George?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. If it is at Denbury, it must be his. There 's no 
 one else there, and I know his men have been out for months 
 and months." 
 
 "Then what the devil does the woman mean by writing 
 to me?" cried Bobby, now really angry. "'Pon my word, 
 it 's simply insulting! It 's simply impertinent! I 'm 
 to pay to have my own relations ruined! I never heard 
 such " 
 
 " Bobby, my angel, don't be so excited," said she. "The 
 impertinent woman couldn't be expected to connect you 
 with your uncle by marriage." 
 
 "Well, I suppose not," he agreed. "All the same, I call 
 it a damn silly letter and damn bad form." 
 , "How much will you send?" she asked gravely.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 35 
 
 But he was not to be teased, and tore the letter into 
 small pieces. 
 
 "It's nice of you to be so fond of Uncle George," she 
 told him, half caressing and half teasing, " because he 's 
 not fond of you. It was he who called the house Chelsea 
 Hospital." 
 
 "Well, it seems as if I can run Chelsea Hospital better 
 than he runs Denbury," said Bobby, "when he can't even 
 manage his own strike boys. If I had Joan Hopes and 
 Miss Bakers getting up subscriptions for deserving cases 
 here, 'pon my word, I 'd surprise them." 
 
 15 
 
 Nevertheless there was some reason for Uncle George's 
 opinion. An extravagant old bachelor, drawing most of 
 his income from a business where every man must work his 
 hardest and his cheapest if the profits were to be really 
 satisfactory, could not be expected to approve of the way 
 in which the house and estate were managed at Orchard 
 Wilton. 
 
 Luckily for himself, Bobby had few of the usual costly 
 tastes. Except for his outlay on horses, hospitality, and 
 his retinue of servants, he spent little on his own entertain- 
 ment. He did not travel, seldom went to London, and had 
 not the habit of buying things which he did not want. Nor 
 had he to bear the cost of any improprieties, having sampled 
 and abandoned these at a very tender age. Thus, even 
 before his marriage, and in spite of the habits which caused 
 his house to be compared with Chelsea Hospital, he had 
 been able to live within his income. When Marian's five 
 thousand a year was added, he was very comfortable indeed 
 and began to save money for the younger children of whom 
 he confidently expected a large battalion. But he could 
 have saved nothing without Marian's contribution, and
 
 36 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 he could not have borne the expense of his parliamentary 
 candidature, nor of the wines and horses that he offered 
 his guests, if he had not had some small resources beyond 
 his property in land. This was the point taken by Uncle 
 George, who held that he managed his land on sentimental 
 lines and had no proper profit from it. Bobby did not 
 agree. He contended that he managed his land as it had 
 been managed by his grandfather, and, as he faithfully 
 believed, by his grandfather's grandfather. And his 
 grandfather, far from being sentimental, had been a very 
 stern old man. It was true that Bobby had a gross rental 
 of over six thousand a year from agricultural land, of which 
 all but a small fraction went back into the land it came 
 from. This he would have admitted. The net profits of 
 the estate exactly paid for his household expenditure, his 
 taxes, his shooting, and the strictly necessary equipment of 
 his stable. Beyond this he never handled a shilling's worth 
 of the money. He would have been rather shocked had he 
 done so. 
 
 It amounted to a theory, and there are people who like 
 theories, that the Wilton estate should contribute as much 
 as would keep Bobby in comfort and splendour adequate 
 to the fulfilment of his duties as a figurehead and landlord 
 and land agent all in one. More than this it was not 
 expected to do. It was not expected to provide him with 
 a house in town or his wife with a pearl necklace. All the 
 money that was over when Bobby was housed in suitable 
 dignity at Orchard Wilton went back directly to the estate 
 in whatever manner would best increase the amenity and 
 productivity of the land from which all drew their living 
 and for which Bobby was responsible to his own honour. 
 He did not necessarily perform the functions of a charitable 
 institution, for charity was little needed in his neighbour- 
 hood. But he did perform many of the functions of a Land 
 Bank, taking no interest for his money, and some of the
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 37 
 
 functions of a Mayor and Corporation with the rates at 
 their disposal. What more he did in the way of friendship 
 and co-operation with his neighbours of all social degrees 
 could never be estimated, but perhaps Uncle George would 
 have condemned much of it as a waste of time. 
 
 It should be said that Bobby's practice as a landlord is 
 far from being exceptional in the country districts of Eng- 
 land. As the head of a household, however, he was really 
 peculiar. He lived among an astonishing number of elderly 
 women who took his wages in return for very little labour. 
 There was his mother, to begin with, who was self-support- 
 ing but might have been expected to find a new home after 
 Bobby married. There was his aunt Elizabeth Wilton 
 who was in the same position. She was in his house at 
 the present simply because she had been there in the past. 
 So also were a miscellaneous collection of grey-headed 
 parlour-maids and housemaids, and cooks and nurses and 
 ladies' maids. Bobby's grandfather had never had men- 
 servants in the house, and it happened at his death that a 
 complete generation of elderly women was left for his heir 
 to deal with. Under Bobby they remained as irremovable 
 as the Bench of Judges. He would not have liked to miss 
 a familiar face. He might have given them pensions and 
 cottages, but instead of these he gave them assistant serv- 
 ants to do the work which they could no longer do for 
 themselves. They kept the interest and dignity of their 
 offices without the labour. On Bobby's part this was 
 infinitely kind, but it was not good business. 
 
 Outside the house, there was every sign of the same 
 situation coming about. Others have equalled Bobby's love 
 of fine horses, but few can have equalled his love of grooms. 
 It was a personal eccentricity that he liked to employ 
 grooms where others employ clerks, secretaries, book- 
 keepers, and even solicitors. As the manager of his own 
 estate and of the affairs of the neighbourhood he needed a
 
 38 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 staff of assistants, and he used his stablemen for the pur- 
 pose. By imperceptible degrees they became his ambas- 
 sadors from being merely his messengers, his accountants 
 from being his clerks, and his advisers from being his 
 servants. Out of half a dozen men and boys whose first 
 duty was to keep his horses he formed what amounted to a 
 Civil Service. It became also an unwritten rule that the 
 sons of certain families had a right to embark on this en- 
 viable career, and shrewd economists like Uncle George 
 could see that they would one day want to marry and 
 would require additional wages to support their families. 
 Such warnings addressed to Bobby met only with laughter, 
 and Uncle George had relieved his feelings by talking of 
 "Chelsea Hospital." Fortunately, however, Bobby was 
 a richer man than Uncle George. 
 
 16 
 
 One morning about five weeks after he had read and 
 destroyed the begging letter from Mrs. Hope, Bobby sat 
 again at the same hour of the day in the same attire astride 
 the same chair by the same table in the same room. He 
 had drunk his tea and thrown aside his letters, was su- 
 premely happy, was smoking a cigarette, tilting back his 
 chair towards the fire, and gazing contentedly at the ceil- 
 ing. Marian was making bitter comments on the proofs 
 of the baby's photographs which had just come by post. 
 
 "I can't see why you want to have that Organism photo- 
 graphed at all," said Bobby. "He is as ugly as sin and 
 much best out of the way. Now this is what I propose. 
 I Ve three men to see this morning, one of them at Hart- 
 bridge, and I shall finish them off by half-past twelve. 
 We '11 have an early lunch, before Chelsea Hospital assem- 
 bles, and go off together to Newton in the dog-cart and 
 buy Christmas presents. Trying to shop at Mrs. Doyle's is
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 39 
 
 simply hopeless. Then we '11 have tea at a shop and laugh 
 at the people, and in the evening there 's the boxing class 
 and I shall be knocked out by Tom Trevor in defiance of 
 your social views. How will all that do?" 
 
 Before any answer could be given there was a knock at 
 the door, and there entered a young man of soldierly ap- 
 pearance, dressed like a groom, who was Dick Trevor, 
 brother to Tom, and Bobby's servant. He said that Mr. 
 Stanborough wished to see Bobby at once. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "The library, sir." 
 
 "I '11 come," said Bobby. He lit one cigarette with the 
 burning end of another and went without further delay to 
 a place by the library fire. Mr. Stanborough was pacing 
 the room in great agitation. 
 
 "My dear Uncle Stan, what is it?" Bobby asked. The 
 title of "Uncle" was a fiction that dated from Bobby's 
 babyhood. 
 
 "You haven't had any breakfast," he added, when the 
 first question had dropped unanswered. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Stanborough, as though that mattered 
 little. 
 
 Bobby tugged the bell rope, and watched the rector with 
 great concern. "What 's wrong?" he asked. 
 
 "I have something most pitiful to tell you," said Mr. 
 Stanborough, seeming to be utterly overcome with shame. 
 
 "My dear Uncle Stan, I 'm awfully sorry," said Bobby 
 to fill the gap. 
 
 "Bessie Wake!" said Mr. Stanborough. 
 
 "What, dead?" asked Bobby in distress. 
 
 "No. Gone astray! Ruined!" 
 
 There was a sudden stirring of the dark temper which 
 had brought Bobby into many troubles. 
 
 "Who by? "he asked. 
 
 "This is the story," said Mr. Stanborough, sitting down,
 
 40 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 and spreading out his hands in a sort of fixed gesture of 
 despair, "this is the story. I was calling at the Wakes, in 
 the ordinary way, on Tuesday last. They told me that 
 Bessie had not written for three weeks. It had been her 
 habit to write every Sunday and Wednesday. Mrs. Wake 
 explained that she had then written to Mrs. Hope, the 
 woman who employed Bessie, to ask if she was well. There 
 was no reply. Consequently, when I reached home I 
 wrote to Mrs. Hope myself. I have the most astonishing 
 answer. A most discourteous answer, though I do not 
 wish that to signify. But the news! It is really frightful. 
 The woman writes that Bessie is a bad girt and has lived a 
 life of shame under her roof and has now left her service. 
 That is all. What can we do? Consider the feelings of the 
 Wakes. Think of the scandal in the village! And Bessie 
 herself!" 
 
 "It is a lie," said Bobby. 
 
 "How is it possible?" said the old man. "I have won- 
 dered, but who would tell a lie of such a character? The 
 woman is a clergyman's wife." 
 
 " Uncle Stan, look here," said Bobby. "This is what we 
 will do. We will send for Marian and you shall tell her 
 what you have told me and we will see what she says. She 
 will say what I say. You mustn't worry yourself about 
 such nonsense. The thing 's simply ridiculous. It 's 
 just some bit of blasted vindictiveness on the part of Mrs. 
 Hope, who 's capable of anything. That woman wrote 
 me a letter the other day, which " 
 
 "But I have heard of similar cases," said Mr. Stan- 
 borough most wretchedly. "And I would rather not dis- 
 cuss it with Marian, Bobby, much rather not. I ask 
 myself what are we to do. The difficulty of tracing a girl 
 in London if if 
 
 "What you will do is to sit tight and leave it to me," 
 Bobby answered. "I shall go to Mary hill to-day, at once,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 41 
 
 and don't you fear I won't see it through. Tell nobody, 
 Uncle Stan, and don't go about looking like Rachel weeping 
 for her children, or half the women in the village will guess 
 everything in two minutes. We '11 have a cipher code, if 
 you like, and I '11 telegraph to you every half-hour. Seri- 
 ously, Uncle Stan, leave it to me and don't be worried. 
 I '11 go up to town and put it all right. I feel absolutely 
 cocksure it 's not as bad as you think." 
 
 Dick Trevor entered presently with a breakfast tray, and 
 the topic was suspended. But the case of Bessie Wake 
 had been advanced. It had been handed over to the civil 
 arm. 
 
 17 
 
 Bobby's attitude towards these matters needs a word 
 of explanation. He did not really take the light-hearted 
 view that he had in kindness set before Mr. Stanborough. 
 Marian had to hold his hands many times that morning 
 and plead with him to avoid rash and foolish actions when 
 he should come to grips with Mrs. Hope. He was intensely 
 angry, nor is it hard to show the reason. He was the head 
 of a house which could be called contemptuously Chelsea 
 Hospital. He was much the same in his quality of land- 
 lord. But if his hobby was to be generous in these respects 
 it was also his hobby to maintain the rights of his position. 
 He considered that Mrs. Hope had infringed these rights 
 outrageously. Suppose Bessie to be guilty, it was monstrous 
 that he had not been informed of her punishment. Suppose 
 her to be innocent, then the slander and cruelty to her were 
 an attack on the honour of one standing in his position 
 towards herself and her family. He was touched in the 
 region of his authority, in fact, which was a tender spot. 
 The wrong done to the girl, the wrong done to her parents, 
 were obscured by the insufferable insult to himself. 
 
 Everything was abandoned; the business, the shopping,
 
 42 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 and the boxing. One of the boys drove him into Newton 
 Royal, wondering at his silence, for he talked copiously 
 with his servants as a rule about all that concerned them 
 and much that concerned himself He had a bag with 
 necessaries for one or two nights. His train left at noon and 
 he was in no better temper when he reached Paddington. 
 
 He took his bag with him to Maryhill. At the station 
 he inquired about hotels, and was sent to the Southwick 
 Arms. There he left his bag, and drove on in his cab to 
 The Arches. 
 
 He was taken to the drawing-room, a pretty fantastic- 
 shaped depository of uninteresting photographs and 
 cushions and silk bows and china ornaments and wicker 
 chairs and religious pictures and volumes of the poets, with 
 a grand piano filling a good proportion of the space. But 
 Bobby noticed none of these things. He paced up and 
 down in the midst of them, nursing the grievance of a 
 feudal lord. Then, holding his card in her hand, demure 
 and pretty and ready as usual to be slightly shocked, Mrs. 
 Hope joined him. 
 
 18 
 
 Mrs. Hope seldom really smiled, except at the poor, but 
 her tone was quite friendly as she asked Bobby to sit down. 
 They sat in wicker arm-chairs on either side of the fire. 
 
 "I am Sir Robert Wilton," said Bobby, bluntly. "I 
 think you employ a secretary, Bessie Wake, who comes 
 from my village." 
 
 "I did" said Mrs. Hope with an adequate inflection of 
 reproach. 
 
 "Well, first of all," he said, "I want to ask you where 
 she is. " 
 
 Poor Mrs. Hope fell headlong into the wrong supposi- 
 tion. Accustomed, as she was, always to connect graceful- 
 ness with levity and vitality with vice, such a question
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 43 
 
 from such a person about such a girl could only have one 
 meaning for her. 
 
 " I think I ought to ask your reason for wishing to know," 
 she replied, speaking as though it were very painful to say 
 such a thing. If anger be painful, it certainly pained 
 Bobby to hear it, though he had no notion of the real point 
 of the insult. 
 
 "You ask me what are my reasons for wishing to know 
 what has become of Bessie Wake?" he asked. 
 
 "I think I ought to know," said she. 
 
 "But I told you, she comes from my village. I thought 
 you knew all about it." 
 
 "I suppose you are her landlord." 
 
 "I am her father's landlord," said Bobby, who was 
 puzzled by this turn of the conversation. 
 
 "Well, I think I should tell you," said Mrs. Hope, "that 
 I did know that you were her landlord, because I heard 
 your name from the Duchess of Brackenbury's secretary, 
 and the girl used to talk of you herself, but I think I ought 
 to ask your reasons for wishing to know where she is." 
 
 " 'Pon my word," said Bobby, "I don't know what to 
 say. I don't think you understand. She, she 's one 
 of my own people." 
 
 "I 'm afraid I certainly don't understand at all," said 
 Mrs. Hope. "I never heard of landlords having rights of 
 this kind. Of course I am still responsible for the girl and 
 it is really my duty to " 
 
 " You responsible for her!" cried Bobby. 
 
 "Well, surely," she answered, being still perfectly civil 
 and pleasant in her manner. "She was in this house for 
 several weeks and it was we who made the discoveries 
 about her." 
 
 "'"I know she was in this house for several weeks," he 
 replied. "But you don't seem to understand that she has 
 been on my land for several hundred years. , I don't know
 
 44 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 about being responsible, but if I haven't got a right to 
 know where she is I don't know who has." 
 
 "Surely those who are responsible for her," said Mrs. 
 Hope in tones of sweet reason. 
 
 "What did she do?" Bobby asked. 
 
 "I am quite willing to tell you what she did," Mrs. Hope 
 replied, "although it is a very distressing story and of 
 course we ought to hope it will go no further. She took 
 to having meetings with the Maryhill schoolboys after 
 dark. I think, perhaps, now, we ought to be able to see 
 what a terrible thing it is for girls to be brought up in bad 
 ways. Bessie Wake was discovered having meetings with 
 the schoolboys after dark and in her letter-case we found 
 letters which made it all quite certain. And it was par- 
 ticularly wrong of her for this reason: we had employed 
 her in the work of watching the lanes and passages where 
 the boys meet some of the town girls, so she was specially 
 on her honour not to become mixed up with the boys her- 
 self. That was what made it such a very bad case. She 
 was sent there to see that the meetings did not occur and 
 instead of that she had meetings herself. She was caught 
 in the very act and we found the letters to prove it. And 
 what makes it even worse is that she used to come back to 
 me and tell me what were really lies about things she pre- 
 tended she had seen, while all the time she was really 
 having meetings with the boys herself." 
 
 "I see," said Bobby, whose interest in the subject was 
 broadening. "If you have got these letters, I should like 
 to see them." 
 
 "Certainly you shall," said Mrs. Hope. She left the 
 room and returned presently with the letters, after an 
 interval which Bobby had spent in thinking that this was 
 a case where one ought to be very cool and cunning. 
 
 The letters numbered seven. Bobby read them. He 
 saw that there was a coincidence in that they were written
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 45 
 
 by Eddie Durwold whom he had met in the house of his 
 friend Yardale. But that signified nothing at present. 
 
 "They are all from one boy," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "And there isn't much harm in them. Or rather, there 
 isn't any," he continued. 
 
 "That would be a matter of opinion, wouldn't it?" she 
 answered. 
 
 "They aren't even love letters." 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "They just arrange meetings and make jokes." 
 
 Silence again. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," he asked, "that because of 
 this you turned that girl out upon the streets?" 
 
 "Oh, no indeed," said Mrs. Hope; "if you wish to know 
 about it, I can assure you we have sent her to the best 
 possible home for her. Everything was done. All my 
 friends were kindness itself and the girl has gone to a home 
 where I am sure she ought to have every chance of learning 
 better. We took all responsibility, indeed." 
 
 Bobby went red, but controlled his voice. 
 
 " I suppose you mean that you sent her to some place for 
 prostitutes," he said. 
 
 It was Mrs. Hope, at this point, who reddened. 
 
 " Oh, no indeed," she said. " We were able to find a home 
 for girls who have fallen, as she has, but are not really past 
 hope. We were able to do it through the Preventive Rescue 
 Society. She went quite obediently of her own accord." 
 
 "When you wrote to Mr. Stanborough," he replied, 
 "you said that she had been leading a life of shame." 
 
 For the first time in the conversation Mrs. Hope showed 
 faint symptoms of disquiet. 
 
 "Of course, we don't know how far it really went," she 
 answered, "but surely it was a life of shame. Why, think 
 of the lies she told me, Sir Robert, at the very time when
 
 46 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 she was having meetings with that boy. She said that she 
 had seen a tall boy with red hair and a scar on his cheek, 
 and so on, and that he had met a woman from London, and 
 so on, and there was not one word of truth in it. It was 
 not only once but again and again. She was with Durwold 
 all the time." 
 
 "I see," said Bobby. 
 
 "And think of the work she was employed upon," said 
 Mrs. Hope, with a new access of confidence in her cause; 
 "it was her special duty to watch the boys and girls and 
 bring back information for the purity movement, and 
 instead of that she was with Durwold. And what made it 
 worse was that we always trusted her absolutely, and she 
 knew we trusted her, yet she could come home and tell me 
 all those lies. Without a blush she used to tell them. She 
 used to fabricate information." 
 
 "I see," said Bobby. "I wonder if you have ever heard 
 of an Act of Parliament called the Slander of Women Act, 
 Mrs. Hope?" 
 
 " No, never," she replied, "but I am sure this has nothing 
 to do with Acts of Parliament. We all acted for the best 
 and what we did was certainly the right thing for the girl's 
 good." 
 
 "I don't know much about it myself," Bobby replied. 
 "But my lawyers will tell me all about it and I believe it 
 would get you into trouble, Mrs. Hope, for saying that 
 Bessie led a life of shame. Now please have the goodness 
 to tell me where she is or I will loose my lawyers upon you 
 like terriers on a rat." 
 
 It was not so much the threat as the simile which offended 
 Mrs. Hope. She was able, however, to give a very excellent 
 reply. 
 
 " I don't think I could do so without hearing your reasons 
 for wishing to know," she said, "and indeed I do not really 
 know where the place is myself. It was all arranged
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 47 
 
 through my friend Miss Agg, who was kindness itself, and 
 I was very busy with the Denbury strike, as indeed I still 
 am. So even if I wished to, I could not tell you where to 
 find the girl, and I think you would really find it very little 
 use to go to Miss Agg, because I feel sure she would give 
 no information. But I can honestly promise you that the 
 girl is in the very best hands, and there need be no anxiety, 
 so far as is possible, of course " 
 
 "Does Miss Agg live in Maryhill?" asked Bobby. 
 
 "Oh yes," said she. 
 
 "Thank you," he answered; "then in that case I will 
 say good-night." 
 
 He walked out without offering to shake hands. What 
 was curious was that it was only his code as a gentleman, a 
 thing which Mrs. Hope thought almost wicked, which for- 
 bade him to say things that would have caused her the 
 greatest pain. She followed to see that he had closed the 
 front door. There were letters in the letter-box, and one 
 was in the admired handwriting of Miss Baker. 
 
 "Dear Joan," it ran, "kindly write immediately all your 
 information about Sir Robert Wilton. You said you had 
 corresponded, and here we know nothing. Mr. Deane has 
 had a stroke and it is said that the whole Denbury property 
 will go on his death to his niece who is married to this 
 Wilton. Time may intervene, but may not. This woman 
 may become the arch enemy at any minute. Write at 
 once." 
 
 19 
 
 Bobby, also, wrote a letter. It was written at the South- 
 wick Arms and addressed to his wife. 
 
 "I am in such a temper," he wrote, "that I don't know 
 what I am writing. I have seen hag Hope and called on 
 hag Agg, who wasn't in. They have sent Bessie to a place 
 for prostitutes because she had half a dozen pointless
 
 48 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 letters from a young cousin of Yardale's who is in the school 
 here. Silly little fool to write at all. I hope they beat him 
 to a jelly. But I was honestly and truly as good as gold 
 with Mrs. Hope, and said nothing except that she was like 
 a rat. Before they sent Bessie to a reformatory they tried 
 to turn her into a t'other-way-round what-do-you-call-it, 
 a spy on hedgerow lovers. I think Wake would cut his 
 throat if he knew about this. Wire me at once the name 
 of the solicitor you had when we were married. I won't go 
 to the fellow I had in my breach of promise, and Fatty at 
 Newton is too far off. I have an instinctive premonition 
 that it 's Habeas Corpus. Damn the law and the lawyers. 
 The point is that they won't tell me where the home is 
 where they have sent her. I simply must stay till I have 
 seen it through. I was angry about myself and us, but 
 now I am angry because of poor old Wake as well. The 
 woman at this inn has a virtuous countenance, so you can 
 be sure my bed is aired. If you insist you can give that 
 little Organism a flick from me, and tell him if he ever 
 writes letters to a girl, all signed and dated, I '11 flog him 
 Prussian blue. Your own BOBBY." 
 
 * 20 
 
 There was an interview with Miss Agg next morning. 
 One sample will suffice. 
 
 "If only you could understand," she said, while her 
 excellent square teeth stood out in the forefront of a plain 
 hard-working face, "the difficulty we have in finding the 
 right institution for each case that comes, and the anxieties, 
 and how hard it is to know what to do for the best, and how 
 ungrateful and inconsiderate many people are, and what a 
 quantity of things we have on our hands, and how hard it 
 is to do the right thing for every one, I really think, I do 
 indeed, that you would leave the matter in our hands. If
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 49 
 
 this girl's parents choose to interfere I suppose we shall be 
 compelled to say where she is. But tell a stranger that 
 we cannot do, for reasons any one could see; it really can't 
 be done, however great an interest you may take in the 
 case." 
 
 So Bobby went to London and saw the lawyer who had 
 found favour at the time of the marriage. He told the 
 facts of the matter as fairly as he could, and then listened 
 to an exposition of the law of Habeas Corpus. The more 
 he heard the less he liked it. From the earliest dawn of his 
 intelligence he had been averse from the lawful way of 
 doing anything which could be done unlawfully; very in- 
 consistent he was, for he expected others to be most correct 
 when his own authority was in question. Finally it was 
 arranged by a fiction, legal or otherwise, that Mr. Wake was 
 to be set up as the prime mover in the matter, with Bobby 
 as an intermediary who kindly employed legal aid on his 
 behalf. The lawyer then wrote a letter to Miss Agg to 
 demand, on the part of the girl's father, that her where- 
 about should be disclosed. The letter was sent by the 
 hand of a clerk, and the dovecots of Maryhill were fluttered 
 woefully that afternoon. 
 
 As was to be expected, Bobby took the lawyer out to 
 luncheon and treated him as nicely as if he had been a 
 groom or a boxing-master or a locum tenens at the rectory, 
 asked him to visit Coulscombe, to shoot, to spend Christmas, 
 and much else that the lawyer thought peculiar. 
 
 The arrangement was that Bobby was to return to 
 Maryhill and wait at the Southwick Arms till the clerk 
 brought Miss Agg's answer to the letter. This he did, but 
 he tired of the Southwick -Arms. He walked out into the 
 street, and strolled in at the boys' entrance of Mr. Robin- 
 son's house. The boys had just come back from football. 
 
 " Can you tell me which is Durwold's room?" he asked of 
 the first boy he saw. He was amiably answered and taken
 
 50 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 upstairs and along a passage. Entering the room indicated 
 he found his culprit kicking off his football boots beside a 
 bath in a diminutive room littered with books and rubbish 
 of every description. 
 
 "Why, it's Sir Sir Bobby Wilton," cried Durwold 
 with delight. 
 
 "Yes, it is," he answered, " and I want to know what the 
 hell you mean by having intrigues with my farmers' 
 daughters." 
 
 ' ' Your farmers' daughters ! ' ' said Durwold. " Oh ! Oh ! 
 my goodness! I am sorry. You mean Bessie Wake, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Yes, Bessie Wake." 
 
 Durwold looked extremely distressed. He stood up and 
 put his hands in his pockets and faced Bobby with an air 
 of unqualified contrition. 
 
 "I never had the least idea it had anything to do with 
 you" he said. " She never mentioned your name. I didn't 
 even know where she came from. I simply found her 
 walking about by the churchyard, and now I come to think 
 of it it was really she who found me. Besides, I give you 
 my word of honour there was absolutely " 
 
 "Oh, never mind about that," said Bobby. "But I 'd 
 be obliged if you 'd not choose my farmers' daughters to 
 make your friends of. There has been hell to pay." 
 
 "Oh, has there really?" asked Durwold with much 
 concern. "Well I am sorry. To tell you the truth, after 
 the row I became severed from my base of communications, 
 or intelligence department, or whatever you would call it 
 in such a case, and so I never heard any more." 
 
 "Well, the girl 's in a reformatory," said Bobby, "and 
 as far as I can see it will need half the bench of judges to 
 get her out alive. If you play me a trick like this again 
 I '11 break every bone in your body. And what an ass you 
 were to write those letters!"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 51 
 
 "Yes, I find that 's the view that nearly everybody 
 takes," the boy answered. "But what a pity about 
 Bessie! I really am sorry. I am sorry. Who 'd have 
 thought that such a simple thing would end in such a 
 combustiamento! You won't believe it but I really am 
 very sorry indeed." 
 
 "The point is this," said Bobby. "I don't intend the 
 whole story to get round the village at home. I don't 
 intend even the girl's father and mother to hear of it. Now 
 if the infernal lawyers have their way there will be no 
 keeping it dark. So I have made up my mind that as soon 
 as I can find out where the place is, where they 've sent 
 her, I shall go and get her out myself. And it 's beginning 
 to dawn on me that the people of the place are likely to 
 make a fuss before I can manage it. I shall send for one 
 fellow from home who can be trusted not to talk, and I 
 shall want another fellow and I think the other fellow might 
 be you." 
 
 "When will it happen?" the boy asked. 
 
 "To-morrow, perhaps," said Bobby. 
 
 "I should simply love it," Durwold answered, "but I am 
 afraid my temporary absence would cause the greatest 
 pain to the authorities of this school." 
 
 "When I was your age I shouldn't have let that worry 
 me," said Bobby, with perfect historical accuracy. 
 
 Durwold reflected that his reputation for courage would 
 henceforth be at Bobby's mercy, and, for all his conver- 
 sational affectations, it was a reputation that he valued. 
 "Since you put it so charmingly," he replied, "I suppose 
 I must say Yes." 
 
 This monstrous arrangement was cheerfully described 
 in the evening letter to Lady Wilton, who laboured hard 
 to compose a telegram which should set forth the iniquity 
 of thus employing Durwold yet should convey no meaning 
 at all to the post-offices at Coulscombe and Maryhill.
 
 52 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 21 
 
 "Miss Agg acknowledges the receipt of Mr. Baldwin's 
 communication. She is given to understand by her own 
 legal advisers that Mr. Baldwin has a technical right to 
 the information he requests. Miss Agg states that the girl 
 Elizabeth Wake is in the charge of Miss Penley at the Limes, 
 Pikes End, near Wootonhampstead. 
 
 " Miss Agg earnestly begs and prays that no attempt may 
 be made to remove the girl from the establishment, which 
 is most admirably suited to cases of her sort. Miss Agg 
 has wished to be a true friend to the girl, and is still ready 
 to engage herself to find a suitable refuge for the girl in the 
 future when she passes out of the establishment." 
 
 Miss Agg must have kept her legal advisers very close 
 at hand, for the above letter was brought to Bobby at the 
 Southwick Arms before five o'clock on the day of his inter- 
 view with the lawyer in London. The lawyer's clerk gave 
 it to him to read. He wrote down the name of the place 
 and person sheltering Bessie Wake. He turned to the 
 study of the map of England as soon as he was left alone. 
 He had never heard of Wootonhampstead. To his great 
 satisfaction, however, it proved to be not twenty miles 
 across country from Maryhill. A telegram would bring 
 Dick Trevor by noon to-morrow; a motor could be hired, 
 and the rescue party could set forth at whatever hour might 
 best suit the particular lie by which Durwold would doubt- 
 less seek to save his skin. The telegram was sent at once 
 and the car was hired without difficulty. 
 
 Bobby was so little in touch with civilisation that it 
 never occurred to him to go and spend his evening in Lon- 
 don. He stayed at Maryhill, bought novels, and fell into 
 sad weariness in his room at the inn. He asked Durwold 
 to come and dine with him, but this was not allowed.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 53 
 
 Nevertheless he had a consolation. He thought, in his 
 ignorance, that the adventure to-morrow would be enjoy- 
 able. 
 
 It proved to be quite the reverse. When they left the 
 establishment near Wootonhampstead at five o'clock the 
 next day, all of them were in a sad state. Bessie had not 
 ceased to weep since first, in the middle of a sewing class, 
 with an agony of shame, she had seen Sir Robert Wilton 
 enter the room. Dick Trevor was exhausted by the strain 
 of keeping her calm while he helped her to pack her boxes. 
 Durwold was disappointed because the whole affair had 
 not come up to his expectations, and Bobby, for the same 
 reason, was something more than disappointed. For the 
 first time in the history of the matter he had been con- 
 fronted by a woman who was clearly in the right. He had 
 explained, he had apologised, he had blushed scarlet, but 
 it had not been a pleasant business. It had been inevitable 
 that Miss Penley should take the words of the Aggs and 
 Hopes in preference to his. It was evident, also, that the 
 Aggs and Hopes had made the most of Bessie's indiscretion. 
 The rescue had been unpleasant, and Bobby did not feel 
 more kindly disposed towards the Aggs and Hopes and 
 Bakers who had brought him to this. 
 
 Durwold was sent back at once in the car, which Dick 
 drove, and Dick was to bring Bobby's bag from Maryhill 
 to the Paddington Hotel. Bobby himself, with Bessie, 
 went to London by train. It was odd that Bobby, who 
 in some ways was a business man, prompt in answering 
 letters and paying bills and repairing his cottages, had 
 never for a moment thought what he intended to do with 
 Bessie when the rescue was effected. So serenely sure was 
 he that all circumstances would dance to the convenience 
 of his authority. But now, while they waited for the train, 
 he began to be perplexed. 
 
 He was kind to her. He commented severely on her
 
 54 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 folly in not having told him of her trouble, but assured 
 her that the worst that would ever be charged against her 
 was the offence of lying to Mrs. Hope who was enough 
 to tempt lies out of an angel. No one on earth should 
 ever know what had happened. Presently, when it could 
 be accounted for, she should come back to her father and 
 mother. But it was his will and pleasure that she should 
 stop crying, and be sensible. 
 
 Then he turned to his own problems. What could he 
 do with her? An immediate return to Coulscombe would 
 excite comment and lead to a discovery of the truth, or of 
 something much worse than the truth. She must stay in 
 London. Yet to take her with him to the Paddington 
 Hotel for the night was out of the question. From the 
 very moment of their arrival at St. Pancras a difficulty 
 would arise. He must take her somewhere, and to a place 
 where it would be right to take and leave her. He could 
 think of no relatives or intimate friends who would be in 
 London at this time. Burdened with the silly memories of 
 his performances at Oxford, he could not so much as give the 
 girl a meal at a restaurant without being unfair to Marian 
 for she was not dressed or naturally moulded to pass for a 
 proper companion for himself. He knew that there were 
 homes. He knew of the Young Women's Christian Asso- 
 ciation, and the Girls' Friendly Society. But it was likely, 
 he thought, that these were controlled by replicas of Mrs. 
 Hope and Miss Agg. If he left Bessie with them, he might 
 find in the morning that the gates of Newgate had closed 
 upon her. And he knew of no lodging-house or boarding- 
 house where he could put her. He was perplexed beyond 
 measure until he remembered the one place where he was 
 sure of finding friends. He remembered the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 OSo he took her in a cab to the House of Commons. They 
 passed through Westminster Hall into the corridor, and he
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 55 
 
 left her sitting among ladies who had come to dine with 
 members. He penetrated to that hall which is peopled by 
 those whose desire is to fiad places in the gallery of the House 
 and hear that which is commonly duller than most sermons 
 for the sake of seeing those whom the press has made more 
 interesting than most preachers. He sent in a card to the 
 Marquis of Clontarf, and he waited for the usual period. 
 It was a longer wait than he cared for. He returned to see 
 how Bessie was faring, only to find her relapsed into distress. 
 
 "Oh, sir," she whispered, "I have seen Miss Baker." 
 
 "Miss Baker?" 
 
 "Miss Baker, a friend of Mrs. Hope, sir, who took me 
 on the inspecting. She walked through." 
 
 "Are these women everywhere?" thought Bobby. 
 " Then if she comes again and finds you," he said, "mind 
 this. You be the first to call the police. Don't let her call 
 them first. You call first. Say you are the daughter of one 
 of my tenants and that I am here. Don't let her be the 
 first to call the police. You call first. Don't let her be the 
 first." 
 
 He went back, much irritated, and ran straight into 
 Clontarf, "Thank goodness you're here," he cried. 
 "My dear Paddy, I 'm in such a fix. I must have advice 
 at once. Where can we go? I Ve fallen into the hands 
 of the most pernicious crew of evil-minded damned infernal 
 harpies that ever were. I used to think I knew about 
 women, but behold the half had not been told me. They 're 
 like an ant heap, like lice under a bit of wood " 
 
 "Let 's sit down here while you tell me all about it," 
 Clontarf suggested, while they walked along the corridor. 
 Clontarf now represented a great industrial constituency 
 in the midlands, and he had changed in many respects since 
 his undergraduate days when Bobby had first known him. 
 But he had the qualities that make a good friend in need. 
 
 "I have this one suggestion," he said, when he had heard
 
 56 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 all. "I can send the girl to a boarding-house which is kept 
 by one of our old housemaids, in South Kensington, and 
 I will write a letter to tell her all about it. The girl will be 
 absolutely all right there, and you can leave her there as 
 long as you like, till you want to send for her. What I can 
 promise is that she would be absolutely safe and sound 
 there. If you like, I '11 write the letter now and send the 
 girl along with my secretary in a cab. How will that do? 
 And then you '11 stop and have dinner with me." 
 
 Bobby's gratitude was beyond what can be printed. 
 His mind was relieved of an oppression, and his eloquence 
 soared upward in flights of rustic gratitude. When the 
 deed of charity was done, and they sat down to dinner, he 
 was in very good spirits. 
 
 22 
 
 "Now what is it to-night?" he asked. "I '11 tell you, 
 Paddy. The Agricultural Labourers Carbolic Spray Bill; 
 the Make 'em all Brush their Teeth Bill ; the Under Kitchen- 
 Maids Toenails Bill; the Get 'em all Soaked in Boracic 
 Bill. Which is it? What are you making the poor beggars 
 do to-night?" 
 
 " Making the landlord pay a super-tax of forty shillings 
 in the pound," said Clontarf. 
 
 "Don't rag," Bobby answered. "You 're just as bad 
 as any of them. You 're making some new law to set the 
 police on my poor boys; now aren't you? 'Pon my word, 
 you ought to be grateful to get first-hand information. 
 One of the Newton porters told me he' d seen an article in 
 the Morning Post about the freedom of life in Russia and 
 he thought of sending his second son there if I '11 pay to 
 have him taught the language. He picked the paper up 
 in the Cornish Express. Now, Paddy, honestly, aren't 
 you bringing in a Bill to stop my old woman selling squibs
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 57 
 
 on Guy Fawkes Day, or to make my hedgers have their 
 hair inspected by the District Council on Good Friday, all 
 highly moral and purely democratic, now aren't you, 
 honestly? 
 
 "Dozens," said Clontarf with enthusiasm. 
 
 "You 're as bad as any Rad," Bobby continued. 
 "You 're as progressive and democratic as any one. 
 You '11 make my carters have new wheels or make my 
 keeper turn his boys out of their jobs, or something of that 
 sort. You 've got a little Bill of your own to put the police 
 on somebody, now haven't you? You must have, or what 
 do the Rads pay you for?" 
 
 "Have some more to drink and don't be so clever," said 
 Clontarf, grinning imperturbably. 
 
 "But this is important," Bobby declared. "I can tell 
 you my fellows have jolly well had enough of it. I tell 
 you what it is. It all boils down to the policeman; demo- 
 cracy and reform and socialism and all, all down to the 
 policeman. And don't you imagine they like it. 'Pon 
 my word, a fellow was fined for saying Damn. Why the 
 devil don't you make the country ring with it? But all 
 you do is to send the constable to cure the fellow of consump- 
 tion which he hasn't got. My word, Paddy, if you knew 
 how they hate it!" 
 
 23 
 
 There stood near them as they dined a tall grave-faced 
 man with a bald head and an iron-grey moustache, a man 
 who had the air of a superior shop foreman. He waited 
 for his opportunity and asked Clontarf if he might speak 
 to him. They withdrew together. In a moment Clontarf 
 returned. 
 
 "I 'm afraid this will be a great shock to your feelings," 
 he said, "but that man is Hopkinson, who sits for South
 
 58 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Herts, and he wants you to come and attend a conference 
 on the strike at Denbury. Jimmy Russell saw you here, 
 and told Hopkinson, and Hopkinson has got Miss Baker 
 and a couple of Labour Members conferring somewhere. 
 I 'd no idea you 'd blossomed into a Captain of Industry." 
 
 "But Denbury has nothing to do with me" said Bobby. 
 "That all belongs to my wife's Uncle George!" 
 
 "Then I'm afraid it's Uncle George who has died," 
 Clontarf replied. "And it has everything to do with you 
 now, because Marian is his heir and you and she are his 
 executors." 
 
 "The devil!" said Bobby. 
 
 Clontarf, still bending over him, began to grin rather 
 unkindly, while Mr. Hopkinson waited in the distance, 
 looking appropriately solemn. 
 
 "Hopkinson is a Unionist," Clontarf said, "and Miss 
 Baker is the woman who runs the strike and collects the 
 money to keep it going. Hopkinson is the dove of peace. 
 He 's one of the progressive Tories whom you love so much. 
 What shall I tell them? Will you come and see them, or 
 would you rather not?" 
 
 "Confusion ! " said Bobby. " What ought I to do? " 
 
 "Well, you ought really to see them." 
 
 "Will you come too?" 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "Miss Baker!" Bobby exclaimed, as the name recurred 
 to him. " Miss Baker ! The devil ! She 's the woman who 
 catches the bad boys of Maryhill!" 
 
 Clontarf had left him, to take the message to Mr. Hop- 
 kinson. It was truly a crisis. How scornfully Bobby had 
 thought of Uncle George who could not keep his own paid 
 servants in order! And now he was to confer on Uncle 
 George's affairs with three members of Parliament and one 
 of these women of the times ! He was not used to confer- 
 ences. He had once been invited to confer with the editor
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 59 
 
 of a local newspaper, but he sent a groom with a whip to 
 confer on his behalf. 
 
 Clontarf returned and allowed him a few more moments 
 for his dinner. He offered him varieties of alcohol to brace 
 him for the battle. But Bobby would have none of these. 
 It was no time for trifling. He was coming rapidly to that 
 state of suspiciousness which besets country people who 
 discuss business with the clever folk in towns. He was 
 certainly not going to make any sentimental promises on 
 Marian's behalf, he said, not for all the peacemakers in the 
 world. Never was such a mixture of schoolboy nervousness 
 with the show of resolution. 
 
 "All you need do is to keep calm," said the wise Clontarf, 
 "and listen to what they say, and you won't be asked to 
 promise anything to-night. You remember to keep 
 calm." 
 
 "I won't sit and be lectured," Bobby declared. 
 
 "Of course you won't. You '11 just listen to what they 
 say and tell them you '11 think it over. Then you can go 
 home and tell Marian and decide what you will do. You 
 keep calm and cool, Bobby." 
 
 They left the table, and Clontarf led Bobby upstairs to 
 a committee room, a large gaunt place that was disagree- 
 ably reminiscent of some of the newer form rooms at school. 
 It was in a state of disorder, with pens and papers tossed 
 on the tables and the chairs standing about as their late 
 occupants had left them. In one corner a little group of 
 people, three men and a woman, were sitting round a small 
 table which a placard advertised to be the preserve of 
 newspaper reporters. Clontarf led Bobby in this direction, 
 and the next instant sufficed to annihilate all hope of a 
 union of hearts on this occasion. " Bobby, may I introduce 
 Mr. Hopkinson," said Clontarf. "Miss Baker, Sir Robert 
 Wilton," said Mr. Hopkinson, after shaking hands. 
 
 Some faces, once they are seen, can never be forgotten.
 
 60 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Miss Baker's massive head, broad and lowering brow, and 
 discontented mouth, were registered in Bobby's mind for 
 ever as those of the Voluntary Inspector whom his boys 
 mishandled three years ago. He knew her in an instant, 
 and he, arrogant and domineering as she thought him, was 
 as quickly recognised by her. In his rough and muddy 
 clothes she had taken him on that former occasion for the 
 son of a gentleman farmer, or a farmer's pupil, and it had 
 not crossed her mind that the husband of the widowed niece 
 of Mr. Deane could be he. She was not displeased. A 
 trace of colour came into her pale cheeks. Her eyes met 
 Bobby's full and straight, and to those who knew the signs 
 of Bobby's face it was quite certain that the poor people of 
 Denbury would get no concessions this night. Then 
 Messrs. Ackerly and Hunk, the Labour Members, were 
 introduced. All sat down, except Mr. Hopkinson, who 
 preferred to address Bobby with the advantage of a man 
 upon his feet. 
 
 Whatever credit Mr. Hopkinson stood to gain by settling 
 the strike, he was deeply in earnest. He had evidently 
 been warned that it was necessary to impress Bobby with 
 his own staunch Conservatism. He did this at length. 
 But he adroitly advanced to the next natural stage of the 
 argument, which was to the effect that a Conservative is 
 the working man's true friend. Then, with a pleasing 
 tumble from high altitudes into personal pique, he explained 
 that the late Mr. Deane had really been a most cantan- 
 kerous old man. You could not write him the most moder- 
 ate letter without getting the rudest reply imaginable. 
 There was no dealing with him. And there was no serious 
 doubt that he had sweated his Denbury hands disgracefully, 
 as a very few examples would suffice to show. 
 
 Mr. Hopkinson gave these few examples after reference 
 to the papers lying before him. Every paper he used, he 
 afterwards handed to Bobby, who looked at it perfunctorily
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 61 
 
 and put it down on the table in front of him : and this might 
 have continued until midnight without the issue being 
 changed. Bobby's mind was made up. 
 
 "And do you want me to go through these papers now?" 
 he said, when Mr. Hopkinson sat down. 
 
 "It is as you like, Sir Robert," said Mr. Hopkinson. 
 "The object of this conference is, I take it, to show from 
 the first that there is no animosity, and that the proceedings 
 between you and this lady are to be carried on in a spirit 
 of frank and friendly discussion. At least, for my part, 
 that is my sole and only object." 
 
 "That is very gratifying," Bobby answered. "I shall 
 be able to tell that to my wife. This something glaze 
 business uncrackable glaze what I gather is that the 
 wages have been too low and the hours too long, and some 
 other things, and my wife has come into the position of 
 employer. Well, if you ask me, I expect she '11 decide the 
 whole thing for herself." 
 
 It was pointed out to him, with due delicacy, that his 
 influence might weigh with his wife, and that the position 
 was so critical that his office of executor gave him a voice 
 in the negotiations. 
 
 "Might we ask if Lady Wilton is in London?" said Mr. 
 Hopkinson. 
 
 "She 's at home," he replied. "At Coulscombe." 
 
 "Is it likely she will be in town soon?" Mr. Hopkinson 
 asked. "To-morrow perhaps? Or the day after?" 
 
 "Very unlikely indeed," said Bobby. 
 
 ^"Then perhaps," said Mr. Hopkinson with more than 
 the prudence of Solomon, "Miss Baker would go and see 
 Lady Wilton at Coulscombe." 
 
 There were deep murmurings of approval from the two 
 Labour men, one wizened and neurotic, the other fat and 
 fleshy, who had as yet done nothing except look very dubious 
 as to the wisdom of their presence here at all. The sug-
 
 62 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 gested journey to Coulscombe did certainly seem to meet 
 the case with excellent precision. 
 
 "And perhaps I may be told, first," said Bobby, coolly, 
 but with rising colour, "what Miss Baker has got to do 
 with this at all." 
 
 " Miss Baker? " exclaimed Mr. Hopkinson, with a shocked 
 look at Bobby over the rims of his glasses. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Surely I explained that Miss Baker is a lady who has 
 associated herself with the Denbury strike and has the 
 advantage of knowing all the particulars better than any 
 of us." 
 
 Bobby had been playing with a quill pen. He put it 
 down. He sat upright in his chair. He had ceased to 
 have any fear of being cheated by the clever folk in town. 
 
 "These men at Denbury are now my wife's workpeople," 
 he observed. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mr. Hopkinson. 
 
 "Then what has Miss Baker got to do with it?" 
 
 "I explained to you that she understands their case and 
 represents them." 
 
 "I suppose it 's Miss Baker who has been good enough 
 to start this agitation." 
 
 "Yes, I have explained " 
 
 "And to attack my wife's uncle who has just died." 
 
 "Inevitably," said Mr. Hopkinson. 
 
 "And to ruin the value of the property my wife inherits." 
 
 "To depreciate it, undoubtedly, for the time being." 
 
 "And my wife is not to manage her own affairs without 
 Miss Baker's leave." 
 
 "Sir Robert, this attitude is most unwise." 
 
 "Then all I can say," said Bobby, "is that I '11 be shot 
 if I '11 have anything to do with it, and I don't thank 
 you for bringing me here. For all I care about the strikers 
 at Denbury they can starve themselves stiff. And when
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 63 
 
 they 're tired of that, they can come to me and say so 
 without help from Miss Baker. It 's simply impertinent 
 to say these things to me. I won't listen to another word." 
 He pushed back his chair, and the conference was ended. 
 Though Mr. Hopkinson besought him, he would not listen. 
 He rose, and stood for a moment rather foolishly looking 
 about to see if he had brought a hat. In his face was the 
 high colour that came so readily under provocation. Then 
 Clontarf led him away, and had the sense to laugh a great 
 deal and chaff him upon his behaviour. But Bobby was 
 too much upset even to tell him the tale of the Voluntary 
 Inspector. 
 
 24 
 
 "Astonishing!" said Mr. Hopkinson, when Bobby and 
 Clontarf had gone. "What astonishing behaviour! If 
 this were a more important strike such an attitude would 
 not be allowed." 
 
 "Don't you worry," said Miss Baker. "He will soon 
 learn that a settlement of the strike will be good for his bank 
 balance, and then there '11 be a change." 
 
 So she said, but she did not believe it. She was much too 
 good a judge of character. 
 
 "It seems incredible that his wife should behave in the 
 same way," said Mr. Hopkinson. 
 
 "Oh, no, it 's not," Miss Baker replied. 
 
 "You will go to Coulscombe, I suppose?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Whatever will you do, then?" 
 
 "I shall go to Denbury. That 's the place for me. If 
 you want my apologies for bringing you all here on this 
 wild-goose chase, you can all have them, I 'm sure. I shall 
 leave by the ten-fifteen. The vicarage address will find 
 me. Things must be left to develop themselves. Good- 
 night."
 
 64 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Mr. Hopkinson took her out to a cab, and gave the cab- 
 man, as she desired him, the address of her flat. 
 
 At this date the Denbury strike was to Miss Baker as a 
 child, a pet dog, or an infatuation. Except in some moody 
 hours of indifference it absorbed her entire interest. But 
 there had been one drawback to her pleasure. The late 
 Mr. Deane had lived at Biarritz, and had never taken the 
 smallest notice of anything she had done to him or said of 
 him. This made him a very unsatisfying antagonist. She 
 had never once had the chance of seeing him wince. She 
 had never been able to bring home to him what it meant to 
 incur the just hatred of the people, or, a far worse thing, 
 her personal hostility. He had not even afforded her the 
 satisfaction of an action for libel. 
 
 How different it was now! The new antagonist was 
 worthy of her steel, a foe whom she could personally hate. 
 Miss Baker had an appreciation of the difference between 
 man and man. In the old days when she engaged regularly 
 in her strange sport at Maryhill she had known the kind of 
 schoolboy whom it most pleased her to trap into trouble. 
 A dash of swagger, for instance, provoked her antipathy and 
 made it sweet to her to work for the humbling of him that 
 swaggered. A look of mischief, a merry eye, good looks, 
 robust health, muscular strength, roused her in the same 
 way. She was the enemy of those who had an air of com- 
 mand, or the appearance of unearned prosperity, or the 
 signs of an inherited excellence of body or mind or breeding. 
 She was a Socialist, the friend of the poor and suffering, and 
 so it might be said that she hated those who were farthest 
 removed from the objects of her own care. Or, as a person 
 of ordinary temper, it might be said that she disliked those 
 who would be most inclined to dislike her. Or in wounded 
 vanity, jealousy, and unsatisfied desires, there was a deeper 
 reason. Certain it was that the thought of crushing Bobby 
 was sweeter than the thought of crushing Mr. Deane, Mr.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 65 
 
 Deane had been obnoxious to her political principles, but 
 Bobby was obnoxious to her very heart, nor was there in 
 the world another creature whom she would have liked 
 better to bend across the stone of slaughter and sacrifice 
 to her unhappy gods. 
 
 Driving from the House of Commons to her flat in Mary- 
 lebone, Miss Baker became positively excited. She thought 
 of Bobby, and his words and looks, and scornfully wondered 
 if his wife adored him. She compared him with the long- 
 haired sickly youths in Socialist clubs whose devotion she 
 could always command as easily as she could stir anger and 
 dislike in Bobby. She thought of the fierce and hungry 
 crowds in Denbury upon whose passions she could play. 
 And she recalled the astonishing language in which their 
 new employer had spoken of their starving. Her personal 
 and political passions reinforced each other, as when she 
 wrote her novels. She thought quickly, and had her plans 
 complete before she arrived at her home. 
 
 Her flat was dreary. She was served by a cook, a waiting- 
 maid, and a secretary, and her rooms were of a good size 
 and might have been comfortable. But she had taken no 
 pains to make them either comfortable or pretty. Her 
 furniture and pictures and ornaments all looked as though 
 they had been bought one day in a violent hurry with no 
 regard to convenience or congruity. 
 
 She told her maid to pack her bag and swallowed a plate- 
 ful of sandwiches which she found on the dining-room 
 table. Her well-trained secretary, at work in the same 
 room, took not the slightest notice of her. Miss Baker 
 ate without speaking. Finally she drank a glass of wine 
 and went into the adjoining room, her library. Here she 
 sat down at her desk. Here, too, the gruff affectation passed 
 out of her manner and the discontent out of her face as she 
 engaged upon the occupation for which her best talents 
 were created, the expression of ideas on paper. Writing
 
 66 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 without a pause from first to last, spelling out the words in 
 big capital letters upon a sheet of foolscap, she expressed, 
 in the form of a leaflet addressed to the Men and Women 
 of Denbury, her ideas of Bobby Wilton. When she had 
 finished, she read what she had written, and read it yet 
 again, contracting the muscles of her forehead in the labour 
 of criticising the matter. But she did not find a word that 
 needed to be changed. She judged, and she was well able 
 to judge, that she had chosen the fewest and the fittest 
 sentences in which to make the people of Denbury share 
 her opinion of Bobby. So, seeing that her work was good, 
 she lifted the foolscap and held it at arm'slength to look at it. 
 She actually smiled at it, and well she might, for it was one 
 of the sweetest things in the world : it was Power. 
 
 After this Miss Baker wrote a civil and reasonable letter 
 to Bobby himself to suggest that he should go to Denbury 
 and see the state of the population with his own eyes. 
 
 Lastly, with the tension of her brow relaxed, she wrote to 
 Mrs. Hope. 
 
 25 
 
 "We ought all to feel very proud," said Mrs. Hope to 
 her new secretary on the following morning, "that Miss 
 Baker writes to us so fully although she is so busy with 
 such very important work. Do you know that even Mr. 
 Hope says it is important work because he thinks it is the 
 only instance where a strike has been carried on entirely 
 by charitable contributions. Now let us see what Miss 
 Baker says this morning. Yes, I thought it would be so. 
 She thinks we ought to make another really great effort to 
 collect more money. That will mean that we ought to 
 write a really large number of letters this morning. Then 
 she says this: '/ have seen Wilton. His little finger is to 
 be thicker than his uncle's loins. His uncle did chastise us 
 with whips, but he will chastise us with phrases. - " For all I
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 67 
 
 care, the strikers may starve themselves stiff." These are his 
 very words, as I thank my lucky star. You are please to collect 
 every penny you can get, but be most careful not to publish any 
 statement of what you collect. Let it be as private as may be. 
 Pass on this word to all the others. I am going myself to 
 Denbury to-night. I am more than ever sure that out of Den- 
 bury we shall get that candle to light all England. This young 
 man is Sqiiire of the Squires, bold, arrogant, proud, scornful, 
 contemptuous, "pitiless and wrathful, inexorable, keen." He 
 has retired to his den in Somerset. But he shall be asked to a 
 conference at Denbury. He will hardly refuse. If by then 
 the famous Phrase has sunk into the heads of our strikers, and 
 if by chance there should have been a shortage of the food supply, 
 we might see ' " 
 
 There was silence while Mrs. Hope read to the end of the 
 letter. 
 
 "Well," she said, "of course we ought to make a great 
 effort to write a great many letters to-day to ask for con- 
 tributions. I think it is quite likely that Miss Baker was 
 very tired when she wrote this letter last night, because 
 some of it is not coherent, is it? We ought not to wonder 
 at her being tired. Now will you give me a piece of note- 
 paper, because I must write a private letter to Miss Baker 
 first of all, and then I will dictate some of the letters asking 
 for contributions, and I hope they will all be done before 
 to-morrow afternoon, because it is a half-holiday and you 
 will be wanted in the churchyard." 
 
 26 
 
 Mr. Brownbill, the schoolmaster, was the public orator 
 of Coulscombe. He spoke from the window seat opposite 
 the great fireplace in the hall at Orchard Wilton. What 
 with the cheers and owl-hoots and cries of Hurray and View 
 Halloo and the blowing of whistles and the spirit-stirring 
 sound of the horns it was next to impossible to hear what
 
 68 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 he said; but this mattered the less because he had been 
 careful to announce that he had had no time for the pre- 
 paration of his speech. Mr. Kinglove, the deaf landlord of 
 the Wilton Arms, stood just beneath him, roaring so as 
 nearly to blow the schoolmaster flat against the shutters. 
 The Kinglove children shouted with delight round their 
 father's legs. The sound of enthusiasm held equally in 
 all parts of the hall. From the schoolmaster you could only 
 catch those words that he reiterated most often and with 
 most emphasis "Coulscombe," "Sir Robert," "Pride," 
 "The Government," "Tyranny," "a Hinnercent Gurl." 
 
 It would be easier to name those absent than those pre- 
 sent. Mr. Stanborough, for instance, was absent, uncertain 
 how the Wilton family would now view his indiscretion in 
 telling Bessie's story to Mr. Wake, and being thus the prime 
 cause of this remarkable demonstration. But Mr. Wake 
 himself was here, erect and stern in the very middle of the 
 hall, cheering the word " Robert " and groaning inexpressible 
 things at "Hinnercent." His big sons stood behind him. 
 In this group also were Mr. Champneys of Hill Farm, John 
 Burdon of Ketstable, Billows of Little Copse, Dent, the 
 Oxfordshire landlord of the Fox, and Lidderman, the post- 
 master. The Hartbridge men were here, Richards of the 
 Hartbridge George, performing on his horn at intervals, 
 and Oxley of Toll Farm, and Murt the huntsman who 
 danced from foot to foot like a child as he cheered and 
 roared. And here were Easter from the moor and Woolley 
 from the farm at Chipsford four miles off. Two of his 
 workfolk had come with him. But these were in another 
 group, with Burdon's cowman and the pot-boy from the 
 Fox and two of the keeper's men and young Trevor from 
 the forge, darkest and ruddiest and sturdiest and tallest 
 of all the boys of Coulscombe. He waved a branch of 
 young Scotch fir and at times of silence you could hear it as 
 it swished round his head.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 69 
 
 The stablemen were gathered on the left by the Jacobean 
 screen, modestly placed but not modest in their share of 
 the uproar. Some of them knew that corner of the hall 
 very well, for it was there that two of them slept always, 
 armed to the teeth, if Sir Robert and Dick Trevor were 
 away. From them came the shrill sound of the silver 
 whistles. Mr. Trevor, the coachman, only clapped his 
 hands. And Donne the woodman had a whistle too, of 
 deeper tone. Matt the hedger made noises like the hooting 
 of a great large-throated owl, and his brothers, the gardener's 
 boys, imitated the noise but not the owl. Dick Barcombe 
 cracked a whip above their heads. Almost every man and 
 woman wore a bit of blue ribbon showing somewhere; 
 plenty was left from the last election. Only those from 
 afar had changed their work-day clothes, though of the 
 boys who had scout's uniform some had dressed up and 
 brought their long poles to beat on the oak floor of the hall. 
 These were gathered near the door that opened on the 
 terrace, and the men from Yembridge were with them, 
 Drage the publican and Wallingfield and Geare the farmers, 
 with half a dozen of their men. The women out of Couls- 
 combe kept mostly by the archway on the right, and waved 
 blue flags and handkerchiefs. Mrs. Doyle, the shop- 
 woman, had a tambourine. The servants of the house, in 
 red dresses and white aprons, stood together at the door 
 of the dining-room. Sir Robert and Lady Wilton were by 
 the fireplace, with Mrs. Wilton and Miss Wilton and Mr. 
 Carpenter and Mr. Forth and Sir James Birley the judge, 
 who were staying in the house. But of those whose names 
 have not been mentioned there were too many to be told 
 in full. The four tall sons of Cox the wheelwright were 
 here, dark as gipsies, together calling cooey on all notes 
 high and low, and the grey-headed brothers from the mill, 
 Mr. Vorley of the Church Farm and Dennet from Coul 
 Bjidge, the swarthy dairyman from Low End, with his
 
 70 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 sons excelling in wild calls and cries, and the Trevors of 
 Manor Farm, and the broad and blue-eyed breed of Yeo 
 from Coulscombe who were unceasing on the View Halloo. 
 
 Bobby turned to speak to his wife, standing on the 
 hearth-rug, and saw that her lip was quivering. " Did you 
 ever see such jolly fellows?" he said, speaking close to her 
 ear. 
 
 "But how often do they do it?" said she. 
 
 "Oh, they 're taken this way sometimes," he answered. 
 "They wait for the next opportunity. As soon as I heard 
 Uncle Stan had bust the secret I expected they 'd come up 
 to-night. They 've not had a show like this since we were 
 married. You must give the women tea in the drawing- 
 room and I '11 take the farmers to the billiard room and the 
 sons of toil can stay and have drinks here." 
 
 "It 's the most delightful thing I ever saw in my life," 
 said Marian. 
 
 "Oh, you '11 get used to it in time," he told her. "Look 
 at Aunt Elizabeth; she hasn't even stopped knitting." 
 
 " Mr. Brownbill is putting everything down to the scan- 
 dalous conduct of the Government," said Marian. 
 
 "Never fear for Brownbill," laughed Bobby. 
 
 When Mr. Brownbill's mouth ceased to open and shut, 
 and remained open at its full extent, while his hand waved 
 round above his head, it was known that his speech was 
 ended. He had called for cheers. So all descriptions of 
 uproar were raised in double volume, and all heads were 
 turned from the speaker to the fireplace where Bobby and 
 his party were standing. Miss Wilton raised her eyes from 
 her knitting and glanced round the hall with placid satis- 
 faction. No one could have foretold how long the din 
 would continue, or what could occur to stop it. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Bobby, stepping forward and 
 raising his hand. "Wait a minute," he repeated, looking 
 as happy as anybody and wholly without embarrassment,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 71 
 
 while the noise died down. "Thank you all very much 
 indeed for coming and giving me such a good cheer. I 
 don't expect they '11 try kidnapping any more Coulscombe 
 girls at present." (Here he was interrupted by roars of 
 delighted laughter.) "But if they do, we '11 give them the 
 same as they 've had this time." (Loud enthusiasm now 
 made it necessary for him to raise his hand again.) " Bessie 
 Wake had done no more wrong than this table. Remember 
 that. The way they treated her was the most disgraceful 
 thing I ever heard of. But we Coulscombe people know 
 how to look after ourselves." (The applause again threat- 
 ened to become permanent.) " We 've looked after our- 
 selves this time, with no lawyers or policemen to help. 
 And we '11 do the same next time too." (He secured a 
 hearing for yet another sentence.) "Thank you all very 
 much indeed for coming." 
 
 27 
 
 An hour later he lay on his back on the hearth-rug in 
 Marian's bedroom, his head on a cushion, his heart full of 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Did you ever see such jolly fellows in your life?" he 
 said, while she sat rather sadly in her chair. "How I 'd 
 like to see them all going to the sack of London ! They can 
 ride, almost every man of them. I must get more of them 
 to that boxing. And shooting, they '11 have to join the 
 damn Territorials, there 's no help for it. It 's a shame 
 they shouldn't have the training. 'Pon my word, weren't 
 they angels to-night? Do you know, they did the same 
 when I came back after my breach of promise? Who 'd 
 be a bad master if his boys were like mine? Do you know, 
 there 's not a fellow among them who hasn't got something 
 to say for himself. They 're damn good company, Marian, 
 really. And Brownbill ! I say, I expect he 's about the 
 only fellow there is who makes long speeches and hasn't
 
 72 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 ever yet had one word heard by anybody. Don't they 
 make a row? I simply must work up that boxing class. 
 And, oh, your lawyer fellow told me of a man who 'd come 
 and give chemistry classes. I Ve written. And we '11 
 have to think what to do with them at Christmas, this time. 
 Carpenter shall preach on Christmas day. Or better still, 
 he shall have a young men's service in the servants' hall. 
 He f d just love it. Marian, what are you going to wear 
 to-night to look pretty for Carpenter and Uncle James and 
 Keddy? I 'd like something long and blue and stupendous. 
 Never mind about mourning." 
 
 "Now Bobby," she said when his effervescence was sub- 
 siding, "I 'm going to vex you. I 'm not satisfied about 
 Denbury." 
 
 " Denbury be hanged ! " 
 
 "Yes, but that 's no good. I am not satisfied about it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because they're starving. Your men are shouting 
 and happy, and mine are starving." 
 
 "My fellows are yours and yours are mine," he said 
 sharply. 
 
 "Beloved, that doesn't alter the fact that they are 
 starving," she answered. "I have had a letter from the 
 Roman priest there. It 's a reasonable letter, not like the 
 others. He says something ought to be done." 
 
 " 'Pon my word, if they 're starving they can go back to 
 work," said Bobby. " Do they think we 're going to sweat 
 them like Uncle George? I 'd like to take Coulscombe 
 riding into Denbury and send them to work with crops and 
 lashes. Ton my soul, I would." 
 
 "I am not satisfied about them," said Marian quietly. 
 
 "What do you want to do, then?" 
 
 "I want to settle the strike." 
 
 "Then look here. I '11 do something for you," he cried. 
 "I '11 do it on purpose to please you. I '11 do something
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 73 
 
 better than anything else that could possibly be done. I '11 
 send an envoy to Denbury. I '11 settle it all in four and 
 twenty hours. I '11 send Michael." 
 
 "The gamekeeper?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "They '11 think we 're mad." 
 
 "Let them." 
 
 "But what can Michael know about it?" 
 
 Bobby sat upright. " Marian," he said, " Michael knows 
 a great deal more about business than you think. He 
 knows much more than I do myself. He 's got more sense 
 in his little finger than the whole Labour party put together. 
 Michael knows what 's right. If we 've got Denbury on 
 our conscience, we '11 trust Michael." 
 
 "Oh, couldn't you go yourself?" she pleaded. 
 
 "Never," said he. "They can come to us, if they 
 want us, but we won't go to them, not this side of their 
 submission." 
 
 "You are a hard man, Bobby," she sighed. 
 
 "You want me to go grovelling to that Baker in petti- 
 coats," said he. 
 
 Then she laughed at him, a course which experience had 
 proved to be the wisest. 
 
 "Silly little Bobby, Miss Baker has frightened you more 
 than any one you have met for years. I wouldn't be so 
 cruel as to send you to her. No, I shall make Uncle James 
 Birley talk to you and you will succumb to your reverence 
 for his grey hairs. I want " 
 
 "What?" he asked, while she gazed thoughtfully at the 
 dull red fire. 
 
 " I want you to learn that Coulscombe is not the world, 
 alas!" 
 
 He sprang up and bent and kissed her hand. "I 'm 
 going to dress," he said. "Don't you worry about Couls- 
 combe not being the world."
 
 74 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 28 
 
 It was true that Bobby was easily led by a wise old man 
 with charming manners. But he kept his uncle at the 
 billiard table after dinner, and there was no time for con- 
 versation about Denbury. However, a stronger influence 
 was preparing. 
 
 Master Charles Edward Marcus Durwold saw fit to say 
 good-bye to his school friends at seven o'clock that evening, 
 and to change into holiday clothes and climb down from the 
 window of his room in Mr. Robinson's house by the drain- 
 pipe provided for the purpose. He walked to the station, 
 and entered the train for London. He had excellent reasons 
 for his departure from Maryhill. For the third time in 
 one term he had incurred the highest magisterial displeasure, 
 while for the first time in his experience he saw a chance of 
 committing two crimes in exchange for one punishment. 
 In London he walked to Paddington station and bought a 
 ticket for Newton Royal. It was little after eight o'clock 
 and his train did not leave until ten minutes to ten. He 
 had three shillings left in his pocket. First he bought three 
 boxes of wax matches at a penny each, and then the rest 
 of his money he squandered recklessly upon the best dinner 
 of Friday fish that the dining-room would give for two and 
 ninepence. With the comfort of the food there entered 
 him also the light-heartedness of those who possess not a 
 farthing. He walked up and down the main departure 
 platform wondering what steps the Maryhill authorities 
 would take towards the recovery of his valuable person. 
 
 He slept without waking until his train reached Newton 
 Royal. It was then five minutes past two in the morning, 
 and torrents of rain were descending on the roof of the 
 station. With characteristic imprudence he had brought 
 no overcoat. He stood on the platform and rubbed the 
 drowsiness out of his eyes and opened a conversation with
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 75 
 
 a porter by saying that he had no money and proposed to 
 walk to Coulscombe. The distance was fourteen miles, 
 the porter said, and he told the names of the villages to be 
 passed on the way, and the road by which he should leave 
 the town. Durwold walked out into the rain. "Christa- 
 mento!" he said to himself, as the first great drops ran 
 down his neck, "I am not the stuff heroes are made of. 
 Five bob and I 'd go to a hotel for the night." 
 
 He pulled himself together, and trudged forward rather 
 miserably. It delighted him still, of course, to think of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Robinson at Maryhill still wringing their 
 hands over his empty bed, but, just at present, his chuckles 
 were tempered by bodily discomfort. His way lay through 
 a sort of suburb, at first, and afterwards came a long hill. 
 At the top of this he obeyed an instinct to stop and look 
 round. There was nothing to be seen, but he knew that he 
 had left the town behind him. There was a rich earthy 
 scent in the air. Again and again he breathed long 
 draughts of it. He spread out his palms for the rain to beat 
 on them. "After all," he thought, "this is not going to 
 be so bad." When he went forward again his pace was 
 quicker and his stride more vigorous. The next impulse 
 was to whistle. School songs and music-hall songs and 
 songs from comic opera he whistled loud against the black 
 night around him, his appetite for music increasing with 
 his joy. Then the rain abated. He passed through the 
 first village, and struck a bundle of matches at the junction 
 of two roads to illumine the names on the sign-post. A 
 little later he heard a motor-car bearing up behind him. He 
 stepped aside and stumbled against a heap of broken stones. 
 "Are they after me?" he thought. "Then I'll fight a 
 rearguard action of the genus fiint-in-the-eye." He filled 
 his hands and pockets with broken flint, and crouched in a 
 ditch half full of water. The car rushed past unheeding. 
 He tramped along after it, happier than ever.
 
 76 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Here was a case of the influence of circumstance on char- 
 acter. Durwold flirting with pretty typists had been an 
 innocent but unpromising figure. Durwold plodding west- 
 wards over broad slopes of country in the night on an 
 errand of life and death was becoming capable of much. 
 He was going, it might be, to save a man from murder. 
 He was bearing a message which might have been sent 
 equally well by letter or telegram, but he had chosen a 
 course more pleasing and exciting for himself, and he was 
 going to do astonishing things if any one tried to stop 
 him. He laughed at the thought that it must have been a 
 dozen years since he had struck a blow in anger. His rule 
 of courage had been only to bear things smiling, which may 
 be characteristic of his generation. But it seemed that the 
 clock had run back now to an age of violence and murder, 
 an age that called for something more than passive courage. 
 It was very exhilarating. He hoped that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Robinson were finding it exhilarating too. And then he 
 returned to his laughter. He whistled again, and the tunes 
 that came were the gayest of all he knew. 
 
 It was after six o'clock when he reached Coulscombe, not 
 knowing that he was tired. The stars were shining. He 
 had never seen the place before ; he had never, indeed, seen 
 Bobby except once in Yardale's house and again lately at 
 Maryhill. In the village street he did not know where he 
 should turn. He walked on, provisionally, and at the end 
 of the village the great stone gateway of Orchard Wilton 
 came into view suddenly. He opened the iron gate, and 
 no one challenged him. He followed the drive through the 
 park, up a long and winding hill, and strained his eyes for 
 the house. At last something came between him and the 
 stars in front. The tall front of the most exquisite of 
 Jacobean houses loomed dimly in outline, and the stars 
 were reflected in the panes of some of its innumerable 
 windows. The barking of two dogs broke the silence, and
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 77 
 
 drew nearer to Durwold as they scampered up from some- 
 where. "Dogs," he said, "I've thrown away my flints 
 and I don't know what is done on these occasions. Smell 
 my innocent hands and be sensible." 
 
 "Who is that?" called a voice from an upper window, 
 which he recognised as the voice of Bobby. 
 
 "Eddie Durwold," he answered. 
 
 "My goodness!" the answer came, "talk nicely to those 
 dogs, or they '11 bite. I '11 come and let you in." 
 
 In two minutes the door opened, and Bobby stood holding 
 a candle under the stone that bore the motto of his house 
 and race, Territus Terreo. 
 
 29 
 
 "You madman! You crazy fellow! Why, you're a 
 fellow after my own heart, I believe," he said, as he locked 
 and bolted the door. "You 've run away from school and 
 walked from Newton Royal? Why, they '11 catch me with 
 Habeas Corpus for having you here at all. What luck 
 that I know all about it ! You 're soaking. And there 's 
 not a fire in the house. You must have a half bottle of 
 fizz before anything else. Come to the dining-room. My 
 word, won't they lick you when they get you back!" 
 
 "I say, I don't want to interrupt the flow of your delight- 
 ful hospitality," said Durwold when they reached the 
 dining-room. "But I 'm a teetotaler and I 've got some- 
 thing rather important to say." 
 
 "You may not obey other people," said Bobby, as he 
 wrestled with the cork of a bottle, "but if you come here 
 you '11 obey me. There 's a cake in that cupboard. You 
 get it out and eat it and then drink this and then I '11 take 
 you to bed and then you '11 be as right as anything. What 's 
 your important thing?" 
 
 "They 're going to lynch you at Denbury," said Durwold.
 
 78 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 The cork left the bottle like a bullet, and hit a family 
 portrait that the candle lighted dimly. 
 
 "I say, you 're awfully good," Durwold observed, "but 
 I really don't want this stuff." 
 
 "You 've got to have it," said Bobby. "So some one 's 
 going to lynch me?" 
 
 Durwold gulped down a whole glass of the champagne, 
 which he disliked, but from which he derived a certain 
 benefit instantly. 
 
 "I might have written, but I got an idea that I 'd come 
 myself," he said. "First of all, I suppose you know all 
 about Denbury and the strike and Miss Baker?" 
 
 "I do," said Bobby, with much emphasis. 
 
 "Well, secondly, I suppose you know about my being 
 really rather good at making friends with the spies that the 
 ladies of Maryhill send to catch me in my evil practices. 
 First came Miss Wake, and after she left we had Miss 
 Latona, and somehow or other I made the same sort of 
 friendship with Miss Latona as I made with Miss Wake. 
 But the never-to-be-tired Miss Free interrupted us at about 
 five o'clock yesterday afternoon, and there is another 
 combustiamento. That doesn't matter to you, though. 
 What I thought would interest you was that Miss Latona 
 gave me a copy of a letter about you and Denbury. I 'm 
 afraid it has got awfully wet in the rain. It 's a letter 
 which Mrs. Hope had from Miss Baker yesterday morning. 
 It gave Mrs. Hope a headache and she and Mr. Hope and 
 Miss Agg left at once in a violent hurry with their luggage 
 labelled Denbury. The letter was left about, and Miss 
 Latona copied it, and fixed up a meeting with me, and 
 handed over the copy. Her idea is that the notion of 
 stringing you up to a lamp-post in Denbury does not appeal 
 to the Hopes but it obviously appeals a lot to Miss Baker. 
 The rest of our conversation was spoilt by Miss Free, and to 
 tell you the truth I don't think it would be a bad thing if
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 79 
 
 you could manage to do something for Miss Latona, for 
 she '11 be out of a job now, and it was rather good of her to 
 run risks for the sake of saving your life. Doesn't it seem 
 funny to talk of saving life? It seemed natural out in the 
 rain. It seems funny in here." 
 
 "I 'm blessed if I can make it out," said Bobby, poring 
 over the flimsy typewritten sheet which Durwold had given 
 him. "The rain has made the ink run all over the place. 
 Chastise with what? Phrases? I say, Miss Baker must 
 drink. These are his very words, as I thank, what does 
 she thank?" 
 
 " Her lucky star," said Durwold, leaning over his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, her lucky star; and what were the words and who 
 said them? Oh, it 's about me! Starve themselves stiff. 
 I remember now. I said that to Miss Baker. Out of little 
 Denbury shall come a what? A candle? My word, she 's 
 poetical. A candle to light all England. Bold, arrogant, 
 proud, scornful, contemptuous, pitiless and wrathful, inexor- 
 able, keen that comes in Latin, Eddie. I say, I 'm be- 
 ginning to be interested in this. He shall be asked to a 
 conference at Denbury. I 've been that already. He will 
 hardly refuse. Oh, won't he? // by then the famous 
 something I can't make head or tail of this. What is it? " 
 
 "The famous phrase" said Durwold. "That's what 
 you said about their starving stiff. Let me read it now. 
 I read it before it got wet. // by then the famous phrase has 
 sunk into the heads of our strikers, and if by chance there 
 should have been a shortage of the food supply, with perchance 
 also a cork knocked out of some great beer barrel, we might see 
 a foretaste of things to come. If the Denbury men prefer to 
 see Wilton swinging from a lamp-post rather than their own 
 children starving stiff, they will have their opportunity. 
 Never was such provocation. Poor fools, they will not do it, 
 but such are my midnight dreams. Yours. F. She has jolly 
 dreams at midnight, hasn't she, Sir Bobby? When she 's
 
 8o THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 had me swished and you hanged, what do you think she '11 
 do next?" 
 
 " 'Pon my word I don't know how to thank you for bring- 
 ing this news," said Bobby. "I never guessed, I never 
 dreamed of such a thing. It alters everything. I 'd made 
 up my mind to stay here and send my keeper to settle the 
 strike. This alters everything. Who 'd have guessed it ! 
 'Pon my word!" 
 
 "What will you do, then?" asked Durwold, standing by 
 the chair on which Bobby sat still poring over the letter on 
 the table. 
 
 "I shall go to Denbury to-day," said Bobby. 
 
 "Hurray!" cried Durwold. He threw his cap up to the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "Extraordinary," said Bobby. "If I don't give this 
 woman something to remember, I '11 " 
 
 But he himself remembered that Durwold was wet and 
 tired. "Come along," he said. "Come along to bed at 
 once." 
 
 30 
 
 Durwold slept in a bed in Bobby's dressing-room. It 
 was ten o'clock when he was awakened by Bobby, who 
 paced up and down the room while he talked to him. 
 
 "I want you to be careful not to say anything to my 
 wife," he said, "nor to any one else here. My wife has 
 been wanting me to go to Denbury, but if she knew this 
 she would change and want me not to go. So be careful. 
 Now of course you '11 come and stay here in the Christmas 
 holidays, at least I hope you will, but about going back to 
 Maryhill I 'm going to give you your choice. You can 
 either go back and tell them the whole story yourself, or, 
 if you 'd rather, I '11 send a fellow with you. I '11 send a 
 fellow called Forth, whose father has one of the best-known 
 preparatory schools in the country, and they '11 know all 
 about him at Maryhill. He would explain why you came,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 81 
 
 and why you had to keep it all a secret, and I shouldn't 
 wonder if he got you off scot free. He 's staying here now, 
 and he 'd do this for me if I asked him." 
 
 " I 'm not going back to Maryhill just yet," said Durwold. 
 
 Bobby gazed at him with surprise. 
 
 " I made up my mind about that last night," the boy said. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 "That is what you might call a question," he replied. 
 "But I feel inclined to have my money's worth before I 
 go back to the impassioned embraces of Maryhill. I 'm 
 going to ask you if you '11 take me to Denbury." 
 
 " Well," said Bobby with admiration, "in sheer devilment 
 I believe you beat me hollow." 
 
 He left the room, and returned after ten minutes holding 
 a bundle of telegraph forms. 
 
 "Now listen to me," he said. "I 've no quarrel with 
 Maryhill school and I Ve no quarrel with your mother. 
 So I shall telegraph to them both to say where you are, 
 and then they can do what they like. In the meantime, 
 if you want to come to Denbury, you can, provided you 
 obey my orders. I 'm not going to Denbury to be strung 
 up to any lamp-post. If there 's any lynching done it 's 
 not going to be me that 's lynched. If any one 's candle 
 is going to light all England it will be my candle and not 
 Miss Baker's. I will show those vermin something they Ve 
 not seen before. I '11 give them lessons in socialism even 
 if it needs every fellow from every parish round Coulscombe. 
 I '11 show Miss Baker that I can manage my affairs without 
 her help. She appeals to force and we will see whose force 
 is strongest. She 's not dealing with a fur-coated sort of 
 capitalist this time. But, in case they should think me 
 afraid, I am not taking more than half a dozen fellows 
 there to-day. If you care to take the chance of having to 
 fight for your life, then I shall be very glad to have you 
 and it '11 do you all the good in the world."
 
 82 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "I am in luck," said Durwold. 
 
 "Then wait here," Bobby told him. "Dick will come 
 and get you some dry clothes, and I '11 send up your break- 
 fast while you 're dressing. We start at eleven. Now 
 what 's your mother's address?" 
 
 31 
 
 The members of Junior Conservative Associations are 
 told that if a nation is to be saved it must be saved by its 
 youth. Youth has certainly a function. Wherever wis- 
 dom depends on a judgment of established alternatives, as 
 in the science of the law, the experience of age must possess 
 a great advantage. But it is otherwise when we require 
 a complete departure from precedent. Lately we have 
 honoured the name of Lord Lister, whose invention saved 
 the lives of so many of those whose lives were fit and proper 
 to be saved. But Lord Lister's discovery was that of a 
 man young in his profession, and was hailed with the ridi- 
 cule of the experienced. The inventiveness of youth is not 
 always wise, but wise inventions often come from youth. 
 
 The young man whom we are to follow in his dealings 
 with the Denbury strike was certainly not contemplating 
 anything that appeared to him like a new departure. On 
 the contrary, he was maintaining an ancient tradition. He 
 was going to rebuke sharply some people who had chal- 
 lenged the elementary principle that he was master of his 
 own servants and was not to be coerced or even lynched. 
 There was nothing new about this. But reflection showed 
 him that to Miss Baker and her legions of strikers in some 
 dirty little town his appearance with a body of men who 
 would break many heads before a hair of his was touched 
 might seem a novelty indeed. And, thinking thus, he was 
 more and more pleased. ? He would teach a lesson to Miss 
 Baker and her townsmen; he would show them that his
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 83 
 
 down-trodden peasantry were worth more than themselves, 
 and that the idea of aristocracy is not dead where any one 
 has chosen to keep it alive. This thought, for Bobby, was 
 something of an intellectual achievement. He embraced 
 it with rising enthusiasm. He became worked up into a 
 sort of missionary zeal, and meant to show that Coulscombe 
 was right and that Coulscombe could fight. And Couls- 
 combe stood for aristocracy. The more Bobby thought 
 of this, the more pugnacious he felt and the more he hoped 
 for a row. 
 
 There was a good deal of sensationalism among his plans. 
 His party rode into Newton Royal, with their bundles 
 across their saddles. A horse-box was attached to the 
 train, ordered by telegraph. It was taken off at Bristol, 
 and joined to the Gloucestershire train. Yet they did not 
 travel by rail as far as Denbury. They left the train at 
 Beltington, three miles from Denbury, and rode forward as 
 though it had been Coulscombe they were entering. The 
 party deserves some description. 
 
 Michael Jones, the gamekeeper, a man over fifty, was 
 by birth a Londoner. A step-mother had driven him 
 from home when he was very young, and he had gone to 
 his own mother's people in Sussex, in the parish where 
 Mr. Birley was vicar. Mr. Birley was the father of Bobby's 
 mother. This connection brought Michael to Coulscombe 
 as game-keeper when he was about thirty. He was soon 
 acclimatised, and he married one of the Trevors. By now 
 his golden whiskers were touched with grey, he was bald, 
 and he carried a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that travelled 
 between his pocket and his nose a hundred times a day. He 
 was small, neatly built, dapper, and erect. Except for the 
 golden whiskers he was clean shaven. His complexion 
 was ruddy, his eyes were small and blue and keen, his 
 expression shrewd and kindly, and his manner much tinged 
 with authority.
 
 84 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Next in seniority was Mr. Kinglove, the deaf landlord 
 of the Wilton Arms. Any one with direct animosity could 
 have described Kinglove as bloated. He was large, cor- 
 pulent, and florid. He had good business acumen, great 
 physical strength, and perfect fidelity. But he would 
 never have been mistaken, like Michael, for a country 
 clergyman. He would never, like Michael, have read 
 The Times. He was a good judge of horseflesh and had a 
 fine tongue for the stronger forms of language. 
 
 In Dick Trevor we make a return to virtue. Dick, who 
 was three years older than Bobby, had been at one time a 
 soldier. For two years he had been an apprentice in the 
 Swindon locomotive works. For better or worse he could 
 handle a motor car, a yacht, a horse, the' contents of a 
 wardrobe, a book of accounts, and even cook a dinner, all 
 with the happy inspirations that fortune gives to the brave. 
 His life had alternated between the service of the Wilton 
 family and these other occupations, from each of which he 
 returned a better all-round fellow. He was sober minded, 
 conscientious, and observant. In boyhood he had been 
 Bobby's most constant companion, and had saved the 
 younger and more reckless boy from all sorts of scrapes and 
 dangers. He had been gardener's boy, had served under 
 his father the coachman, had been on a farm, and was now 
 something between a valet and a private secretary. He 
 had not married. Of all his occupations it was that of a 
 soldier which had most stamped his appearance. 
 
 Tom, his youngest brother, was two and twenty. He 
 worked under the blacksmith at Coulscombe. His appear- 
 ance raised suspicion of gipsy blood among the Trevor 
 ancestors. A halo had descended on him from the moment 
 when Bobby began the boxing classes in the village, and 
 his pugilistic skill together with his physical strength was 
 the cause of his coming to Denbury. At bottom he had 
 plenty of the virtuous reliability of the Trevor breed. But,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 85 
 
 for the time being, his face had taken on a look of the greed 
 of blood, sometimes comically ferocious, a fact that was 
 noticed by Durwold. Durwold found amusement in 
 grinning at him until he was compelled to grin back. 
 
 The two other members of the party were boys out of 
 the stables, one eighteen and one seventeen years old. 
 Willie, the elder, was a London boy, the son of a woman 
 whom Lady Wilton had befriended when she worked in her 
 father's parish. The younger was Robin, son of Dennet 
 the farmer at Coul Bridge. Well fed and high spirited, 
 they both understood very clearly their duty on this 
 expedition. 
 
 Denbury lies in a hollow, under hills, and the party from 
 Coulscombe advanced at a slow walking pace as soon as 
 the town came into view beneath them. The stable boys 
 rode in the rear. Michael and Kinglove were in front of 
 them. Durwold and Tom came next. Bobby and Dick 
 rode ahead. 
 
 "How many of these strikers are there, sir?" Dick asked. 
 
 "Four or five hundred, I believe," said Bobby. 
 
 Dick reflected according to his habit. 
 
 "The Bristol paper says they have no more food," he 
 remarked. "Put their women and children with them and 
 it 's as if all Coulscombe was starving, and all Hartbridge, 
 and all Chipsford, and all Yembridge, and all Ketstable. 
 It 's a bad look-out for her Ladyship to have so many men 
 starving, sir." 
 
 "It 's a bad look-out for them," said Bobby grimly. 
 
 "They say," said Dick, "they say in the paper that it 's 
 the first strike there has ever been to be done by voluntary 
 contribution. There 's no trade-union and no funds but 
 voluntary contributions. This Miss Baker, she has col- 
 lected all the money to keep the strikers and their families 
 for three months. What I say is this. Are those men her 
 Ladyship's men or Miss Baker's?"
 
 86 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "I suppose that remains to be seen," said Bobby, who 
 did not wish to talk at this moment. Dick's argument, 
 however, continued with calm persistence. 
 
 "If they are her Ladyship's men, sir, Miss Baker ought 
 not to have to keep them. If they are Miss Baker's men, 
 her Ladyship ought not to be asked to do anything, nor 
 you, sir. If I was one of these strikers I wouldn't thank 
 Miss Baker for making a quarrel between me and her 
 Ladyship." 
 
 Bobby answered shortly, "Miss Baker is going to learn 
 a lesson." 
 
 The town that lay below them had a population of about 
 five thousand souls, and has a commonplace history. In 
 the seventeenth century it was a centre of the woollen 
 industry, a home of family businesses, and a place of wealth 
 and comfort. In the nineteenth century its prosperity 
 perished with that of numberless other small places at the 
 time when wealth swept northwards. Denbury was left 
 with a fine church, several large inns, a town hall, and seven 
 or eight streets of stone houses converging on the square 
 in the midst. Many of the houses were demolished. 
 Fanleigh Court at Beltington was built entirely of stone 
 carted over from Denbury. The place decayed for a 
 generation and more, until a man named Underbell, a 
 farmer's son, found clay in the hillside. From this 
 came Underbell & Company, uncrackable-glaze workers of 
 Denbury. The factory was built on the north side of the 
 town. At first the industry depended on a patent process, 
 but the family secrets survived the patent, and a market, 
 not wide but very steady, remained as a freehold for the 
 Underbells. New streets of poor and squalid houses grew 
 up in place of what had been demolished. The railway 
 came winding among the hills and made a terminus on the 
 east side of the town. In 1895 the whole interest of the 
 Underbells was acquired by Mr. George Deane, though
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 87 
 
 the old name was preserved, and then a paid manager came 
 to take over the control which had hitherto lain in the hands 
 of the family. Sixteen years had passed since then. Mr. 
 Deane had never attempted to extend or improve the busi- 
 ness, but he had extracted every farthing that it could be 
 made to yield. He who called Bobby's house Chelsea 
 Hospital had acquired most of the street property as well 
 as the industry of the town, and in the matter of rent his 
 rapacity had been fierce. 
 
 The party from Coulscombe rode in from the south, by 
 the road that becomes South Street in the town. It was 
 after three o'clock. A gentle drizzle was falling. Two 
 features of the town alone stood out at all notably, the 
 beautiful spire of the church and the hideous outlines of 
 the factory beyond. The rest seemed to lack character of 
 any sort. 
 
 "It is a bad place, sir," said Dick. 
 
 "Abominable," said Bobby. 
 
 On either side of them were the first houses of the street. 
 There was a long row of squalid looking grey brick houses 
 on the right, and the same on the left. The road was bad 
 and the paths were not paved. Against the wall of the 
 first house on the right there was a man leaning, holding 
 a bundle of handbills in his hand. As they approached, 
 he came out into the road and held one of his bills up to 
 Bobby who rode on the right of Dick. Bobby drew rein, 
 took the handbill, and read it. 
 
 He read : " Men and Women of Denbury, George Frederick 
 Deane is dead. He has left a last will and testament. We do 
 not know to which of his family he has left his Umbrella or his 
 Old Boots, but we know that he has left his Workpeople at 
 Denbury to two members of the Aristocracy. One of these is 
 Marian Grace Wilton, his niece, and the other is her hiisband, 
 Sir Robert Francis Wilton, Baronet, of Orchard Wilton, 
 Coulscombe, Somerset. This young man having been expelled
 
 88 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 from Eton College and Oxford University is now living in 
 luxury and debauchery at his family mansion. Your repre- 
 sentatives have seen and spoken with him in the matter of the 
 Denbury strike. His reply was short and simple. He refused 
 all concessions and said, ' For all I care the Denbury strikers 
 may starve themselves stiff.'' ' 
 
 Bobby folded the bill and put it in his pocket. He 
 looked round and saw that the man was giving copies to 
 the others of his party. 
 
 "Come here," he said. 
 
 With a slow, lurching, gait, the man came and stood by 
 him. 
 
 "Do those bills come from Miss Baker?" Bobby asked. 
 
 "Yes," said the man. 
 
 "Are you one of the men on strike?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "One of Underbell's men?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Bobby looked at him. The moment was supremely 
 fateful. He did not mind being libelled by Miss Baker. 
 He did not give the libel another thought. He was much 
 too proud to care a straw that it should be read by his 
 companions. Another consideration had entered his mind, 
 and, striking him with the force of the unexpected, it ab- 
 sorbed all his faculties. For good or for ill this was an 
 experiment on the part of the power that rules us. Bobby 
 looked at the striker and saw, beneath ragged clothes, dirt, 
 and squalor, under an air of the most wretched poverty, 
 under the horror that long privation and misery write in 
 the human face, under hopelessness and feebleness and 
 weakness of spirit, something, nevertheless, that told him 
 it was the sort of man he liked. His judgments were 
 always quick, and his prejudices strong. A trace of the 
 desperado remained in the face of the starving man. He 
 was the wreck of a daredevil fellow who had pleased the
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 89 
 
 ladies and cut a dash. It was not much, but it was enough 
 to turn the scale. This was Bobby's sort of man; it was 
 not Miss Baker's sort. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" he asked, speaking in a low tone 
 that betrayed emotion. The man looked at him, but did 
 not answer. 
 
 "If you will come with me," said Bobby, "in quarter of 
 an hour you shall have a meal." 
 
 "Who are you?" asked the man. 
 
 "I am Sir Robert Wilton." 
 
 No one would have credited this striker with the anima- 
 tion he showed. He leaped back to the path ; a spasm of 
 emotion passed across his face; his pallor deepened; every 
 sign showed that the horror of contamination had almost 
 overcome him. He had been talking to a devil unawares. 
 A crimson flush spread over Bobby's face, and he rode 
 slowly forward. 
 
 " Starving men don't fight, sir," said Dick, overtaking him. 
 
 Bobby could not answer. Before six of his own people 
 he had been shunned as an unclean thing. For the first 
 time in his life his bread had been refused with scorn. 
 
 "I think, sir," said Dick presently, "that man would 
 have taken the meal only he didn't want to get something 
 the others were not going to get." 
 
 "I suppose that was it," said Bobby. 
 
 They rode on, slowly, and as they drew towards the 
 middle of the town they saw more of the signs of the strike. 
 Men and women stood at the cottage doors, and there were 
 rows of most miserable children leaning against the walls. 
 It was all different from what had been expected at Couls- 
 combe. Instead of rage and battle there was listlessness 
 and gloom, hopeless faces and poverty of spirit more terrible 
 to see than ragged clothing. The thin sad drizzle continued. 
 Presently Dick turned his head and looked down the street 
 behind them.
 
 90 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Sir," he said coolly, "that man is following us, and 
 collecting a crowd. Shall we ride on, sir?" 
 
 "No, we '11 go as we are," said Bobby. "I have told 
 the Roman priest to meet us at the principal hotel. Keep 
 your eyes open to see which that will be." 
 
 There was no doubt on this point. The White Hart, a 
 three storeyed grey stone building, dating from the time of 
 Queen Anne, was conspicuous on the west side of the 
 square. They bore across to this, while the small crowd 
 followed with curiosity but with no suggestion of violence. 
 Bobby sprang from his saddle. 
 
 "Take the horses in," he said. "Willie and Robin had 
 better stay and look after them. Take Tom and Kinglove 
 into the bar, and wait there." 
 
 32 
 
 "What are we to do?" said Bobby turning upon Michael 
 Jones in the hall of the White Hart. 
 
 The keeper fixed his glasses upon his nose, and put his 
 right hand into his breast pocket. 
 
 "It is an actionable libel, Mr. Bobby," he answered, 
 bringing out the handbill. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "An actionable libel." 
 
 "That? Oh, put it away. Who cares about it? Come 
 over here." 
 
 He led the way across the hall, heedless of the gaze of 
 those standing by the bar. By the glass door at the other 
 end he faced round with the abruptness of a man in dire 
 perplexity. 
 
 "In any court of law, sir, for this libel, you have a right 
 to heavy damages " began Michael cheerfully. 
 ^ "What good is that to me?" said Bobby. "Rights? 
 Didn't I come here on purpose to enforce my rights? I
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 91 
 
 thought God knows what I didn't think. They are 
 starving, Michael. I never saw anything like it. I never 
 saw anything like the face of that fellow with the leaflets." 
 
 "A bad young man, sir," said Michael. 
 
 "Who cares for his badness? You 're not helping me," 
 said Bobby bitterly. 
 
 Michael tried to look concerned. 
 
 "Firmness and justice are the truest kindness, Mr. 
 Bobby," he observed, and tugged dubiously at one of his 
 golden whiskers. 
 
 "But the faces of the people we passed!" 
 
 Bobby's perplexity was painful. He stood staring at the 
 empty air, beating his leg with his whip, moved by thoughts 
 that could not enter Mr. Jones's optimistic mind. 
 
 "If I am to enquire into their grievances, sir, I will do 
 it with the best of my care and ability," he said, and this, 
 after all, was the object of his coming. 
 
 "What would my grandfather have said?" Bobby asked 
 blankly. "What would people think at home? What 
 should I say to the people who come down from London 
 and talk about things? These men are her Ladyship's men 
 as much as my men are mine. Don't you see? She 's 
 responsible." 
 
 Michael was able to look sympathetically worried, but 
 he was too shrewd to risk himself out of the sphere of busi- 
 ness into that of Marian's responsibilities. Then Bobby's 
 beating of his leg ended with a decisive slash, and his face 
 settled into resolve. 
 
 "Wait for me," he said. "There's a Roman priest 
 somewhere here to see me. I '11 settle something soon." 
 
 33 
 
 Father Gauden was a man after one of the patterns that 
 Bobby liked most of all. He was about fifty years old,
 
 92 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 quiet-looking, handsome, and dignified, and he listened 
 more than he talked. The greater part of his life had been 
 passed at Rome. On the failure of his health he had been 
 sent as chaplain to the small convent on Laxley Hilt, above 
 the town of Denbury. He was without affectation, without 
 peculiarity, without bodily deformities or mental particu- 
 larities. He was an ordinary person and a gentleman. 
 
 But the Rev. Mr. Trevanion, the vicar of Denbury, had 
 all the qualities that Father Gauden lacked. He was on 
 the road to a bishopric, already, though he was not thirty- 
 five. He was as hard as nails, thin, tall, dark, keen, with 
 an enthusiasm in his eyes. He was thoroughly up-to-date, 
 and had thrown his heart and soul into the most progressive 
 of the movements within the Church, the social movement. 
 
 "Please understand," he said, as the men of religion sat 
 together in a private room at the White Hart, "and I want 
 to make this perfectly clear, my objections have nothing 
 whatever to do with the question of church and church. 
 I am the strongest of churchmen, but I have always felt 
 this, that I should be making the most childish mistake if 
 I did not welcome co-operation from all who care to help. 
 Please let it go no further it is hardly the betrayal of a 
 confidence but I would rather it went no further I 
 happen to know that Miss Baker herself is inclined to 
 atheism, yet I have never let that have the slightest effect 
 on the relations between us. I only mention that to show 
 you that it is not any ecclesiastical narrowness which 
 actuates me." 
 
 "Indeed, I should never have supposed it," said the 
 priest. 
 
 "Good," said the young vicar. "You must forgive my 
 going into these points they are really important and I 
 want to make my whole position perfectly clear. I was 
 afraid you might think a mere sectarian intolerance was 
 actuating "
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 93 
 
 "But I thought no such thing," said the priest, smiling. 
 
 The vicar smiled also, not to be outdone in pleasantness. 
 "Then in that case I come to another point," he said. 
 "The strike committee would not only be pleased if you 
 would join their number, but they would welcome you with 
 the greatest possible eagerness. Your position in the 
 matter would be regularised. Your ignorance, as you call 
 it, in industrial questions, would be amply compensated 
 by the experience of the other members. In fact, you 
 would not be a source of weakness to the committee; you 
 would be a source of strength!" 
 
 It was an inspiring, flattering, magnanimous, concession. 
 The priest bowed gravely in acknowledgment. "It is 
 utterly impossible, however," said he. 
 
 "In that case, Father Gauden," said the vicar, "I can 
 only repeat to you and you must forgive the directness of 
 what I say directness is always best your intervention be- 
 tween the strike committee and the owners is sheer madness. 
 If it is not betraying a confidence I may tell you privately 
 please let it go no further at present your action will ut- 
 terly frustrate the committee's plans, and you will be sim- 
 ply defeating your own benevolent objects. I know, of 
 course, that your objects are benevolent; I don't doubt it." 
 
 " My object," the priest rejoined, "is to keep the appoint- 
 ment made by Sir Robert Wilton in the telegram I have 
 shown you, which is solely due to my writing to Lady Wilton 
 the letter I showed you on Wednesday last.' I could have 
 done no otherwise than come here to-day." 
 
 "Pardon me," said the vicar in keen debating style, 
 "you could have informed the strike committee that you 
 were coming, instead of merely sending word to me at the 
 last available moment. The least semblance of going 
 behind the backs of the committee at this stage can only 
 lead to confusion and disaster. Social solidarity absolutely 
 demands "
 
 94 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Father Gauden, here's Sir Robert Wilton," said the 
 waiting maid of the White Hart, throwing open the door. 
 
 Both men looked up to see the author of the famous say- 
 ing about the starving strikers. Both were taken aback. 
 Neither had expected to see so young a man, nor a man in 
 such homely dress, nor a man with such a strange and 
 arresting urgency showing in his face. 
 
 "I must introduce myself, Sir Robert," said the priest. 
 " I received your telegram. This is Mr. Trevanion, the vicar 
 of Denbury whom, I took the liberty of asking to meet us." 
 ' Bobby shook hands with both men, liked the one and 
 despised the other, flung his cap and gloves and whip upon 
 the table, and sat down astride a chair near that which the 
 priest had occupied. The priest resumed. his seat, per- 
 ceiving t^is to be expected of him. 
 
 "It is extremely good of you to meet me," said Bobby. 
 He spoke in a low voice, and quickly. "I have just come 
 through the town. These men are starving. They are 
 starving literally. They are hungry." 
 
 "That is the case," said the priest. 
 
 "This strike must be stopped at once; it must be stopped 
 this evening," said Bobby. "Now I have brought a man 
 of business, my game-keeper, here with me. I want him 
 to meet the strikers immediately; no matter who or which; 
 any who know the facts. I am going to ask your help. I 
 must. I can thank you afterwards but I must ask your 
 help first. See my man of business, Father Gauden, if you 
 yourself know the facts, and if you don't, for God's sake 
 bring some people who do." 
 
 "But here is the chairman of the strike committee," said 
 the priest, indicating Mr. Trevanion with his hand. 
 
 "Miss Baker's committee?" 
 
 "I believe she is a member." % 
 
 "Can't you bring three or four men in from the street 
 there, who know their grievances for themselves?"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 95 
 
 "Yes, indeed. I could probably do it in five minutes." 
 "Could you also provide food, at my expense, for the 
 whole town to-night? Enough to last them the week-end? 
 Is there enough in the shops in the town, or could it be 
 brought from somewhere else? Bread? Meat? Tea? 
 Vegetables? Sugar? Jam?" 
 
 " I do not doubt that that also could be done, Sir Robert." 
 "If you will help me in these ways, I shall be grateful 
 to you as long as I live," said Bobby. "There is no time 
 to lose. The men on strike in this town are my wife's 
 workpeople. It 's not proper that they should look as 
 they look to-day." 
 
 34 : 
 
 A faint smile, a mere momentary tremor at the corners 
 of his mouth and about the wrinkles round his eyes, ex- 
 pressed the feelings of Father Gauden. Two pink spots 
 appeared on the face of Mr. Trevanion, one on each cheek- 
 bone. Bobby also flushed a little, knowing that he had 
 said something priggish. His excuse was that he had been 
 shocked beyond measure by the sight of those who were 
 to Marian as the Trevors were to him. The priest alone 
 saw that the situation was comic. 
 
 As for Mr. Trevanion, though he had lived to be the 
 Primate of All England, he could never have forgotten the 
 sight of the young man, the intruder, the rejected of schools 
 and universities, the speaker of brutal sayings, the re- 
 probate, the aristocrat, bestriding a shaky chair, mud-stained 
 over boots and leggings and breeches, with a shabby and 
 torn tweed coat buttoned tight up to his neck, who, in half 
 a dozen sentences, without the least sense of destructiveness 
 demolished the labour of months and the ambitions of 
 years, improved on the extremest demands of democracy 
 by a consideration of his wife's good name, and superseded
 
 96 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 some of the most advanced of English thinkers by his game- 
 keeper. There were committees, there were advisory 
 groups, there were presidents, vice-presidents, chairmen 
 and secretaries, associations of helpers in London, Birming- 
 ham, Manchester, Bristol, Redhaven, and Cheltenham. 
 Worse still, there was the new born Union itself, with 
 ballot boxes and officers, with a meeting room and an office, 
 a minute book, a bank balance, wards, divisions, rules, 
 regulations, and patrons from the Labour benches of the 
 House of Commons. Worst of all there were Mr. Trevanion 
 the chaplain of the Union, and Miss Baker the living soul 
 and buttress and creator, under God, of the whole system 
 and fabric and organisation from top to bottom. What 
 was to happen to this and these if the strikers had their 
 bellies filled at Bobby Wilton's expense and went back to 
 work on Monday with their wrongs all righted by the game- 
 keeper? 
 
 "It will not do," thought Mr. Trevanion, and so, being 
 not a clever or cunning plebeian but only an industrious 
 and ambitious one, he prepared to crush the revolutionary 
 young squire by a most direct and brutal use of the tongue, 
 the plebeian weapon. 
 
 "If I may be allowed to join this conversation," he said, 
 "you appear to be under the impression that you have only 
 to say Abracadabra to settle the Social Question. You 
 appear to forget that you are not dealing with agricultural 
 labourers but with an organised body of artisans who have 
 established a right to corporate recognition. If you think 
 you have a right to go behind the back of the strike com- 
 mittee, and the men's organisation, and the voluntary 
 supporters of the strike, and Miss Baker, and settle the 
 matter out of hand without reference to anybody whatever, 
 you will very soon find yourself undeceived. You have 
 not the smallest right even to give food except through the 
 constituted channels of representation. The suggestion
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 97 
 
 is simply monstrous. We have worked for months and 
 months and months. We " 
 
 "Are you the vicar of Denbury?" Bobby asked. 
 
 "I am," said Mr. Trevanion pugnaciously. 
 
 "Then you can address your further communications 
 to my solicitor," said Bobby, "or, to put it more plainly, 
 you can go to the devil. Father Gauden, shall we go and 
 get to work?" 
 
 The priest made one delightful gesture that indicated 
 acquiescence yet disclaimed responsibility, and then pre- 
 pared to accompany Bobby out of the room. Bobby held 
 open the door, let him pass out, and followed him. The 
 People's Friend was left alone on his hearth-rug rostrum, 
 in the horror of the unexampled scandal. 
 
 It would be impossible to give any idea of the confusion 
 that took hold of the White Hart after this. Though it 
 was untrue to say that Bobby had been expelled from Eton 
 or sent down from Oxford, yet he had agitated those places 
 in an unusual degree. He agitated the White Hart, and 
 all Denbury, not less thoroughly. It does not need a very 
 clever man to make a very great stir. It does not need an 
 experienced man to give other people a great many new 
 experiences. Bobby had quite forgotten that he was the 
 champion of aristocracy against the socialists. But if it 
 be aristocratic to order people about he acted well up to 
 his principle. 
 
 Some time elapsed while every one was sent to fetch 
 every one else; Father Gauden went to find a few men of 
 intelligence who could explain the striker's grievances; the 
 inn-keeper's servants went to collect all the dealers in pro- 
 visions; Dick Trevor went to fetch the police, Tom to send 
 a reassuring telegram to Lady Wilton, Eddie Durwold to 
 find a printer who would turn out handbills in less than no 
 time. Bobby himself consolidated his annexation of the 
 inn, had fires lighted in the sitting-rooms, and selected
 
 98 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 bedrooms for the members of his party. As for Mr. Tre- 
 vanion, he was hastening back to his vicarage, where Miss 
 Baker lodged, to tell his griefs and to help in preparing a 
 counterstroke. 
 
 The stir at the White Hart brought results, however. 
 A time came when Michael Jones was actually closeted 
 in Number Two sitting-room with four of the strikers, while 
 Father Gauden and Bobby, in Number One, discussed 
 victuals with two grocers, two butchers, a baker, a coal 
 merchant, a green-grocer and a police sergeant who knew 
 more about all men's business than they knew themselves. 
 
 Bobby invaded Number Two, and asked if they had all 
 they wanted. "What do you want?" he said. "Paper? 
 Ink? Pens? All here? They are bringing you your tea. 
 Now please understand you may be here till midnight and 
 everything you want Mr. Jones will get for you if you ask 
 him." Such was Bobby's second meeting with the strikers. 
 He returned to Number One and stood over the table while 
 they discussed their difficulties. "Invite the strikers to 
 my counter," said the grocer, "and every man in all the 
 town will come." "You must arrange a system of identi- 
 fication," the policeman bellowed. "Identification be 
 damned," said Bobby, "you are to supply everybody; they 
 can settle for themselves who has a right." The baker 
 then professed his utter inability to meet such demands to- 
 night. "Then what town is nearest?" Bobby asked. 
 Father Gauden thought a supply of bread from Stow-on- 
 the-Hill could be had within an hour, and he went to 
 telephone for this. Bobby took his chair and drove the 
 discussion at a breakneck pace. They brought a poultry 
 farmer who could have helped largely had he not to con- 
 sider his standing customers first. He was assured that 
 every fowl he lent should be restored on Monday in the 
 person of a fowl from Coulscombe. " God knows," thought 
 Bobby, "they can collect fowls enough if they work all
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 99 
 
 Sunday." Coals and firewood were ordered by telephone 
 from Stow-on-the-Hill, whither Dick Trevor rode to see 
 that these and other orders had attention. And so it 
 continued. At a point, Mr. Jones came into Number One 
 to say that his conference could go no further without the 
 help of Mr. Adams, the manager of the factory. Bobby 
 had heard of no such person. But the others knew him 
 well, and a boy on a bicycle was sent to fetch him. 
 
 A reflective eye would have seen something dreadful in 
 the manifest difficulty of finding in Denbury sufficient food 
 to keep Denbury alive. Butchers and bakers must keep 
 in stock not what a town requires but what a town can pay 
 for, which two quantities had not been the same in Denbury 
 for some weeks past. The strike pay, which the enthusi- 
 astic voluntary supporters had once kept at a fancy figure, 
 had lately sunk to five shillings, to four shillings, and to 
 three shillings a week for every family. The butchers and 
 bakers were at a loss. But the hot head of Bobby and the 
 cool head of the priest were effective in combination. The 
 villagers of the neighbourhood were called upon for supplies. 
 By seven o'clock it had become certain that the town would 
 be fed before midnight. 
 
 - The critic of these proceedings must remember that there 
 is hardly anything which cannot be achieved once in a way. 
 Time is the great reducer of all things to normality. It is 
 time that kilts high ambitions and levels the grandiose 
 plans of social reformers and Napoleons and others who 
 propound magnificent impossibilities. In the long run 
 almost everything is beyond human power, but in the 
 spasm of a crisis we find miracles thick around us. > It was 
 without premeditation that Bobby, not a very rich man, 
 threw several hundred pounds to the tradesmen of Denbury 
 in one evening. It was on the same unique occasion that 
 the tradesmen and others found themselves bullied and 
 cajoled and cursed into doing what they were sure could
 
 ioo THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 not be done. All who were involved were somewhat shaken 
 in their feelings, some by cupidity, some by excitement, 
 some by surprise, and some because Bobby would not hear 
 the word "impossible." There was one, however, among 
 the people of Denbury, who viewed these proceedings in the 
 driest light. 
 
 Shortly before half-past six, when the night was as dark 
 as pitch and the groups of people in the square were begin- 
 ning to talk wildly of a rumour that the owners of Under- 
 bell's had surrendered every point, a small man with a trim 
 grey beard and moustache, wearing a black overcoat and 
 hat, walked fearlessly through the crowd in the square and 
 entered the White Hart. He went to the bar in the hall 
 and asked for whisky and water. As he sipped it, standing 
 by the bar, he watched the coming and going of Bobby's 
 messengers, and watched them not without some signs of 
 contempt. 
 
 One of the bystanders, a cab-proprietor, approached the 
 newcomer and spoke to him with what he evidently knew 
 to be undue familiarity. "Evening, Mr. Adams," he said. 
 "Time 's money to-night." 
 
 "That seems so," was the reply, spoken slowly, with a 
 Scottish accent. 
 
 From the landing at the head of the stairs the hotel 
 "Boots" shouted that Father Gauden wanted Mr. Perkins 
 and Mr. Prout, who were to come at once, and there were 
 general cries and calls for Mr. Perkins and Mr. Prout, in 
 the hall, at the bar, at the inner bar, in the commercial 
 room, and outside in the yard. Perkins, a green-grocer, 
 was found upon the pavement in the square by Tom Trevor, 
 who brought him into the hall. 
 
 "Young man," said the cab proprietor, "here is Mr. 
 Adams." 
 
 "Is Mr. Adams the manager?" asked Tom. 
 
 "He is," said the cab proprietor.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 101 
 
 "But do not let me interrupt," said Mr. Adams. "I am 
 here if I am wanted; that is all." 
 
 "Then," said Tom, after the usual pause for reflection, 
 "will you please come upstairs, sir, to Sir Robert Wilton. 
 He is waiting for you." 
 
 There was only one room in the hotel in which Bobby 
 could now give Mr. Adams the private interview which 
 courtesy demanded for so important a person as the man- 
 ager of Underbell's. This was the bedroom which he had 
 chosen for himself and Durwold. One washing-stand, two 
 beds, two horsehair arm-chairs, and two framed pictures 
 from Pears' Annual, were the only notable features of this 
 room. But a cheerful fire blazed in the grate. 
 
 "To tell you the truth," said Bobby, beginning the con- 
 versation, "until half an hour ago, I never knew of your 
 existence. I ought to have known perfectly well that there 'd 
 be a manager here, but it 's all. new to me, and I simply 
 never thought about it. If I had, I 'd not have been so 
 rude as to do all this without consulting you." 
 
 "Don't mention it," said Mr. Adams. "I am not re- 
 senting it, sir. But it is unfortunate." 
 
 "Very," said Bobby, "because I have gone and put 
 things in the hands of Mr. Jones, my head-keeper, and I 
 ought to have left everything to you. Well, I 'm sorry, 
 and that 's all I can say. I shan't make such a mistake 
 again, Mr. Adams." 
 
 "Unfortunate," continued Mr. Adams, as though he had 
 not been interrupted, "because I could have given you 
 some very important information, which I had already 
 given to Mr. Deane, Sir Robert, and should have given to 
 you had I had word of Mr. Deane's testimentary inten- 
 tions or had I been consulted by you or the solicitors. I 
 am thinking that some will think highly of your charity 
 towards the town, Sir Robert, and some will think you have 
 a new-fangled way of settling strikes, but I fear you will
 
 102 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 be wasting a large sum of money, for there has not been 
 any prospect, not for months, that the factory would ever 
 be at work again. A small business like this could never 
 outlive such a strike. I think we have lived for many 
 years on nothing but the name of Underbell, and now the 
 market is supplied with German ware at a price we could 
 not hope to dream of. And so it has been, since we broke 
 the contract to supply the Coronation mugs in June." 
 
 "You mean that the business is ruined?" said Bobby. 
 
 "I mean it indeed." 
 
 "Then what the devil is to happen to these strikers? 
 How are they going to live?" 
 
 "That is a question we might inquire of Miss Baker. 
 But they will live no more by the work at Underbell's, nor 
 will I, nor will you." 
 
 The only thing for Bobby to do, at the moment, was to 
 laugh. "Then when Mr. Deane left the factory to my 
 wife," he said, "he was playing a sort of practical joke." 
 
 "Very possibly," said Mr. Adams, who thought Mr. 
 Deane had well chosen the victims of his fun. 
 
 Bobby looked him in the eyes, wondering if he had any- 
 thing to suggest, and realised that the ruin of the factory 
 must deprive this middle-aged man of his post and salary 
 as manager. Then came a knock at the door, and Tom 
 Trevor entered and said that the police had come to make 
 enquiries about Durwold. 
 
 35 
 
 The police, acting for Durwold's mother, were satisfied 
 with Bobby's pledged word that the truant should return 
 to school on the morrow. 
 
 "I have pledged myself to so much," he thought, "that 
 a little more or less won't matter." 
 
 Mr. Adams went, for form's sake, to assist at Michael's
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 103 
 
 1% 
 
 conference. The commissariat committee was still at work 
 under Father Gauden in Number One. Bobby did not 
 join them. He found peace and solitude in a billiard room 
 on the ground floor, where he walked about in a mood of 
 rather blank reflection. He found note-paper, and wrote to 
 his wife, giving her a bald account of that which had 
 occurred. He wrote no opinions of his own, for there were 
 none to write. He was not prepared to say how a man 
 should behave when the population of a strange town is 
 thrown upon his charity without warning in the past or 
 limit in the future. 
 
 When he had fastened his letter and thrown it down with 
 one comprehensive unprintable exclamation of his feelings 
 towards Denbury, his glance lit on the billiard balls upon 
 the table. He picked up a cue and went to the end of the 
 table and sent the balls plunging to the opposite cushion, 
 one after another, as fast as he could keep them going. 
 "Why should I have these conundrums to settle?" he 
 thought . "Why aren't I left in peace ? ' ' The billiard balls 
 raced up and down the table faster and more wildly. The 
 knots of anger and temper swelled upon his brow. " I have 
 either got to be a hypocrite or be a prig," he said. Then 
 the red ball shot violently off the table, crashed among the 
 furniture, and rolled to a dishonoured refuge near the 
 coal box. He left it where it lay, flung himself astride a 
 chair, and laughed the hollow laugh of acquiescence in fact. 
 
 As he knew, he had been caught fairly this time. It was 
 true that he loved a quiet life at Coulscombe. But it was 
 true also that his quiet had seldom endured long. "Rows, 
 always rows," he thought, admitting the justice of fate. 
 Rows at home, rows at school, rows at Oxford ! And now, 
 in the company of seven men chosen for little except their 
 courage he had come to Denbury in the hope of such a 
 fight, against such odds, as he had never thought that 
 he would see again. Here was a fair trap laid for an aristo-
 
 104 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 * 
 
 cratic spirit. He had come in the exuberance of his pug- 
 nacity. He found no place for pugnacity, but a call for the 
 uttermost farthing on his honour as a feudal lord. He was 
 caught truly in the folds of his own nature, and the dreamy 
 meditation in his eyes bore witness against him; for even 
 now, though he knew he had been a fool, the adventurous 
 look was returning. He sat gazing into the dark night 
 outside, and dreamed of a new escapade more uncommon 
 than any that had been before. 
 
 36 
 
 He dreamed of confounding all his enemies, all those 
 against whom he was prejudiced, Miss Baker, the Socialists, 
 the Radicals, the scraggy intellectuals, the swaggering 
 millionaires, the progressive Conservatives who believe in 
 systems of reform, and the pious people who hold it un- 
 christian to profess oneself superior to the lower classes. 
 He thought he might confound them all in a new way, 
 not by making his Coulscombe boys beat Denbury in fight, 
 as he had intended, but by causing aristocracy to behave in 
 Denbury as it would behave in Coulscombe. He dreamed 
 of having his triumph here in Denbury by an application 
 of the simple rule his grandfather used to teach him, that 
 he had no right to his dinner unless all people on his land 
 had dinners of their own in peace and plenty. If he were 
 to behave in that spirit towards the Denbury workpeople, 
 until they could earn their own living again, he would still 
 be doing what he set out to do in the morning with his 
 horses and his men. He would still show that Coulscombe 
 was right. Also, what suited his temper, he would see his 
 enemies annoyed. He would rub their noses yet further 
 and deeper in Coulscombe principles, for he would show 
 them the truth that he had been taught by precept and 
 example, by rod and by lash, and by experience, that 
 aristocracy is based not on wealth or culture or manner or
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 105 
 
 intellect, but on the recognition that noblesse oblige. 
 Thus he extended the boastful ideas he had formed in the 
 morning. Bobby was not very clever, but the extension 
 was, after all, a simple one. 
 
 Notions of this sort do not retain their first brightness. 
 Some one came to say that Father Gauden wanted him. 
 He had to go upstairs, therefore, and help to coerce a grocer 
 who had returned in fear of the crowd. For another who 
 would not trust his word he had to sign promises to pay for 
 goods. In a light so sordid his dreams grew pale. Once 
 more the police were afraid the hungry men and women 
 would tear one another to pieces in the shops, and other 
 tradesmen had panics about their payment. All that 
 Bobby had found in Denbury yet, except the manager, 
 one dissipated striker, and the Roman priest, he loathed. 
 He saw that Marian was right, that Coulscombe was not 
 the world. At eight o'clock, when Michael came to report 
 on his negotiations, to advise a sweeping rise of wages and 
 lowering of rents, he found these subjects involved a mass 
 of detail that his head was too weary to take in. Nor were 
 they important, after the manager's disclosures. Seven 
 o'clock came, and the police reported that the feeding of 
 the town was making good progress. That news encouraged 
 Bobby at least to order dinner for himself. The priest and 
 Michael dined with him, and Durwold came in from his 
 walk about the town, but all the conversation was between 
 the priest and Michael, and it was about the figures of the 
 trade. There was nothing left of Bobby's dream. He 
 listened to Michael's talk. The conditions of the trade 
 were a hollow subject to Bobby who knew the trade to 
 exist no more. But the thousand hungry beings, they 
 existed, and he said to himself I have been caught fairly! 
 
 37 
 ^ After dinner Bobby took Durwold to the billiard room
 
 106 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 and told him of the drastic action of his mother, that she 
 had telegraphed to the police at Coulscombe, that the 
 Coulscombe policeman had referred her to Denbury, that 
 the Denbury police had made enquiries, and that he had 
 promised to send him back to Maryhill to-morrow. "I 'm 
 sorry, Eddie," he added sadly. 
 
 "My dear Bobby, I Ve got to thank you for the most 
 amusing day I Ve had for ages," the boy answered. 
 
 "Will you go back to-morrow, then?" 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 "You're a good fellow," said Bobby. "My word! I 
 meant to give you such a good day's fighting, and it has all 
 been a frost. You '11 have to forgive me, Eddie. What rot 
 I talked this morning! There 's Tom and Dick and Willie 
 and Robin, too. I 've disappointed them all. What a life ! 
 Only bills to pay and figures to learn up, and money, 
 money, money, and be a fool for your pains." 
 
 There was nothing for him to do, and he proposed that 
 he and Eddie should play billiards. But Eddie looked him 
 straight in the eyes, laughed, and confessed that he would 
 rather walk about the town. Bobby felt hurt, but he 
 was the last man to seek to prevent boys from being boys. 
 He gave some good advice in blunt language and let Eddie 
 go his own way. 
 
 Eddie, too, was hurt. He would have liked to tell Bobby 
 a secret that was filling -his mind and lighting excitement 
 in his eyes. But he dared not, lest all should be spoiled. 
 
 There is need of an explanation. Shortly before six 
 o'clock that afternoon the adventurous schoolboy, not to 
 lose his opportunities, had gone swaggering out into the 
 square to find what his luck might send him. He was 
 immediately accosted by a small man with a dark mous- 
 tache who wore very tidy town clothes and addressed him 
 with practised politeness. He had been hanging about the 
 hall of the White Hart earlier in the afternoon.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 107 
 
 "Excuse me, sir," he said, "I represent the Daily Voice; 
 I was wondering if you could spare me just five minutes' 
 conversation." 
 , "Why, of course I will," said Eddie. 
 
 "I 'm afraid we pressmen must seem very tiresome," 
 said the man, in a tone that advertised his soul to be more 
 lofty than his profession. "I wouldn't think of worrying 
 Sir Robert, naturally, but I was told that you were a friend 
 of his. I thought, perhaps, in the Conservative interest, 
 if you would answer half a dozen questions " 
 
 "Answer questions? I should love to," said Eddie with 
 frank delight. 
 
 "To tell the truth," the reporter added, "I have not put 
 up at the White Hart but at the Sun in Church Street, not 
 half a minute's walk from here. If you dislike this drizzle 
 as much as I do, would you walk round in that direction? 
 The White Hart is so shockingly crowded, isn't it?" 
 
 "I have not a brass farthing in my pockets, and I am a 
 prominent teetotaller," said the boy. "But I will come to 
 the Sun if you wish it. How very jolly of the Daily Voice 
 to take an interest in us!" 
 
 "A curiosity," said the reporter, as they walked along. 
 "It is a curiosity, this strike; not important, of course; on 
 too small a scale; but Miss Baker is a remarkable woman 
 and the public is so childish about these things. The touch 
 of picturesqueness, you see eminent novelist leading a 
 strike. And Sir Robert Wilton, who was victimised by 
 that female adventuress in the breach of promise. I was 
 going to ask you, Mr. I never heard your name?" 
 
 " Durwold, " said the boy. 
 
 " I was going to ask you, Mr. Durwold, what constituency 
 was it that Sir Robert contested in the elections of 1910?" 
 , "I believe it was somewhere in Cornwall," said Eddie. 
 
 "And has he, since then, lived a rural life in a mansion 
 in the West?"
 
 io8 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "I should say that described it to a tee," said Eddie. 
 
 "It is so very satisfactory to have information verified 
 by unimpeachable authority, ' ' the reporter observed . "And 
 this disgraceful leaflet of Miss Baker's, Mr. Durwold; I 
 suppose you have seen it; not a word of truth in it, I sup- 
 pose. Could you tell me, now, what actual words Sir 
 Robert used on this question of starvation?" 
 
 "Not if you were to give me a thousand pounds," he 
 answered cheerfully. 
 
 " I see, but these men he has brought here, Mr. Durwold, 
 the gamekeeper, the publican, the blacksmith, the grooms, 
 they are, I presume, old tenants of the estate?" 
 
 "I expect they are," Eddie agreed, "but that 's another 
 point on which I 'm not exactly infallible. I don't know 
 anything about it." 
 
 "Ah! Here is my humble abode," said the reporter, 
 pointing to the signboard of the Sun. "Would it be too 
 much to ask you, Mr. Durwold, to step inside?" 
 
 Eddie had no objection, and so, through the bar of an 
 inn of no great reputation or cleanliness or sweetness, they 
 came to a back parlour, the door of which stood open. 
 "What are these like stars appearing?" the boy said, half 
 to himself. A fleet of spittoons seemed to cover the whole 
 floor of the parlour, which was hardly more than three 
 yards square. Among the spittoons stood the legs of a 
 deal table. Benches with sloping backs were fixed against 
 all the walls, as in a ship's cabin, and there was a man sitting 
 here, a thing which Eddie had not expected. 
 
 "All right, Mr. Durwold, all right," said the reporter 
 from behind. " It is my friend Mr. Hammick. This is Mr. 
 Durwold, Mr. Hammick, a friend of Sir Robert Wilton's." 
 
 Mr. Hammick, who was drinking, and had long been 
 drinking, whisky and hot water, held out his hand without 
 rising or speaking. He had been writing in a note-book on 
 the table in front of him, and at this he continued to stare
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 109 
 
 while he held out his hand for Eddie to take and shake. 
 He was stout, small, clean shaven, and a cockney. He 
 looked as if he might be an ostler or the driver of a hansom 
 cab, but not even the Headmaster of Mary hill had such an 
 air of greatness. 
 
 "Sit down, sit down," he said loftily, while he resumed 
 his writing. Eddie, who was quite charmed to find himself 
 in company that seemed so disreputable, sat down, beam- 
 ing with contentment, and waited for something to happen. 
 The reporter sat beside him, and made confidential signs 
 to the effect that Mr. Hammick must not be interrupted. 
 "He represents some of the most important papers," he 
 whispered. Meanwhile Mr. Hammick, like an actor, was 
 giving himself a good entrance. It was dignified to sit and 
 write for a few moments while the others waited in silence. 
 Presently, still writing, he began to talk with only half his 
 attention, so to speak. But his accent was pleasant to 
 Eddie who was a London-bred boy. 
 
 "Risk anything," he said; "risk money, risk reputation, 
 risk abuse, risk a libel action, risk anything in the cause of 
 your employers, but do not risk a broken head. That is my 
 advice after some years' experience of employment. But I 
 suppose this young gentleman is not yet employed by 
 anybody." 
 
 "No," said Eddie, whose wit was sharpened by interest 
 in his surroundings; "but I will pass on your advice to my 
 soldier brother." 
 
 "A hit, a palpable hit," Mr. Hammick remarked. The 
 other reporter laughed respectfully. Eddie also laughed in 
 sheer enjoyment. Presently Mr. Hammick reached the 
 end of his writing, or felt his dignity to be established, for 
 he pushed his note-book aside. He stared at the schoolboy 
 with eyes of which it was impossible to believe that they 
 had not spent much of their time gazing at horses. 
 
 "The young gentleman's name is what did you say?"
 
 I io THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Mr. Durwold, " said his colleague. 
 
 "Mr. Durwold. Very good. Well, Mr. Durwold, I trust 
 that you will take something to drink?" 
 
 "No, nothing, thanks," said the boy. 
 
 "Quite right; perfectly right," said the great man. "I 
 did but ask pro forma. But I myself will take another 
 whisky, Mr. Brown, hot and sugared, if you will be so good 
 as to get it for me. Earnest and industrious fellow is Mr. 
 Brown " (when he had left the room) " but spoiled by aspira- 
 tions, Mr. Durwold. Believe me, sir, though I speak 
 through a glass, darkly, it is true now in the days of your 
 youth, Mr. Durwold, God made the gentry and their 
 opposites, but did fix a gulf, as likewise in the equine sphere 
 He did make the cart-horse and the siren of the turf. My 
 journalistic brethren, sir, have aspirations to the gentry as 
 the sparks fly upward, but not I. I therefore hold aloof, 
 and have authority, my efforts being otherwise. I am not a 
 gentleman but a genius. Like the All Wise I am that I am, 
 and so rise superior to such as Brown who are what they 
 aren't and what no money could make 'em. Yet Brown it 
 is that says, ' Drive a bargain, Hammick, ' and I it is that 
 now replies, 'No bargains with gentlemen.' So out it 
 comes, sir, trusting to your honour. Of Miss Baker you 
 have heard. Of Miss Baker I now tell you that this eve- 
 ning at nine o'clock she has a secret meeting of the strike 
 committee, secret, mind you, quite secret, in the offices of 
 the trade-union in this town. Seeing, therefore, that this 
 same Baker has incited the ignorant populace to vio- 
 lence against Sir Robert Wilton, I say then, that what 
 may transpire at the meeting to-night may have its value 
 for me in my profession as for Sir Robert in his. Con- 
 spiracies should be watched, Mr. Durwold. How to watch 
 it, you ask? Wait. At some slight cost of money and 
 talent I should tell you, sir, that access has been gained to 
 a cupboard in the room where the meeting will be held.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN in 
 
 Hence the value of the saddler in the shop below, a venal 
 and an avaricious man, who will admit a stranger to the 
 cupboard. Says Brown, ' Hammick, go and spy on them. ' 
 Says I, ' Thank-you, no. Risk much for your employers, 
 but do not risk a broken head.' Wherefore the notion 
 strikes us that some friend of Sir Robert's may risk more 
 for Sir Robert than we for our employers. 'A bargain,' 
 says Brown, ' for the information is ours and ours must be 
 the journalistic profit of what may be discovered.' 'No 
 bargain,' say I; but I leave it to your honour, Mr. Dur- 
 wold. If you should go and see what that audacious woman 
 is now plotting, you will p'r'aps do much for Sir Robert 
 Wilton, p'r'aps little, p'r'aps nothing, who knows but God 
 above, but be it what it may it will be to me and Brown you 
 owe it. Wherefore, you will hold it honourable to impart 
 to me and Brown such things as you may learn. And 
 Brown will write it into stylish language. But Hammick 
 it will be that first discovered all, and Hammick whose 
 immortal genius, like the glittering stars of heaven, saw 
 how and where and when to utilise his smallest opportuni- 
 ties. " 
 
 Mr. Brown returned with the glass of grog just in time 
 for his colleague to grasp it in the very hand that was 
 executing the last gesture of his peroration. 
 
 38 
 
 It did not take long for the bargain to be struck. The 
 schoolboy was not sentimental, but he quickly decided that 
 he was going to be a true and desperate ally of Bobby 
 under circumstances such as these. It did not take him any 
 time at all to settle it. He was ready to listen in cupboards 
 or at keyholes or to be rolled in a bale of matting, or what- 
 ever else was required of him, for the sake of such a charm- 
 ing adventure as that which Mr. Hammick suggested.
 
 112 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 He promised to tell the journalists everything he could 
 possibly remember of that which he might see or hear. 
 He asked them where and when they would meet him to 
 take him to his place of hiding, and listened eagerly to what 
 they told him. He protested that the obligation was 
 entirely on his side. He vowed he was so good a pugilist 
 that he had no fear whatever of venturing himself among 
 the worst strikers or anarchists in Europe. He said it was 
 the merest trifle. He also said that Bobby had been his 
 friend for as long as he could remember, so that no service 
 was too great or perilous to render him. And at every lie 
 he told he laughed so frankly that no one could possibly 
 have been deceived. All that was evident was that he was 
 enchanted with the adventure, and was not likely to cheat 
 the good fellows who had been kind enough to put him in 
 the way of it. 
 
 He was told to come again at half-past eight to the room 
 where he now was, to be taken to his hiding place in the 
 cupboard above the saddler's shop. In the meantime, as 
 has been said, he went back to the White Hart, had dinner, 
 and was obliged to refuse to play billiards with Bobby. He 
 was honestly sorry that he could not tell Bobby about the 
 adventure he was to have. His judgment assured him that 
 Bobby would not countenance spying. He would confess 
 everything, after the event, in a due setting of penitence 
 and humility, but it would be madness and would have 
 diverted the whole course of Eddie's career from his cradle 
 until now if he had ever adopted the practice of confessing 
 his crimes before they were committed. So he left Bobby 
 with the obvious impression that he was going out to seek 
 the local equivalents of Miss Wake and Miss Latona and 
 strolled round to the Sun with his hands in his pockets and 
 his lips humming the most cheerful of all the tunes he knew. 
 
 "My colleague," said Mr. Brown, "will be happy to 
 receive you on your return, Mr. Durwold, but at present
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 113 
 
 he is resting. We have but little time, so, if you will allow 
 me, I will take you to your destination." 
 
 "I allow you absolutely," said Eddie. 
 
 They started upon their journey, which, like every journey 
 in Denbury, lay across the square. Mr. Brown had an um- 
 brella, with which he politely attempted to shelter Eddie 
 from one half of the moisture that the drizzle was inflicting 
 on them. "I am afraid this is very unpleasant, " he said, as 
 though the ordinary journalist liked nothing better than a 
 dismal walk through a dull town on a wet evening, while 
 only Mr. Brown saw its true horridness. "But happily it 
 continues a very short distance. We feel sure it can be for 
 no ordinary reason that Miss Baker has summoned her 
 committee to meet to-night. " 
 
 "Nothing that she does is ever ordinary," said Eddie 
 confidentially. 
 
 "In case you should require to take anything in writing, 
 Mr. Durwold, allow me to offer you this writing block and 
 pencil. I suppose, however, that you do not write short- 
 hand." 
 
 "I write quickly," said Eddie. "That is the advantage 
 of writing lines at school. " 
 
 "Lastly er if you should be discovered, Mr. Dur- 
 wold " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I hope, I trust, I have every confidence " 
 
 "That I shan't give you away?" 
 
 "Sir, that was my very thought." 
 
 "Right you are, Mr. Brown," he said. 
 
 The saddler's shop was shut. Mr. Brown knocked 
 softly at the side door. It was opened by the saddler in 
 person, an old man with a moustache and whiskers like 
 those of the Emperor of Austria and a distrustful appear- 
 ance well suited to conspirators. Mr. Brown introduced 
 Eddie as "the gentleman in question. " The saddler looked 
 
 8.
 
 H4 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 him up and down with misgiving, but opened the door to a 
 wider extent, letting them enter. He led the way up a 
 staircase to the room above the shop, which was already 
 lighted with gas and prepared for the meeting. The fire- 
 place was piled high with red-hot coals, the window-blind was 
 drawn down, and chairs were set round the deal table in the 
 middle, upon which stood a jug of water and a grimy tum- 
 bler to indicate the ceremonial character of the proceedings 
 about to commence. The saddler waved his hand around, 
 and turned and climbed downstairs without saying a word. 
 
 "That 's what I call a good host," said the boy. 
 
 In spite of his politeness, Mr. Brown had no idea of 
 staying here longer than was necessary. He at once pro- 
 ceeded to a corner of the room, opposite the window, and 
 opened the door of a capacious cupboard revealing what 
 appeared to be the complete stock of furniture that had 
 been used in the room before it became the office of the 
 trade-union, the dissected parts of a bedstead, a mattress, 
 a washing-stand, some crockery, some pictures, some 
 ancient cans, a pile of old clothes, and several chairs, the 
 whole being enriched by an overpowering smell of paint. 
 
 "This, I fear, is the place, Mr. Durwold." 
 
 "Does it lock?" asked Eddie. 
 
 "I am afraid not. It bolts from the outside." 
 
 Exercising some ingenuity they placed one of the chairs 
 so that it provided Eddie with a seat, and also, when he 
 stood upon it, enabled him to peep through the three round 
 holes that were bored for the purpose of ventilation through 
 the wood at the top of the door. For the present he sat, 
 and Mr. Brown, with cordial but briefly expressed wishes 
 for his success, shut the door and left him. 
 
 39 
 
 The committee was due to meet at nine o'clock. Left in 
 the cupboard with ten minutes to wait before the fateful
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 115 
 
 hour Eddie's first impulse was to smoke a cigarette. He lit 
 one, smoked it for a few moments, and then put it out. It 
 had struck him that the smell of smoke might lead to his 
 detection. His education was making good progress. 
 
 He was very uncomfortable. The smell of paint was 
 disgusting. His position was cramped. One of the legs of 
 the bedstead pressed against his ribs, as he sat, and when he 
 tried to shift it he nearly caused an avalanche of chairs and 
 boxes and other rubbish to fall on his head from above. 
 He had to desist, and bear the discomfort. His only luxury 
 was the light which shone through the ventilating holes 
 and made his cell quite cheerful as soon as his eyes accom- 
 modated themselves to the standard of illumination. 
 
 Left alone with his thoughts he was unable to deny that 
 Providence had dealt justly with him. He would have to 
 make payment in the form of a crisis at Mary hill to-morrow, 
 but he had received good measure in exchange. The 
 adventure of last night had been pleasant; the events of 
 to-day had been charming, while the experience of the 
 moment was delicious. To avoid the leg of the bedstead he 
 leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head 
 in his hands, in which position he shook and shivered with 
 joy. It had amused him to disarm the whole dynasty of 
 Mrs. Hope's spies at Maryhill, at a pleasant risk of punish- 
 ment, with a head as cool as a cucumber and every circum- 
 stance comic. On many a night he had chuckled and 
 wriggled in his bed to think of that. But to engage in 
 nocturnal conflict with that portentous joke, that scourge 
 of youth, that jewel of the age, that ornament of woman- 
 kind, that oracle, that pinnacle, Miss Baker, was a new 
 rung in the ladder of adventure, a new altitude of humour. 
 It was particularly jolly that she should be spied upon by 
 one on whom she had spied. 
 
 But presently there occurred to him a further thought 
 that somewhat damped the glow of his amusement until he
 
 Ii6 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 grew used to it. Had he not been wrapped in youthful 
 innocence it might have entered his head before. He 
 remembered that it was not only upon Miss Baker that he 
 was a spy. It was not only against her that his hostile act 
 was directed. It was also against the strike committee 
 of the Denbury Potters' Union. 
 
 Though not a great reader of the newspapers Eddie had 
 received a fair smoking-room education from the mouths 
 of his elders. He knew that the forces of Labour, though 
 they may be hated, are not usually made fun of. One may 
 laugh at the House of Commons, but not at a trade-union. 
 One may play a practical joke upon a bishop, but not on a 
 Labour leader. So Eddie realised that in so far as he had 
 been sent to spy upon the strike committee, he was com- 
 mitted to a venture of a most uncommon and formidable 
 description. He was doing what he had never heard of any 
 one doing before. He was tweaking the most sacrosanct of 
 all the noses in the land. 
 
 The red spectre of Socialism seemed suddenly alarming. 
 To Eddie in the cupboard it changed from a topic in the 
 newspapers to a reality that might presently open the door 
 and discover him. He pictured to himself a dozen burly 
 men, directed by the justly incensed Miss Baker, and not 
 at all disposed to say "Sir" to him, as Mr. Brown did. 
 They would resemble the typical British Workman in the 
 cartoons, virtuous and honest but grim and heavy-handed. 
 He wondered what they would do to him. In for a penny, 
 in for a pound, however. Chairs, boxes, crockery, pictures, 
 bedstead, all should be thrown at them before they laid 
 hands on him, for Eddie had gone so far in defiance of 
 various authorities that he could not now turn back with 
 self-respect even from Socialism itself. 
 
 A step sounded on the stairs. In the distance the church 
 clock began to strike nine. The steps entered the room. 
 With the utmost caution Eddie scrambled to the seat of
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 117 
 
 his chair and looked through the peep-hole to see who had 
 come in. It was a curate. 
 
 40 
 
 The curate was a very tall and gentlemanly man who 
 stooped somewhat and wore spectacles so powerful that 
 they distorted the appearance of his eyes. Finding himself 
 alone in the room he put his hands behind his back and 
 walked up and down between the window and the door 
 of Eddie's cupboard, wrapped in meditation. Though 
 a handsome, scholarly, and earnest looking man, his face 
 was not pleasing in all respects. It lacked the complete 
 frankness of expression which is generally seen in people 
 of the nicest nature. At any rate, the curate looked as if he 
 had something at the back of his mind which he did not 
 intend to communicate to any one. You could very well 
 picture him receiving confessions, but not making them. 
 
 Having expected to see a full-blooded, socialistic working 
 man Eddie was half inclined to think that there had been a 
 mistake, when the curate entered, and that this was not 
 Miss Baker's meeting at all. He knew that Miss Baker 
 was an atheist and would not have supposed that a curate, 
 even one whose face he did not like, would have associated 
 with her. Still more was he surprised when the sound of 
 other footsteps on the stairs resulted in the entrance of 
 a small lady in green serge, fair, flat-featured, over forty, 
 and unself-conscious in manner, who shook the curate by 
 the hand and roundly reproached him for not having 
 attended the last two meetings of the Browning Society. 
 The curate readily admitted what it was clearly useless to 
 deny, but Eddie was the more puzzled. Even when they 
 fell to talking of the strike, he could not be sure that he 
 should regard them as strike leaders. "It was bound to 
 come," said the lady, speaking of Bobby's doings of this
 
 Ii8 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 ' 
 
 day; " I have never known six months' enthusiastic work 
 not bring its reward, and I don't know how or why, but I 
 knew it was bound to come." The curate fully agreed 
 that they could heartily congratulate themselves upon Sir 
 Robert's attitude. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Gate," said the lady, "socialism will tell." 
 
 " If you would call it the social spirit of God, " replied the 
 curate rather unwillingly, with averted eyes, "I should 
 agree. Well, it is only a question of words, is it not?" 
 
 At this point they were joined by a third person, who 
 resembled more nearly, yet not completely, what Eddie 
 had been expecting. He was a chemist's assistant of some 
 five and twenty years of age, with long sleek hair, bright 
 eyes, and a red tie. "That young man," said Eddie to 
 himself, "has got consumption." He had got enthusiasm, 
 without doubt, for the sight of his two colleagues made his 
 eyes blaze and he was clearly about to burst into flames of 
 eloquence when checked by something chilly in the curate's 
 manner as they shook hands. All he actually said was, "So 
 we have triumphed, Mr. Gate. " 
 
 Next came a stout elderly man with grey whiskers of 
 reverend length who wore a black frock-coat ornamented 
 with the badge of the Liberal Hundred of Denbury. He 
 was a watchmaker. Though breathless after climbing the 
 staircase he shook hands gravely with all present and 
 offered each of them his congratulations on the successful 
 issue of the strike. He then drew the curate into the 
 corner by Eddie's cupboard and confessed his willingness 
 to become a candidate for the Town Council at the next 
 election, an undertaking for which his labours on the strike 
 committee would perhaps make him more fitted than 
 another. Meanwhile the meeting was enlarged by the 
 arrival of a member whose narrow brow and joyless, 
 spectacled eyes assured Eddie that he was a schoolmaster. 
 He was followed by another recognisable authoritarian of
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 119 
 
 middle-class extraction, a square built and very keen- eyed 
 man, who, when he was not directing strikes, was an 
 Inspector for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
 Children. A moment later came the party from the 
 Vicarage, Mr. Trevanion, Mrs. Trevanion, and Miss Baker, 
 and also Mrs. Hope and Miss Agg, whose presence in Den- 
 bury was known to Eddie through the unlucky Miss 
 Latona. They entered in the reverse order to that in 
 which their names are stated. This completed the list 
 of those who were to come, except that in the wake of the 
 vicar there followed a couple of working men who stood 
 waiting, cap in hand, for their presence to be recognised. 
 
 41 
 
 It was not what Eddie had expected, nor did it alarm 
 him in the least. Such was his moral nature that he would 
 have feared discovery by a dozen real working men who 
 could have blacked his eyes and beaten him far more than 
 he feared discovery by a couple of clergymen, a school- 
 master, two tradesmen, and five women, in spite of the 
 spiritual terrors they might have at command. To do him 
 justice, by as much as his fears were abated, his interest 
 waned. He crept down to a sitting position on his chair, 
 and was soon profoundly bored. 
 
 Others might have been bored, also, by the proceedings 
 of the committee, which were long, and not sensational. 
 There was first a period of mutual congratulation upon the 
 undeniable fact that Bobby Wilton was proving more 
 conciliatory than the former owner of Underbell's. Every 
 one congratulated the two working men, in the kindest way, 
 and also Miss Baker, who received her share of public 
 recognition without much enthusiasm. She was in a very 
 surly mood. The vicar, on the contrary, was as cheerful as 
 he was efficient. When he had called the meeting to order
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 he made an opening statement, from the chair, in the course 
 of which he said that this might be the last meeting of the 
 strike committee. There was every reason to believe that 
 they had won a remarkable victory, and that Sir Robert 
 Wilton's concessions would be all they could desire. He 
 himself had seen Sir Robert Wilton that afternoon and was 
 confident that he had fully recognised the entire justice of 
 the people's claims. The committee, therefore, might 
 congratulate itself. Small as was their area of work, they 
 had made a stand for justice and enlightenment, and all 
 the country would hear of their success. He wished 
 particularly to mention his sister-in-law, Mrs. Hope, who 
 had been instrumental in bringing her friend Miss Baker to 
 the help of the men of Denbury. Without Miss Baker's 
 brilliant abilities they could of course have achieved noth- 
 ing. But without Mrs. Hope's practical sympathy they 
 would never have met Miss Baker. Again, without the 
 devotion and enthusiasm which one and all had shown in 
 the guidance of their brethren of the working class it was 
 certain that they would never have won their present 
 splendid triumph over the forces of capitalism and feudal- 
 ism. In this connection he made special references to the 
 chemist's assistant, the schoolmaster, and the inspector. 
 Also he acknowledged the help of the watchmaker, a sound 
 old Liberal, who had not feared to join in the unselfish 
 work of those who marched under a more advanced banner. 
 He ended by proving clearly that all results were wholly 
 due to the influence of that committee as officially repre- 
 senting and speaking for the forces of organised Labour, a 
 fact which he was sure the working men themselves would 
 never forget. Thereupon the two working men present 
 arose, one after the other, and echoed his assurance at some 
 length. The chemist's assistant followed usefully with a 
 heated warning to all other employers to learn wisdom from 
 the collapse of Sir Robert Wilton, after which the watch-
 
 maker arose to state in tones that trembled with emotion 
 that their success was very largely due to the help of a 
 Higher Power, and that he personally would be willing in 
 the public interest to stand as a candidate for the Town 
 Council at the next election. The schoolmaster then 
 passionately reminded them that having emancipated the 
 populace they must proceed to cultivate its intellect. After 
 this, in an atmosphere now highly charged with earnest 
 feeling, Mrs. Hope observed that if God had softened Sir 
 Robert Wilton's heart and if the young man was going to 
 show, as it seemed he was, real love for the poor, they 
 ought all to co-operate and give him the benefit of their 
 experience by showing him how much sin and wickedness 
 there was in Denbury that ought to be rooted out and 
 removed, since it could not be denied that this very night 
 he was bestowing his charity upon many who ought not to 
 be the recipients of charity until they had repented and 
 changed their habits. When Mrs. Hope sat down after a 
 grave but far from gloomy speech upon this subject, no one 
 rose to follow her. Then it was that an awkward thing 
 happened, for Miss Baker, in the interval, still gazing 
 moodily at Mrs. Hope, remarked with perfect coolness, 
 "You incorrigible fool!" 
 
 They were the only words she spoke, from first to last. 
 Of course Mrs. Hope made no reply. She flushed, but 
 collected herself and looked grieved, and Mr. Trevanion 
 immediately took charge of the proceedings and informed 
 the meeting that there was business of a financial nature to 
 transact. Thenceforward, during three-quarters of an hour, 
 the week's receipts and outgoings of the strike fund were 
 stated and discussed. Mr. Trevanion was a great master of 
 figures. He made this branch of the subject appear quite as 
 satisfactory as the concessions wrung from Bobby Wilton. 
 When it was finished, he began what he called his closing 
 remarks. They came to this : that he, as having been chair-
 
 122 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 man of the strike committee, would continue to watch the 
 situation in the interests of justice, but he thought it 
 inadvisable that the committee should meet again unless 
 summoned by himself or Miss Baker, or that it should 
 attempt any further negotiations with Sir Robert Wilton 
 after the surrender he had made. He did not think that 
 their further intercourse with Sir Robert at this time would 
 accord with the dignity of Labour. He fully and cordially 
 agreed with almost all that every speaker had said that 
 evening but he advised the committee now to be contented 
 with its laurels, and so declared the meeting at an end. 
 
 The vicarage party left at once, all but Miss Baker, who 
 said she would follow in a moment. She stood gazing into 
 the fire. One or two of the others remained talking, still in 
 a congratulatory vein, the young chemist chanting a shrill 
 paean upon the ignominy of poor Bobby's defeat. But the 
 others, who were older men, were not very eager to hear 
 him, after a while, and took themselves off, not without 
 exchanging some glances that indicated the inadvisability 
 of saying good-night to Miss Baker in her present mood. 
 Last of all the chemist would have gone too, but Miss 
 Baker turned and called him. They were alone. 
 
 "And are you deceived too?" she asked. 
 
 "Deceived?" said he. 
 
 "You, the anarchist, are you deceived?" she repeated. 
 
 She set her fierce eyes on his pale excited face, as she 
 spoke, and cooled his enthusiasm by a single inflection of 
 contempt. 
 
 "But isn't it true?" he asked. 
 
 "It is true," she answered, "that Wilton has done all 
 this, but it is not true that he did it to please the committee, 
 my friend. Do you mean to say you couldn't see through 
 the vicar's lies? Why, Wilton himself kicked the vicar out 
 of the White Hart this afternoon, and all that he has done 
 he has done over our heads. I have no idea what his con-
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 123 
 
 cessions are, any more than the vicar has, but I know 
 that they were no more extorted out of him than you 
 extort the bullet out of a rifle after some one has pulled the 
 trigger. Wilton has gone straight to the men and brushed 
 aside the Organisation as though it was a cobweb. " 
 
 The chemist was appalled. 
 
 "But he had no right!" he said. 
 
 " Perhaps not, but he has had the power. And where is it 
 to end, my friend? The people are scum, as you know very 
 well, and if they are led by men like Wilton, they will not 
 be led by you and me. Kindly imagine what would happen 
 if other employers followed his example. And what does 
 the vicar care? Trust him to be on the winning side. So 
 will they all, I suppose, but I called you back because I 
 have a sort of half belief in you. Don't imagine it matters 
 to me. I can go back to London. I 'm beaten here and I 
 can go back to other work. Oh, I shall survive it. At the 
 same time, Mr. Meddin, I could crush Wilton if I chose. 
 I could publish a scandalous indecent story that I know 
 of, quite enough to make him stink in the nostrils of these 
 fools who are eating his food to-night. Well, my friend, 
 shall I do it?" 
 
 "Good God," exclaimed the chemist, not shocked 
 by the last suggestion but by the gloomy words that 
 preceded it. 
 
 "I could hardly tell that to these saintly souls this 
 evening," Miss Baker continued. "But you, and one or 
 two of the others, you might work the thing up if I start it. 
 Who cares? I don't. But it might serve your purpose if 
 you want to set your foot on his neck instead of his on yours. 
 You can take your choice." 
 
 "What is the story?" he asked. 
 ' "Never mind," said she. 
 
 ' ' Good God ! " he cried . " I see the whole thing now. Oh, 
 yes, you must do it. We must crush him. He is bribing
 
 124 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 the people with this cursed food. Oh, the cowardly, mean, 
 cursed " 
 
 It was the beginning of an oration. Miss Baker cut it 
 short. She hated rhetoric in private. 
 
 "Unless you are sensible I shall have nothing to do with 
 it," she said. "I am going back to the vicarage. You 
 can come with me, if you like, but I am not going to listen 
 to ravings. Come along. " 
 
 Two minutes after their departure Eddie Durwold 
 emerged from his prison, stretched his legs and arms, lit a 
 cigarette, and indulged in some reflections that are not 
 worth recording. Boys of his sort, if their good fortune 
 gives them an inch, will take an ell. Eddie had had his 
 inch in the fact that he had not been discovered in the 
 cupboard. Half of his cigarette was smoked before his 
 genius suggested the ell. 
 
 He went to the cupboard and kicked its contents hither 
 and thither until he found the pot of paint that had so long 
 offended his nostrils while he had been spying. The pot 
 was three-quarters empty, but the paint was a bright red, 
 and a paint-brush stood in it. He took it, and went on his 
 way. He left the house. Faithful to his word he visited 
 Mr. Hammick and Mr. Brown at the Sun, and briefly 
 narrated his adventures. Then he returned to the White 
 Hart. It was past eleven o'clock. Dick Trevor was wait- 
 ing for him, with news that Bobby was in bed. Carrying 
 his paint pot, and a candle, Eddie went upstairs. He 
 found Bobby asleep, and was careful not to wake him. He 
 put his candle on the floor. He sat on his bed, aged six- 
 teen, and watched the innocent sleep of twenty-seven in 
 the bed opposite, and reflected that Miss Baker had been 
 the cause, truly, undeniably, and wilfully, of punishments 
 that had descended on himself at Maryhill. So he neither 
 shrank from his intention nor grudged the vigil that it 
 demanded. Twelve o'clock struck, from the church tower,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 125 
 
 and half-past twelve. That was the time he had fixed upon. 
 He picked up his paint pot and crept out of the room. In 
 the art of noiseless locomotion he was skilful. He stole 
 downstairs, into the coffee-room, where he opened a window 
 and looked out into the square. No one was to be seen. 
 He climbed out, looked about him, and walked over to the 
 big brown wooden doors of the Town Hall. Here, solemnly, 
 slowly, carefully, with all his faculties bent to the one 
 purpose, he painted upon the doors in big capital letters, as 
 follows : 
 
 I HAVE OVERHEARD MISS BAKER AND A MR. MEDDIN 
 ARRANGING TO INVENT AN INDECENT SCANDAL ABOUT 
 SIR ROBERT WILTON BECAUSE HE FED THE STRIKERS 
 AND GRANTED THEIR CLAIMS WITHOUT ASKING HER 
 ADVICE. 
 
 SIGNED BY ME 
 
 C. E. M. DURWOLD 
 C/0 REV. G. ROBINSON 
 Dec. 17, I9II. MARYHILL SCHOOL. 
 
 In the darkness of night he could barely see what he had 
 written, but he struck matches, and knew that the light of 
 day would prove his workmanship to be good. Then, 
 taking the paint pot, he returned to the hotel, to the 
 bedroom, and undressed, and fell asleep before he knew 
 that he was sleepy. 
 
 42 
 
 That which Durwold painted on the doors of the Town 
 Hall was the most potent of the causes that led to the 
 foundation of the new league for bringing about peace and 
 good will among all classes of the community and prevent- 
 ing the recurrence of strikes like that which had just 
 ended. It was Mrs. Hope's idea, "and I think," she
 
 126 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 said, "that it would be most appropriate, and very nice, 
 and not at all really irreverent, if we were to call it the 
 Society of Jesus." 
 
 "Good gracious!" said Miss Agg, "that 's the name of 
 the Jesuits." 
 
 Mrs. Hope was much shocked by this news, and rather 
 surprised, and eventually they decided that the name 
 should be as originally suggested, Social Peace League. 
 "And I really do think," said Mrs. Hope, "though I know 
 it seems very surprising, that it would be only right and 
 just and fair if we offered Sir Robert Wilton a prominent 
 place on the committee." 
 
 This magnanimity must be explained. As has been 
 hinted, Mrs. Hope had been much upset when she learned 
 by the letter she received at Mary hill that Miss Baker 
 proposed to have Bobby lynched by the people. Little 
 reason as she had for wishing Bobby well, she could not 
 approve of this criminal method of punishing him. She 
 knew the right punishment for him, and it was, if only 
 people could be found to do it, a course of kind but grieved 
 glances from all the good and pure whom he met on his 
 daily round.*- Anything like a violent assault upon him 
 would be as un-Christian in her opinion as it would be 
 criminal in the opinion of the law. So Mrs. Hope, repre- 
 senting Christianity, and the unhappy Mr. Hope in his 
 quality of law-abiding citizen, with Miss Agg to fetch and 
 carry, had hastened to Denbury to avert the mischief. 
 They found Miss Baker much less bellicose than they had 
 feared, pooh-poohing the idea of violence and surprised 
 at their reading her letter with such a literal eye. 
 
 On the afternoon of the next day, Saturday, came the 
 astonishing news of the softening of Bobby's heart and the 
 unbuttoning of his pockets, and the reported settlement of 
 the strike by his gamekeeper. The sensation was shortly 
 followed by another of equal magnitude when Mrs. Hope
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 127 
 
 at the meeting of the strike committee heard herself 
 called by Miss Baker "an incorrigible fool." By a strange 
 coincidence, therefore, she was driven almost simultane- 
 ously to regard Bobby as less wicked and Miss Baker as less 
 noble than she had ever before supposed. 
 
 Nor was this all. Further and greater surprises of the 
 same character followed quickly to confirm the change of 
 her opinions. Bobby, who believed in God as he be- 
 lieved in the equator, and held that atheists were obnox- 
 ious cranks while dissenters were snivelling hypocrites, 
 was a member of the Church of England for which his 
 family had given their blood and their money in the past. 
 He expected the rector of Coulscombe to obey him in 
 things temporal and was willing, to a remarkable degree, 
 to obey the rector in things spiritual. He went to Church 
 every Sunday morning, with military regularity, and once 
 a fortnight he went at eight o'clock to the Holy Com- 
 munion. When he was not at Coulscombe, he seldom 
 went inside a place of worship. As for Denbury it was not 
 Coulscombe, yet it was not like London or any other place 
 where he had no standing or commitments. It was Marian's 
 town. Bobby, therefore, waking soon after seven o'clock 
 on the morning after he had fed the strikers and settled the 
 strike, went off to have a bath, and remembered, in his 
 bath, that it was Sunday. It seemed to him necessary 
 when he had considered the matter, that he should go to 
 church. He went back to his bedroom, where Durwold 
 lay sleeping with his limbs tossed about in a manner that 
 suggested a complete exhaustion. He dressed, and heard 
 the church bells, and went out to the eight o'clock service 
 in the Parish Church which was not hard for him to find 
 without asking his way. 
 
 It was a very great surprise indeed to Mrs. Hope to see 
 him there. She was, at first, sincerely shocked. It seemed 
 to be a sort of profanation, as if a dog had come into the
 
 128 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 V 
 
 church, or a pig, or a peacock, or a Punch and Judy show. 
 Then, on further consideration, she came to see how wicked 
 and narrow were her thoughts. Had she not herself said 
 yesterday that God had softened Sir Robert Wilton's 
 heart? She had. And what more natural than that the 
 first yearnings of that softened heart should bring him to a 
 church? Should she not rejoice over him more than over 
 ninety and nine just persons? Evidently, and she rejoiced 
 indeed so heartily that in a few moments she felt quite sure 
 that it was not so much Heaven as herself that had softened 
 his hard heart. It must have been something in her manner 
 that day when he called upon her at Maryhill. It was 
 perhaps her example. Or it might have been her silent 
 influence. Or possibly it was the letter die had written 
 him, weeks ago, asking for a subscription to the strike fund, 
 into which letter, as into all she wrote, she had instilled 
 a certain grave sweetness. Whatever it had been, the 
 result was truly satisfactory. She had not a doubt but 
 that Bobby would now follow the beaten track of all the 
 penitent sinners and reclaimed drunkards and wearied 
 adulterers and reformed criminals that ever she had known, 
 and would become, in all respects, plus royaliste gue le roi. 
 
 She was in a very beautiful mood, and even before she 
 left the sacred edifice she had caught the first glimpse of 
 the grand possibilities of the Social Peace League. As 
 she walked back to the vicarage, which was distant half a 
 mile from the church, she turned the matter in her mind, 
 and felt more and more sure that God would be almost 
 certain to bless a league with a name like that. She was 
 thinking it over, when, as she passed by the doors of the 
 Town Hall she observed a small crowd of people. They 
 were gazing at some big red writing on the door. She drew 
 near, and read the writing for herself. 
 
 In an instant she knew that the accusation was justly 
 brought. It was what she had dreaded, for years; it was
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 129 
 
 what had haunted her throughout her long devotion to 
 Miss Baker; it was a judgment sent by Heaven to punish 
 her love and admiration of that atheist. She had sinned 
 also in the pride with which she enjoyed the friendship of 
 the woman of genius, and Heaven, with characteristic 
 appropriateness, had miraculously chosen Durwold, one 
 of the worst and lowest of mankind, to bring her to her 
 senses. As to the facts about Miss Baker, there was no 
 doubting the dreadful truth. Mrs. Hope had evidence. 
 She had the letter in which Miss Baker had written of 
 having Bobby hanged. Now if on Thursday Miss Baker had 
 been willing to contemplate murder, there was little doubt 
 that on Saturday she might have contemplated telling lies 
 about him. And there was even better proof of her evil 
 disposition. Mrs. Hope could hardly forget that at the 
 meeting last night she had called her an incorrigible fool. 
 No truly good woman could have used such words. No 
 truly good woman could have even dreamed of using such 
 words to one who tried to do right and good as sincerely as 
 Mrs. Hope did. In fact, the more Mrs. Hope thought of it, 
 the more she was sure that such words could never pass the 
 lips of Sir Robert Wilton, for instance, whose beautiful 
 and thoughtful face she had seen in church, while his 
 softened heart beat under a hand-knitted waistcoat of dark 
 blue, not at all loud or horsey. True, he had said some- 
 thing very unpleasant when he called on her at Maryhill. 
 And he had taken Bessie from the Home. But both those 
 things happened before his heart was softened, and you 
 could not expect him to have been the same before he 
 was softened as he had since come to be, or, of course, there 
 would have been no need for the softening and nothing 
 wonderful in his being softened. As far as the present time 
 was concerned, there was no doubt about it; Sir Robert 
 Wilton would never call her an incorrigible fool. And that 
 was exactly what Miss Baker had called her.
 
 130 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Mrs. Hope looked very sweet and sad when she sat at 
 breakfast that morning with the Trevanions, Miss Baker, 
 Miss Agg, and the Trevanions' three children, and her own 
 poor husband who longed to return to Maryhill and his 
 theological writings. But it was strange to see how quickly 
 Mrs. Hope's sweetness waxed and her sadness waned. 
 She could hardly remember a single occasion on which she 
 had felt more truly happy than she felt now. She forgave 
 Miss Baker, of course, for calling her a fool. She forgave 
 her for everything, and felt a deep pity for her. She said a 
 number of kind and gentle things to her, and when Miss 
 Baker replied in surly tones she pitied with an ever-growing 
 enthusiasm. She felt more and more sure that the truest 
 charity would be to lose no time in telling Miss Baker 
 firmly, but very kindly, that their intercourse must be 
 considered at an end. 
 
 All was explained to Miss Agg after breakfast, and Mrs. 
 Hope took particular pains to make it perfectly clear and 
 logical in sequence. She told how Miss Baker had called 
 her a shocking name last night not six hours after Sir 
 Robert Wilton had been softened into feeding the poor 
 strikers in this England of ours in which peace was needed 
 more than anything else. From this she proceeded to show 
 that it never could be truly right or really wise to work with 
 an atheist, while it was practically certain that if they 
 were to start a new league of peace and good will the bishop 
 of the diocese would consent to become its patron. In the 
 next place she drove home the absolute certainty of the 
 softening of Sir Robert Wilton's heart, since he had come 
 to the eight o'clock service, while the Duchess of Bracken- 
 bury would be quite as likely as the bishop to take an interest 
 in the new league aforesaid. All this was music in Miss 
 Agg's ears, for whatever promised to bestow a new league 
 on the world needed no further recommendation with her. 
 It was like converting a child to an interest in chocolate
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 131 
 
 creams. It was like converting a jockey to an interest in 
 racing, and Mrs. Hope felt more truly beautiful and happy 
 than ever as the first recruit of social peace grew ardent and 
 radiant before her. She was only proposing to point out 
 how easily the strike subscriptions could be transferred to 
 the newer and higher cause, and how extremely probable 
 it was that Sir Robert Wilton would accept the presidency 
 of the new league, and how Heaven's blessing was practi- 
 cally certain, and how Miss Baker had plotted some 
 slander against Sir Robert, and how the Duchess would 
 certainly be a patroness, and how the truest kindness to 
 Miss Baker would be an immediate break, when they were 
 interrupted by Mrs. Trevanion who appeared to be greatly 
 disturbed in mind. "Joan," she said, "do please come to 
 the hall door. There is a man waiting to see Miss Baker, 
 and I find she has locked herself in her room, and she won't 
 open the door, and the man won't go away, and he is one 
 of the roughest men I ever saw, and his name is Blood!" 
 
 The suggestion in the name was irresistible. Not physi- 
 cally afraid, but morally appalled, the two ladies rose to 
 investigate these first consequences of the crimes of their 
 late colleague. But just as they were following Mrs. 
 Trevanion towards the door, Mr. Trevanion himself burst 
 into the room. 
 
 "What 's this I hear about Miss Baker?" he exclaimed. 
 "She has locked herself in her room. Do you know that 
 the Mayor and half the Corporation are waiting in my 
 study to accuse her of I don't know what?" 
 
 "If you please, sir," said a calm voice behind him, "a 
 motor-car has come from Didbury Junction to take Miss 
 Baker to catch the train." 
 
 "Mr. Trevanion," cried another voice, a man's voice, as 
 shrill as the maidservant's was soft, "she must not go till 
 she has made an explanation. She must give a denial or 
 make an explanation, I say, she must, she must!"
 
 132 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "It is the Mayor," cried Mrs. Trevanion in tragic tones, 
 while the eyes of Mrs. Hope, directed to another quarter of 
 the hall, grew wide with more substantial alarm. "Maud! 
 Agatha! Reginald!" she exclaimed, "she is coming down- 
 stairs!" 
 
 No need to ask who. The need was for an effort, a 
 bracing of nerves, a supreme resolution. The Mayor of 
 Denbury was one of the least important mayors in Eng- 
 land, but he could not let the door of his Town Hall go 
 wholly unavenged. After what had happened he was 
 simply bound to make some moderate commotion. Mr. 
 Trevanion, from more exalted motives, felt compelled to 
 dissociate himself before these witnesses from the colleague 
 who seemed likely to prove discreditable. Last, but not 
 least, we know that Mrs. Hope was inspired to action by a 
 cause as lofty as any. on the earth. " Madam " began the 
 Mayor. "Miss Baker " cried the vicar, speaking with 
 more stern authority. "Florence " said Mrs. Hope, with 
 a power of gentle reproach that might have stayed the 
 Gadarene swine. Last of all the rough man on the door-step 
 said, "Look here!" 
 
 There could be no doubt that Miss Baker had had news 
 of the writing on the door, for her face betrayed her. 
 Passing on her way she gave the Mayor a glance such as 
 one bestows on a pillar-box at a street corner; at the vicar 
 she glanced with a shade of scorn ; at Mrs. Hope she did not 
 condescend to look at all. As for the rough man, since he 
 stood on the door-step demanding to be heard and threaten- 
 ing to block her way, she pushed him lightly over the para- 
 pet into the basement, and so passed on to her car. For a 
 woman who feared ridicule far more than she feared the 
 police, her departure was managed with success. 
 
 43 
 
 While Mrs. Hope in the vicarage drawing-room was 
 expounding to Miss Agg the wonderful things that could be
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 133 
 
 wrought on earth by peace and good will upon Christian 
 lines, Bobby Wilton in the coffee-room at the White Hart 
 was explaining to Eddie the supreme virtue of minding 
 one's own business. His arguments were quite as effective 
 as Mrs. Hope's, though they were less lofty. There was a 
 riding- whip on the mantelpiece, which he used from time to 
 time as an aid to gesticulation. During ten good minutes 
 it seemed uncertain whether the final gesture would not be 
 the laying of this whip across Eddie's back. "First I have 
 forty minutes' hard labour," said Bobby, "to stop the 
 Mayor putting you in the lock-up, and next you make me 
 look a fool before this whole confounded town. I had 
 settled to go back home this morning, and I suppose you 
 realise that the result of your blasted interference is that 
 they will all say I am running away from Miss Baker's 
 stories. I suppose I oughtn't to care, but I do care." 
 
 Eddie ceased not to express an abject remorse, but, 
 though he could apologise, he could not console. Bobby 
 was deeply unhappy. When Dick Trevor came to tell him 
 that it was time to start for the down train at Didbury 
 Junction, for the Denbury branch had no trains on Sun- 
 days, he threw down two sovereigns on the table in front 
 of the schoolboy. "Your fare back to Maryhill," he said, 
 and left the room with no other word of parting. 
 
 Through the window, a few minutes later, Eddie saw 
 him mount his horse. He was clearly in no better temper, 
 for he leaped into the saddle and kicked back his heels 
 and was off at a canter before his hands had found the reins 
 and before the boy at the horse's head was aware of his 
 own danger. This feat, like his temper and everything 
 else about him, made Eddie sorry to have lost Bobby's 
 friendship. 
 
 Forty minutes later he himself set out to catch the 
 London train. Delayed by the necessity of posing for his 
 photograph on a restive horse before Mr. Hammick whom
 
 134 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 he met in the square, he had to use his best efforts, or to 
 endure the best efforts of an all too willing steed, in order 
 to reach the junction within his time. He was no great 
 horseman. Hot and weak and weary he dismounted at the 
 station and called good-bye to Tom Trevor who was 
 with him. He had just time enough to fling himself into a 
 carriage, as the train was moving, and he lay back, not very 
 cheerful, thinking, "Thus ends my blooming adventure!" 
 Had he drilled a hole through the cushion against which he 
 leaned, and through the partition, and through the cushion 
 on the other side, he would have found, not ten inches from 
 his own head the head of Miss Baker thinking much as he 
 thought himself. He gazed through the window and took 
 stock of his situation. 
 
 "When I get back to Mary hill, I shall have trouble," 
 he thought. 
 
 "When I get back to London, I shall be laughed at," 
 thought the head in the next compartment. 
 
 "And Bobby is annoyed with me," thought the boy; 
 "he won't invite me for Christmas." 
 
 "And Wilton, he has triumphed," thought the genius. 
 "It is his hour." 
 
 "Who cares?" thought the one. 
 
 "Who cares?" thought the other. 
 
 "I will write and tell him I am sorry." 
 
 "Besides, I could still crush him if I liked." 
 
 "He is a good fellow, and he '11 forgive me," thought 
 Eddie, as they came to the next station. "Who cares for a 
 swishing?" 
 
 "After all, life has other interests," thought Miss Baker. 
 "Who cares for a rebuff?" 
 
 And who was caring, we may ask, for the many souls at 
 Denbury, the strikers of yesterday, the paupers of to-day, 
 who would not earn money when they could and could not 
 now that they would? Not Miss Baker; she hardly cared
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 135 
 
 even for vengeance since the red paint at the Town Hall 
 had labelled her a sensational ass. Not Durwold, for he 
 was never a philanthropist. Not the Social Peace League, 
 for it was merely embryonic as yet. There was Bobby, 
 indeed, who had left Michael with orders to pay some sort 
 of a cash allowance to the hands of Messrs. Underbell 
 until the situation should become more clear. But Bobby 
 was not giving what is called personal service. He was 
 hurrying as fast as the train could take him, away from the 
 horrid sensationalism of Denbury and back to his house, 
 his wife, his servant and his maid, his ox and his ass, and 
 everything that was his. 
 
 44 
 
 Twenty-one years before this time, when Bobby was 
 spending upon frogs and dormice the feelings he spent 
 afterwards upon his horses and his tenants, when Mrs. 
 Hope was chasing her last butterflies, unconscious of her 
 dreadful future, when Miss Baker was still reading the 
 poets and dreaming of marriage with some future Tenny- 
 son or Gladstone, the neighbourhood of Denbury was visited 
 with a terrible epidemic of diphtheria. It fell with special 
 virulence upon the village of High Ridge, three miles to 
 the west of the town. It carried off the sixteenth Lord 
 Torrenden of High Ridge Castle, his younger son, his 
 daughter, several of his servants, and nearly a quarter of 
 the population of the village. 
 
 One of those who lived through this time of affliction was 
 Matt Blood, a son of Lord Torrenden's bailiff. He sur- 
 vived, but the destroying angel took a toll from him. His 
 father, his mother, and his sweetheart, died within a single 
 week. 
 
 He was seventeen years old. Dreadful as his share of the 
 calamities had been, there were not lacking some who
 
 136 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 hinted that he had deserved them because he was a bad 
 young man. But he was not really a bad young man at this 
 date. He was only a potentially bad young man whose 
 moral nature was sure to vary with his environment. Left 
 to himself in misfortune he was likely to become bad, but 
 under a proper discipline he was likely to sow no more than 
 a reasonable crop of wild oats. 
 
 Fortunately for Matt's prospects the discipline, as it 
 seemed, was ready to hand. Fortunately for his chances 
 of a livelihood, also, after the ruin of his home, there was 
 every appearance of his finding good employment at once. 
 Though death had robbed him of his home and happiness 
 he had no doubt, after the first shock of misery was past, 
 that the Torrenden family would do something to secure 
 his worldly position. He did not reason out this expec- 
 tation, for it came as naturally as a child's trust in the 
 protection of its parents. Born and bred amid genuinely 
 feudal surroundings he supposed that the new Lord Torren- 
 den would either confirm him in the post he had held, 
 informally, under his father, or would in some way provide 
 him with the means of earning his living. This hope seemed 
 so natural that its realisation would not even have aroused 
 Matt's gratitude. 
 
 To explain the intensity of the shock he was to receive, it 
 should be said that Matt regarded the Torrendens less as a 
 group of human beings than as an institution. He had no 
 enthusiastic love for them, and if he admired them indi- 
 vidually it was not because they were rich and powerful 
 but because they were magnificent to behold and skilful 
 and daring in all manly exercises. He did not know any- 
 thing about their being good landlords, because he had no 
 standard with which to compare them. He could compare 
 them only with themselves. It was not as good landlords 
 that he respected them, but as an existing institution. He 
 feared them, too, and could not have gone counter to their
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 137 
 
 wishes. Lastly he believed blindly that they would always 
 act as they had always acted, which means, in a word, that 
 he trusted them. 
 
 All these feelings, trust, fear, respect, and admiration 
 above all, he entertained in regard to Hugh Torrenden 
 the new lord, who was then about thirty years of age. In 
 the course of his work about the estate Matt had watched 
 this all too splendid young man with the worshipping eyes 
 of a boy, and when he took orders from him it was with 
 something more than his usual cheery brisk good will. 
 Lately he had held his gun out shooting. Deep in his 
 heart he had the belief that Hugh Torrenden liked him 
 because he was the quickest boy about the place. But 
 even without this special cause of confidence he would have 
 had no doubt that work and a living would be found for 
 him. 
 
 The blow fell about six weeks after the death of Matt's 
 father and the old lord. The new lord had been away from 
 home during most of the time. Matt remained in his 
 father's house, waiting for instructions. He relieved his 
 loneliness and idleness by going to the public house in the 
 evenings, and there it was that he learned that the old 
 lord had died worth a hundred thousand pounds less than 
 nothing, that the new lord was overwhelmed with debts 
 of his own, and that High Ridge was sold to a stranger. 
 
 He was slow in realising what this meant for himself, so 
 great was the sheer shock of seeing the mighty brought 
 low. He had wild thoughts, when drunk, of selling his 
 own small possessions and sending the money to Hugh 
 Torrenden. But he lacked the effrontery when sober. 
 Nor could he realise, except at moments, that the facts 
 were as they were. He could not in the least imagine High 
 Ridge without the Torrenden family. When he came near 
 the end of the money that his father had left in his cash 
 box, however, he was forced to consider what his future was
 
 138 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 to be. And then, in a manner that aroused the greatest 
 and most lasting emotion of his life, from the midst of his 
 own ruin, Hugh Torrenden came to his help. He did not 
 come in person; indeed he was never seen in High Ridge 
 again. But he sent Matt a letter that he was to show to the 
 new owner of the castle, recommending him for employ- 
 ment in terms of peculiar praise. Together with this came 
 a letter to tell Matt himself that Hugh Torrenden was 
 sorry he could do no more for him, and that he was sending 
 him a present for the sake of old times. The present came 
 in a parcel by the same post. It was a small gold flask. A 
 crest was engraved on it, and two Latin words that Matt 
 did not understand, and two English words that he under- 
 stood very well, the names of the last of the race of Torren- 
 den of High Ridge. 
 
 45 
 
 The new lord of the castle was a company promoter of 
 the name of Bristow. All sorts of changes took place at 
 once, and all of them, somehow, involved paint. The 
 external woodwork of the castle was repainted; so were all 
 the cottages in the village. The park palings were painted 
 green and the wheels of the castle carriages were painted 
 yellow. The lych gate in the churchyard was restored and 
 painted brown and dedicated to Mr. Bristow's deceased 
 parents, while the old wooden cross was dragged out of the 
 vaults and painted white and re-erected on the top of the 
 tower, in memory, as a notice stated, of Mr. Bristow's 
 grandfather.' All the park lodges were painted blue, and a 
 particularly bright green was chosen for the Swiss cottages 
 and summer houses and boat houses with which Mr. 
 Bristow filled the gardens and surrounded the lake. What- 
 ever new thing Mr. Bristow introduced earned him the 
 resentment of the villagers; whatever old thing he preserved 
 earned him their contempt.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 139 
 
 Matt Blood made use of his letter of recommendation, 
 and was engaged as a footman. He made no small financial 
 success of his post. He was astonished by the magnificence 
 of the tips he received from Mr. Bristow's guests. In one 
 way or another, Mr. Bristow poured money into High 
 Ridge, and the more the people prospered the more thor- 
 oughly they despised him. They despised also his daughters 
 who carried soup to the sick. Matt, who had the best 
 chances of investigation, regarded the family with a con- 
 tempt which became, as the Suffragettes would say, a 
 religion. Had he been as docile as he was handsome and 
 intelligent he might have prospered exceedingly in their 
 service. But he could never cure himself of the habit of 
 comparison. He could not keep from staring at Mr. 
 Bristow's stomach, whiskers, bald head, and spindle legs, 
 and comparing him not with what Lord Torrenden had 
 appeared as he sat in the same chair at dinner but with 
 what Lord Torrenden had appeared when Matt used to 
 see him in the coverts or the hunting field. As for com- 
 paring Mr. Bristow's son with Hugh Torrenden, it was too 
 painful for Matt to attempt. He could scarcely bear the 
 sight of him. 
 
 A footman of expressive countenance who is always 
 gazing at his master's paunch cannot be suffered long. 
 Mr. Bristow, probably from sheer terror, bore him for a 
 year. Then the end came. 
 
 Matt was summoned to the library upstairs, the room 
 in which he had parted from Torrenden, and found Mr. 
 Bristow standing on the hearth-rug with his legs apart, his 
 hands behind his back, and his paunch completely un- 
 ashamed. "Shut the door and come over here," Mr. 
 Bristow told him. 
 
 From the first the proceedings were ceremonious. The 
 Torrendens had never been ceremonious. Their orders to 
 their servants had been always briefly given. But Mr.
 
 140 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Bristow had another manner. "Stand there, Blood," he 
 said, indicating a spot on the carpet. He cleared his 
 throat. He had nerved himself for a row. 
 
 "You must understand, Blood," he said, "that when I 
 took possession of this house I was provided with a com- 
 plete inventory by Mr. Percival, on Lord Torrenden's 
 behalf, showing every article which became my property. 
 In fairness to you I shall be prepared to show you the very 
 page in the inventory which deals with the matter to which 
 I am about to refer. The page contains a list of articles 
 belonging to Mr. Hugh Torrenden, now Lord Torrenden, 
 which I purchased from him together with the house and 
 other articles that had belonged to his father. I have been 
 surprised to find that a large number of the articles on this 
 page have not come to light. Among them was a gold 
 flask. I am sorry to tell you that this gold flask has been 
 found among your possessions in your bedroom. Here it is, 
 with Mr. Torrenden's name and crest upon it. I must ask 
 you, therefore, to account for its being in your possession." 
 
 Mr. Bristow ended his oration with a grand air, and dis- 
 played the flask in his right hand which had remained 
 hidden behind his person till this moment. 
 
 "And my account is, Mr. Bristow, that that flask is 
 mine, " said Matt. 
 
 Mr. Bristow reddened because he had not been addressed 
 as "Sir," but he was able to enquire with elaborate irony 
 whether it was Matt's practice to have Mr. Torrenden's 
 name engraved on articles that were his. 
 
 "You're accusing me of thieving, I believe," Matt 
 replied, with arms akimbo. 
 
 "I am, young man," said Mr. Bristow with growing 
 dignity. "And even were that not the case I should feel 
 bound to dismiss you from my service on account of the 
 insolence of your present manner and language. You must 
 not look to me for a character. I should not be justified ;
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 141 
 
 but I have no intention of prosecuting, and I will, ahem, 
 
 give you a month's wages and " 
 
 The concession came too late. It could not, indeed, have 
 saved Mr. Bristow from what was coming, for the bad 
 habit of comparison became nothing less than a spasm in 
 Matt's mind as soon as he saw Mr. Bristow flinch before 
 him. He told him that he was a snob, with four qualifying 
 adjectives, knocked him down with a right hand and 
 a left hand blow, one in each eye, picked up his flask, and 
 left the room. As soon as he had changed his clothes he left 
 the house also, and that night he made the whole village 
 merry with the tale of his doings and drunk on the proceeds 
 of his tips. 
 
 46 
 
 The three Misses Patterman lived with their brother, 
 Dr. Patterman, in one of the nice old houses in Church 
 Street, Denbury. Bertha, the eldest, was the housekeeper. 
 Annie, the second, was clever/ Katie, the youngest, was 
 pretty. Annie and Katie could skate and play tennis, but 
 Bertha could not. Bertha and Katie were fond of needle- 
 work, but not Annie. Yet Annie and Bertha both worked 
 in the parish, a thing which Katie could not bear. The 
 difference between thing and thing is the beginning of all 
 interest whatsoever; so it is easy to see that the sisters 
 found it useful to have different habits. Each was able to 
 appear interesting at the point where she varied from the 
 others. 
 
 These ladies afterwards joined the Social Peace League, 
 but in the year 1900 there was nothing half so import- 
 ant for them to engage upon. Indeed, one of their 
 chief occupations in the early part of that year was to 
 watch the progress of a love affair between Eliza, their 
 cook, and the dare-devil potman at the Rising Sun. Viewed 
 merely as a love affair it was romantic. But viewed as the
 
 142 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 love affair of the notorious Matt Blood it was quite too 
 delightfully near the verge of scandal. At last the pro- 
 longed sensation bore fruit in the final test question of 
 whether the Misses Patterman would or would not be 
 present at the wedding. 
 
 Their doubts were justified. Eliza was indolent, pleasure- 
 loving, and rather coarsely handsome, but she was per- 
 fectly respectable. It was hard to think that her marriage 
 with Matt was wise. For he, during all the nine years since 
 he blacked the eyes of Mr. Bristow, had been the worst 
 young fellow in Denbury. The Misses Patterman knew this 
 by means of the information which the two elder sisters 
 obtained as district visitors. They knew, in short, that 
 Matt was a sad drunkard and was apt to get the girls into 
 trouble. What they did not know was that his genius had 
 changed the Rising Sun from a desert to a gold mine. 
 Himself the most popular of men, he conferred popularity 
 on the house. The brilliant potman, everybody's friend, 
 trusting everybody, liking everybody, sanguine, enthu- 
 siastic, sympathetic, tender hearted, as invincible at games 
 of skill as indomitable at games of chance, eternally cheer- 
 ful, quick to hit but quicker to forgive, honest in betting 
 transactions, and malicious in nothing but his hatred of the 
 name of Bristow, had been running through life at a 
 disastrous pace. 
 
 Of course the Misses Patterman ended by pocketing their 
 scruples and behaving in the handsomest way. They made 
 the wedding-dress, laid in rice and slippers, and gave five 
 pounds towards the cost of a honeymoon at Weston-super- 
 Mare. They came to church in their best finery, Annie 
 and Katie on foot, and Bertha in a carriage with the bride 
 whom she herself was to give away. They behaved with 
 the utmost cordiality to Matt and his best man. The 
 latter they took to be a gentleman of rank, so reserved was 
 his air yet so exquisite his courtesy, till they learned that
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 143 
 
 he was a retired butler dating from the ancien regime at 
 High Ridge Castle. Matt was looking happy and gallant 
 and handsome, for his powers of recuperation were still 
 excellent and he had dissipated with strong coffee the 
 effects of the last debauch of his bachelor days. 
 
 All was ready except the vicar, who was essential to the 
 business in hand, and while they waited they passed the 
 time with small talk reverently whispered in the shade of 
 the sacred place. Bertha showed the butler the tombs of 
 the Lords Torrenden, which he knew better than she, and 
 Annie explained to Matt what a lucky man Eliza's husband 
 would be. So the time passed. Ten minutes passed, and 
 twenty minutes, and at last it was generally agreed that 
 the vicar had simply forgotten about the wedding. Katie 
 was sent to the vicarage to remind him. In a quarter of an 
 hour she returned panting and terrified and so dreadfully 
 distressed that she was evidently unable to decide how or to 
 whom to break her news. She led Bertha aside and whis- 
 pered in her ear. Bertha called to Annie. One after 
 another, their faces became blank. Then Bertha came and 
 took the bride's hands in hers and told the truth. There 
 could be no wedding to-day. The vicar was dead. 
 
 Lamentation availed nothing. The butler decided to 
 catch an early train, and the Misses Patterman offered to 
 take the bride home in the carriage. But the bride, whose 
 dress was not a wedding-dress as the words are understood 
 in Mayfair, but only a red serge coat and skirt, preferred 
 to console herself by going for a walk in the town with 
 Matt. 
 
 "Well I never," she said, when they were alone, "I 
 thought 'ow p'r'aps you 'd be drunk but I never thought 
 'e'ddie. 'Eart, was it?" 
 
 "So Miss Annie says," announced the brilliant potman 
 rather absently. "Jus' think if 'is 'eart 'ad took 'im 'arf 
 way through tying the knot."
 
 144 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 " 'Ow long would they be getting another, now, I 
 wonder," said Eliza. 
 
 "That 's what I 'm thinking." 
 
 "Months, pVaps." 
 
 " 'Urn." 
 
 "Want a drink, Matt?" 
 
 "Drink be damned," he answered. "Waiting months 
 won't suit me. We done our best. Just you go and get 
 your box ready and I '11 bring the Sun trap and we '11 go to 
 Weston by the three-fifteen. " 
 
 "Yes," said Eliza calmly. "P'r'aps it would be best." 
 
 So the ceremony was postponed until, as we shall see, it 
 was performed after the lapse of a dozen years in deference 
 to the prejudices of a young man who was now chiefly 
 occupied in expiating his own irregularities at a public 
 school. 
 
 47 
 
 The landlord of the Rising Sun had long been jealous 
 of Matt because the success of his house was due to Matt's 
 qualities, and not to his own. He had felt that the occasion 
 of Matt's marriage would be suitable for dismissing him, 
 since a wife would impair his value in several ways, and he 
 wrote to Matt with this information, not very considerately, 
 while the couple were at Weston-super-Mare. Hence the 
 second great hatred which darkened Matt's nature. 
 
 "Bristow!" he had been used to say. "No, don't you 
 talk to me of Bristow, or p'r'aps I '11 forget my manners. 
 The first time I set eyes on him I see he 's not fit to call a 
 gentleman ; and the last time I see he 's not fit to call a man. 
 He 's paid his bloody money for the castle, and the castle 's 
 his by the law, and a damned bad law and a damned bad 
 man." 
 
 And now came the turn of Clark, the landlord of the 
 Rising Sun. "Who made his business for him? Who
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 145 
 
 brought the chaps in and kep' 'em in and made 'em drink 
 till they was silly? Would they come in the house to see 
 his fishy eyes? He couldn't a-bear it if a chap 'd come five 
 years every night and couldn't pay for his glass one single 
 night, out he 'd go, and curse him too; if I hadn't paid his 
 drink out of my own money he 'd never a-darkened the 
 doors again. I made that trade as sure as I make this 
 cigarette, and Clark he made the money. And I say if all 
 had their rights that money 'd be mine to-day." 
 
 The moral was plain. You could not expect to be treated 
 properly unless you were dealing with gentlemen. Matt 
 was in luck, for he met with a gentleman within a week of 
 his return to Denbury. This was a Mr. Dimmock, a 
 barrister, who came on the scene as Conservative candidate 
 for the Denbury division. Matt was engaged as a messen- 
 ger in the Conservative office, and afterwards as a guide to 
 conduct Mr. Dimmock about the countryside. 
 
 He was in high spirits again. Little as he knew about the 
 roads and lanes of Gloucestershire, he got drunk and 
 studied the map and was ever afterwards able to find his 
 way anywhere as soon as the drunken brilliance was 
 reproduced. The pay was good; there was drink for him 
 and ribbons for Eliza. He had always been a good Tory, 
 and since he had heard of the death of Lord Torrenden on a 
 South African battle-field he had become enthusiastic about 
 the war on which the general election of that year was 
 chiefly fought. Above all, he was enthusiastic about Mr. 
 Dimmock. As he told all the world, he knew a gentleman 
 when he saw one. He rejoiced in serving such a man. He 
 had not the faintest doubt that Mr. Dimmock would end 
 by setting him up as a political agent or as a publican in 
 one of the smaller taverns of the town. 
 
 At no time in his life had he drunk so much beer as in the 
 last three weeks of the election campaign, and at no time 
 had he worked so hard or so successfully. The sustained 
 
 10
 
 146 r:~:z svsixzss OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 s^ii-cc KM I--:- WM mfinfl tt rii-s. ?rr 
 three loiig weels he never said a rode word to a C>>nser~rm> 
 tive, nor a civil word to a TArtal He newer rested. At 
 r.:::. . : ..: ;:.:". ;. f.. ; :i .... '..".;;i ..:'..: ;;:;- 
 
 stoop drinks and laid bets with venal voters to 
 induce them to vote his way. As for Mr. Dimmock, he 
 iBiJijUimi Mm at Himrjh fcrt mi i Tnrrfmrtrii 
 
 * : ;,.r. . _:: ^; :_;. i : .. , ' - ".' - - :. . .- . ...... .. : .. ... .. ? 
 
 to tread, caressed every creature that spoke weO of him, 
 ::u.:_: .. .:: _j.r;-i ;.JUr-; . ;:v. :.:.,: ::: :;: ;;y ;:;n 
 the dectioQ ended in his victory. Three days later he wrote 
 toask what Mr. IXnmiock woold o\> to help him towards a 
 W _JL:-:C in '.".; :\::urt. _ -li; ..:is ~";r MM -^. - ^rziA. j.i^zr.7'^"- 
 ledgment of his good work, and a pnBral ofdu for twenty 
 shiSbags over and above his proper payment, "Takeit," 
 he cud. to J9na^ IB the 1 Htti'**^?? of JHS ^s>iiMsifM>mpnt* 
 *' I wffl not drink as mix^ as twopence of the money of soch 
 
 It ii ii fi illy i fill IJMrt Urn IHHM nul In 
 
 his fiask to a rnan who professed to know Latin. "Hand 
 IwtMcwuff, said the man, reaong the mscnpuon, do you 
 
 .-17. ~ -. T " -L . ". -,-I".5 
 
 "Not I." Matt answered. 
 
 "Well,** said bis iirfiaimrt. "ft means something Eke 
 
 ! "Then it means," said Matt, "remember what doesn't 
 There 's not a gentleman left in ^*^fr^ That I 
 
 r j^*~ ^ n ~ ~ "~"*_^.j^* ~~ ^ ^ 
 
 It was a poor consolation to Matt to swear that he would 
 work for the liberate next time. His health broke after 
 the election. HrTfW|"i' 7|1 " 'l^rjini'iii nf itrtrawfffcnrylrf 
 a n-fdbnowBacriQwBCOHnli^vilfeiJtteco^aoWHe
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 147 
 
 enjoy his drink than he could abstain from it, and he lost 
 the buoyancy that had been the best of Heaven's gifts to 
 him. He was without work, and overwhelmed by the debts 
 he had incurred in making corrupt bets with voters. He 
 had to live on what Eliza could earn as a jobbing cook. 
 Afterwards he tried another place as potman but he found 
 that his genius had left him. He attracted custom no more, 
 and he was replaced by a rival of equal dulness but greater 
 sobriety. At last he drifted into the general sink of labour 
 in Denbury; he became a stoker at UnderbelTs. 
 
 It was a terrible life after the gay years at the Rising 
 Sun. He was overworked and underpaid, repeatedly fined 
 for one fault or another, and much tempted to relieve 
 himself by making a hell for Eliza at home. But the last 
 virtue to cling to him was that which may be called chivalry. 
 He did his best to make a hell for UnderbelTs, but he spared 
 Eliza. She bore him three children, whereby the financial 
 position was made worse. With the cost of children added 
 to the cost of beer there was not much left for rent and 
 clothing and the amenities of life. And Mr. Bristow still 
 flourished at the castle out of which he had kicked the 
 Torrendens. Mr. Clark still kept the tavern out of which 
 he had kicked Matt. Mr. Dimmock still came occasionally, 
 with a fur coat and a motor-car, to remind the men of 
 Denbury that the cause of property must be defended. 
 Matt was the natural prey of the first Socialist who talked 
 to him. 
 
 ' In the fulness of time Miss Baker came to organise the 
 strike, and Matt was one of those who followed her lead 
 without hesitation. He was now thirty-eight years old. 
 He had served UnderbelTs for eleven years. * He, who 
 would not have murmured against any quantity of cursing 
 or even thrashing from the Torrendens, being loyal and 
 sunny and more apt to forgive than a church-full of ordi- 
 nary Christians, was now quite ready to throw stones and
 
 148 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 break heads. He was embittered against the soulless 
 machine in which he was a cog, for ever revolving on the 
 wheel of labour. He was embittered against the system 
 which gave him bare subsistence in exchange for lifelong 
 drudgery, as the wheel is given oil to keep it running till it 
 perishes and is thrown away. He was a sentient being, 
 but was treated as a piece of metal. He had affections, but 
 the factory repelled them; enthusiasms, but the factory 
 did not need them; aspirations, but the factory crushed 
 them. He was permitted only to slave at the level of 
 starvation that another might have profits. They must 
 abandon hope, all they who enter such places. 
 
 Matt liked Miss Baker. Once more, after many years, 
 a firm voice called him to a task which was interesting and 
 splendid, played on his higher feelings, and proclaimed a 
 human personal leadership over him. He entered on the 
 strike with a pale and wintry revival of the zest he had 
 thrown into Mr. Dimmock's election in the days when he 
 was gay and young and gallant. 
 
 But the latter campaign had little in common with the 
 former. There was no work, no excitement, no pay but 
 the most wretched, and no glee or buoyancy in Matt him- 
 self. As he had been less thrifty than others so he suffered 
 more than others through the strike. He had no savings, 
 no membership in any benefit society, nothing of value to 
 sell or pawn, and no chance of getting credit. Drink still 
 levied a tax on the little he had to live upon. He starved, 
 with Eliza and the children, and starved the more thor- 
 oughly as Miss Baker pursued her policy of brewing fury 
 by reducing the strike pay. It was due to the extremity of 
 his distress that Miss Baker took pity on him and em- 
 ployed him, for half-a-crown, to distribute the handbills 
 that dealt with the character of Bobby Wilton. 
 
 The afternoon was gloomy, as we have seen. To push 
 leaflets under cottage doors and into the hands of passers-by
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 149 
 
 is not exhilarating. Such food as Eliza had for Matt she 
 usually gave him at night, and at present he was famished. 
 In the faintness of his body his perception of things was 
 slight. His only blessing was the numbness of his mind. 
 The sound of the hoofs of eight horses, an unusual sound in 
 Denbury, must have entered his ears long before it reached 
 his brain. He was leaning against the wall of a house in 
 South Street when he looked up and saw Bobby and his 
 companions riding along the street quite close to him. 
 Bobby was the nearest, and the plainest to be seen by Matt, 
 whose eyesight was not at its best. He lurched forward 
 into the road and handed one of his bills up to him, and 
 then, as the others drew rein, he went among them and 
 gave bills to all. Then Bobby called him. He obeyed the 
 summons. 
 
 "Do these bills come from Miss Baker?" he was asked. 
 
 "Yes, "he replied. 
 
 "Are you one of the men on strike?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "One of Underbell's men?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a pause, for Bobby was staring into Matt's 
 face and Matt was staring into Bobby's. Matt's mind 
 played him a trick. It made him think he had met Bobby 
 before, that something was familiar in his appearance, in 
 the sound of his voice, in his tone of command, in the 
 fearlessness of his expression, and in his very setting among 
 these horses and these men. This was absurd, for the 
 recollection floated up from so distant a past that Bobby 
 would have been a baby at the time. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" 
 
 The question brought Matt sharply back to the present. 
 But it was a question that his pride would not let him 
 answer. Then said Bobby, " If you will come with me, in a 
 quarter of an hour you shall have a meal."
 
 150 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Matt's feelings were like those of Cinderella before the 
 fairy godmother. Finding it hard to believe that he was 
 not dreaming, he asked, "Who are you?" 
 
 "I am Sir Robert Wilton." 
 
 Disillusionment again! Matt had actually supposed, at 
 his time of life, after all that he had learned, that he had 
 found another gentleman, that a passing stranger was 
 going to treat him with the fierce kindness of the Torren- 
 dens, with the stern protection of the mythical breed of 
 heroes that he had idolised in his foolish youth, and revered 
 still to the extent of keeping a gold flask which would have 
 fetched money. He had been deceived by a touch of 
 manner. He had been deceived into a thrill of liking for the 
 brutal chief of the system he abominated, the owner of the 
 factory, who avowedly cared not if he starved stiff. So he 
 stepped back, and the cavalcade went on its way. 
 
 He followed, but with no wish to draw a crowd or make a 
 row. He followed because in spite of his disillusionment 
 he was still fascinated. Sluggish as his mind now was, it 
 had been stirred, and at last he saw the truth. He saw the 
 tragedy of the modern world to be that one who looks like a 
 Torrenden can act worse than a Bristow. More than ever 
 he thanked God that he was a Socialist. 
 
 49 
 
 V 
 
 The next disillusionment was on a very elaborate scale, 
 being six days in preparation, and utterly heart breaking 
 in its catastrophe. After he had seen Bobby enter the 
 White Hart, Matt went on distributing leaflets until his 
 strength failed him. Then he staggered home and fell 
 asleep on a chair. He woke, and the face of the earth was 
 changed. A fire of coals was blazing in the grate. The 
 savour of stewing meat filled the room. The table was 
 spread with plates and cups, and also with bread, butter,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 151 
 
 cheese, milk, jam, and a great dish of cabbage and potato. 
 Matt was speechless, and speechless he remained during a 
 considerable part of that wonderful evening. Eliza, on 
 the other hand, was voluble. She explained that this was 
 Sir Robert Wilton's bounty, that every man at Underbell's 
 was enjoying the same, that the strike was settled, the 
 demands granted, and that her own eyes had beheld Sir 
 Robert Wilton standing in the porch of the White Hart. 
 
 The thing was beyond explanation. It was a mystery 
 beyond Eliza's chatter and beyond Matt's half-stunned 
 cogitation. But if the miracle of the day was great, the 
 miracle of the morrow was greater. 
 
 Matt had left the house between nine and ten that 
 morning, saying that he would be back for dinner. No 
 wonder, for it was many a day since such a dinner had 
 awaited him. Eliza, whose nature was indolent and easy- 
 going, had accommodated herself to changed conditions. 
 She settled into a matter-of-fact contentment with the full 
 larder and the big fire and the prospect of better times and 
 better wages in the future. She made herself and the 
 children look clean and tidy, darning their clothes and 
 brushing their hair, and when Matt did not return for 
 dinner she concluded that he had preferred to go drinking 
 instead. Yesterday, as she remembered, he had earned 
 half-a-crown over the leaflets. 
 
 Shortly after two o'clock a note was brought to Eliza by 
 a girl who said she was from the vicarage. The note dis- 
 pelled all doubt as to the cause of Matt's absence, but it 
 surprised Eliza, for Matt was very seldom so drunk as to 
 collide with the authorities. "Will Mrs. Blood please 
 come to the vicarage at once," the note read, "on account 
 of her husband who is there." Eliza told the girl that she 
 would come directly. Then she went upstairs and hunted 
 about for the red stuff that she pinned to her hat on state 
 occasions, and for her white cotton gloves and her umbrella
 
 152 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 and her brooch. "'E must a-drunk the 'ole 'arf-crown, " 
 she thought, "and 'oo stood 'im the rest, I wonder." 
 
 She sauntered off to the vicarage, enjoying the fresh air 
 and the sights and sounds of life. "Bless me, things do 
 seem changed, " she thought, for the faces of all the people 
 looked cheerful. "'Oo 'd a- thought it this time yesterday. 
 Pity we 'aven't been more churchy; the vicar, p'r'aps 'e 'd 
 a-spoke for Matt before the magistrates. Miss Patterman! 
 Going to Sunday-school, I suppose. Can't think 'ow 
 she wears such 'ats. Let me see, the vicar's called Tre- 
 vanion. 'Andsome, 'e is. Styles, Bentley, 'Arrison, Tre- 
 vanion; 'ow they come and go. There 's the little dog Matt 
 sold to the police, and drunk seven and sixpence off it." 
 
 She rang the bell at the vicarage door 'and told the 
 parlour-maid that she was Mrs. Blood. "Wonders never 
 cease," she thought, when she had been taken to the draw- 
 ing-room and left alone. " Well, this is a fine room. P'r'aps 
 it 's where Mr. Styles died of 'is 'eart. I '11 sit down. Why 
 shouldn't I? 'Ow this 'at droops! I 'd keep a better fire 
 in the 'earth if I 'd their money. Spend it on their pictures, 
 I suppose. All Bible ones. Bless me, they are peculiar. 
 I '11 lean back in this chair. Why shouldn't I? Oh, there 
 goes my 'at!" 
 
 While she was correcting the angle of her hat with the 
 aid of a religious picture that served as a mirror, the 
 parlour-maid returned and asked her to come upstairs. 
 Few people could be less addicted than Eliza to the vulgar 
 feeling of astonishment, but her placid mind was decidedly 
 impressed when the parlour-maid, leading her up the stair- 
 case and along a passage, threw open the door of a hand- 
 somely furnished bedroom and revealed Matt lying in the 
 middle of a large double bed. In this surprising spectacle 
 the only thing which Eliza could understand was the 
 bandage tied round Matt's head. "Well," she said, 
 incredulously, "well I 'm !"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 153 
 
 The parlour-maid shut the door and left them alone. 
 
 " 'Oose labour creates it?" said Matt. "Who digs the 
 clay? Who stokes the fire?" 
 
 "Goodness!" said Eliza, "you look quite silly, Matt." 
 
 "Liza, hullo, is that you?" he asked. 
 
 "Don't you know me then?" 
 
 "He never said such a thing," Matt answered. "Don't 
 you believe it, Liza. Hullo, I 'm talking silly." 
 
 "Drunk, are you?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, I was asleep," said Matt. "I 'm blowed, Liza, 
 how funny to see you here! Hullo, I 'm going silly again. 
 Wait a bit. I 've got a headache something awful. " 
 
 " 'Eadache cost more than 'arf-a-crown, I reckon," said 
 Eliza. "You never done this on beer." 
 
 "Beer!" 
 
 "No, not on beer." 
 
 "Beer! Get on! It was Miss Baker." 
 
 "Oh, indeed," said Eliza, looking at him as though he 
 were something in a museum. "And what did Miss Baker 
 do, I wonder." 
 
 "Knocks me over in the area." 
 
 "Oh, indeed." 
 
 "Standing on those front steps, I was, and tripped over 
 the side, before my words is out of my mouth. " 
 
 "And what might your words 'ave been, I wonder." 
 
 "Would you have me kep' the 'arf -crown, then?" cried 
 Matt excitedly. "Why, I never thought no more about it, 
 after the goings-on last night, till Rogers come up this 
 morning. 'Your 'arf-crown,' 'e says, 'for 'anding leaflets.' 
 'Damn lying leaflets, too,' I says. 'The young feller said 
 no such words, or 'e 'd not a-give us our grub last night. 
 Take it back,' I says. ' Take it to Miss Baker,' 'e says. 
 And so I comes here, waiting on the door-step, and out 
 comes Miss Baker and pushes out her arm, and I trips over 
 the scraper and into the area, and knocks my forehead on
 
 154 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 the lead piping, and hullo!" Matt stopped, and Eliza 
 turned her head to see what had attracted his notice. 
 
 "Mrs. Blood?" said a strange lady, who had come 
 silently into the room. 
 
 "Yes, miss, that 's me," said Eliza. 
 
 "Has he told you?" 
 
 "I never 'card the like," said Eliza, with extraordinary 
 tact. 
 
 The strange lady came up to Eliza, and took hold of both 
 her hands. The sweetest and gravest of smiles lit her face. 
 " It has all been very wonderful, " she said. "But the most 
 wonderful thing of all is that it should have happened to- 
 day of all days, and some day you will know why. All I 
 think I ought to tell you is that we think it really and truly 
 right of your husband to return the ill earned money, and 
 we are going to nurse him and look after him until he is 
 quite well again, as if he were our own brother. I know 
 how sorry we ought to be that the accident should have 
 happened at all, but we cannot be really sorry when we 
 think of social peace because we all feel that this has been 
 sent by God to be the very beginning and first fruits of a 
 new spirit in the whole world. Now you mustn't stay 
 more than five minutes, because the doctor says your 
 husband is not to talk just at present, but you can go away 
 with the feeling that he will be looked after in this house as 
 though he were the dearest of our own family. " 
 f '. "Well, miss, I never 'eard the like, I never did, " said Eliza. 
 
 Mrs. Hope pressed her hands and smiled again. Then 
 she went and lowered one of the window blinds, and prodded 
 Matt's pillow into a new shape, and poked the fire, and 
 chattered about the fineness of the afternoon, and reminded 
 Eliza that her visit must not last for more than five minutes. 
 She left the room. 
 
 "Dotty?" murmured Eliza, who was quite frightened. 
 
 " 'Ush," said Matt.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 155 
 50 
 
 It was Wednesday, the third day after Mrs. Hope hit on 
 the idea of social peace, and the fourth day before Christ- 
 mas. It was the day of the inaugural meeting of the 
 league. 
 
 "Just a moment," called Mrs. Trevanion, holding up her 
 hand to command the attention of the fourteen persons 
 who constituted the meeting in the vicarage drawing- 
 room, "just a moment! We will all have tea first, quite 
 informally, and then I shall ask you to listen to a few words 
 from my sister Mrs. Hope about the league." 
 
 That the matter may be perfectly clear it should be said 
 that each of the fourteen persons present had received an 
 invitation written and signed by Mrs. Trevanion but 
 dictated by Mrs. Hope. The same statements were made 
 in each letter, and though they were very alluring state- 
 ments there was not one that was not literally and abso- 
 lutely true. Mrs. Hope had pointed this out to Mrs. 
 Trevanion very distinctly. Statement One was an invita- 
 tion to tea, and there could be nothing untrue about an 
 invitation. Statement Two was that they wanted to talk 
 over a little plan for founding a new league, and no one 
 could gainsay the truth of that. Statement Three was that 
 though the league was to begin in Denbury it was likely 
 to spread quickly over all England, for it was just a plan to 
 try whether our sad social troubles could not be settled by a 
 little Christian charity. If you questioned the truth of 
 this, you were doubting the goodness and power of God. 
 Statement Four was that hundreds and hundreds of rich 
 people in the London district were already hoping and 
 praying for a league of this sort, which was certainly true, 
 because they practically prayed it every time they went to 
 church. Statement Five was that Mrs. Trevanion quite 
 hoped that the Duchess of Brackenbury would become
 
 156 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 patroness, and why, if Mrs. Trevanion had any hopes of the 
 sort, should she not say that she hoped it quite? Statement 
 Six was that the bishop of the diocese was practically cer- 
 tain to help greatly with the spiritual side while they 
 expected the presidency to be accepted by Sir Robert 
 Wilton until such time as the league was large enough for it 
 to be offered to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Was any- 
 thing wrong in this? Not if the bishop was a truly good 
 man. Not if Sir Robert was really softened. In fact, there 
 was not a statement in the letter that could not be made 
 by a thoroughly conscientious woman. 
 
 Twenty invitations were sent, sixteen ladies accepted, 
 and fourteen actually came. Great things have small 
 beginnings. Mrs. Hope preferred fourteen truly Christian 
 ladies to fourteen hundred of any other sort, and she was 
 perfectly satisfied and happy. There was Mrs. Heather- 
 ington-Smith on the sofa, who had worn widow's weeds 
 for thirty years. Beside her was Miss Pinkley, who virtu- 
 ally lived in church. In the other corner of the sofa they 
 had deposited Miss Hornby, who had lost the use of both 
 legs in 1902, and on a stool beside her was Mrs. Pewitt, who 
 was practically deaf but could hear with a trumpet. Into 
 the trumpet shouted Miss Trickey whose plain blue skirt 
 and purple jacket brought home to one how little true 
 goodness has to do with taste or drapery. By the tea table 
 little Lady Budge, the widow of an Indian judge, was 
 sitting almost in the lap of a chemist's daughter and talking 
 with an agitated volubility which was beautiful if you bore 
 in mind the class distinction between them. In the same 
 spirit of love and enthusiasm the two Misses Trotman by 
 the piano, the pretty one with the hump on her back and 
 the tall plain one with the earnest face, were being nice 
 to the wife of Brown, the retired ironmonger, though their 
 own father had been a University man. It seemed as 
 though the spirit of social peace had descended even upon
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 157 
 
 this first meeting of the league; for there was not a lady 
 present who looked frivolous or worldly and yet not one 
 who was not talking in bright and eager fellowship to some 
 one else. It was just the atmosphere in which Mrs. Hope 
 was likely to make a good speech. 
 
 " I am sure we shall all be very sorry, " she said, speaking 
 from the hearth-rug, when tea was over, "that the Duchess 
 of Brackenbury has not been able to come here to-day. " A 
 murmur of assent proved how well she had gauged their feel- 
 ing, and Miss Trickey leaned into Mrs. Pewitt's trumpet and 
 shouted a report of the speech up to date. This being incon- 
 venient, however truly kind, Mrs. Pewitt was removed to a 
 chair on the hearth-rug in the nearer vicinity of the speaker, 
 who thus continued. "But I think we may feel that she 
 is practically certain to be our patroness when she really 
 understands about the league, and I am sure I shall not be 
 wrong when I say just the same about Sir Robert Wilton. 
 At any rate, I am sure there is no reason why we should 
 not begin our work at once. I know we are all feeling that 
 Denbury has had a real warning of the dangers of trying to 
 do good without remembering to keep that little lamp of 
 Christian love always burning. We are all very sorry that 
 the vicar is not here with us to-day, because he would have 
 told us in his own words what we are all feeling in our 
 hearts, but we can be sure he is with us in spirit. I was 
 going to tell you a little story about how a millionaire might 
 say to a district visitor that he had given much more 
 in charity than she had, and she might answer, 'Yes, but I 
 have given my life and my love. ' I know we are all feeling 
 that life and love is just what needs giving to Denbury 
 now. When you each get your peace cards with the names 
 of the three poor families you will be asked to welcome into 
 true friendship, you will be sure to feel how much more 
 beautiful it is to give love than to give money. I want to 
 tell you that we have had several long talks with Mr. Jones,
 
 158 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 who has taken charge of all Sir Robert Wilton's affairs in 
 Denbury, and he sees no objection to our all working 
 together. So we shall help him and he will help us, and I 
 feel quite sure that we shall realise how the most important 
 thing of all for us Christians to remember is that we ought 
 to love one another in all possible ways. And above all, 
 of course, we must give our minds to the question of being 
 true friends with the poor. Now I will tell you our pro- 
 posals, but first of all, I think, we ought to elect our com- 
 mittee and our officers." 
 
 This was done by means of voting papers, which had 
 been typewritten by Mrs. Hope's secretary, so that it was 
 all quite in correct and proper form. For the office of 
 president there had been only one nomination, that of Sir 
 Robert Wilton, and nothing was simpler than to mark a 
 pencil cross in the space opposite his name. The committee 
 was a more complicated matter. Five members were to be 
 elected, and six names appeared upon the voting paper. 
 These were the names, as Mrs. Hope explained, of the six 
 nominated candidates for election, and it was open to all 
 present to mark crosses against the names of any five, 
 exactly as they thought wisest and best. True enough, 
 the scope of choice was rather severely limited, but the 
 plan was copied from that used in the vicar's representative 
 parish council, and it could never be denied that those who 
 were elected had actually been elected. The voting papers 
 were put into a little work-basket lined with pink satin, 
 and were set aside for subsequent counting. 
 
 "And the only other thing we have to do before we finish 
 the elections," said Mrs. Hope, "is to choose a man and 
 woman to be caretakers in the Social Peace Club over 
 Brooks's shop, which I shall explain to you presently. It 
 will be a very important and responsible post, so we shall 
 want a really conscientious man and woman, and the 
 wonderful thing is that just as we were thinking about it,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 159 
 
 we had a man and woman sent to us in a way that we felt 
 was really most wonderful and providential. We are going 
 to call them steward and stewardess of the club, and their 
 name is Mr. and Mrs. Blood. So who will second the 
 motion that Mr. and Mrs. Blood be elected?" 
 
 It was seconded by Miss Agg, and carried as unanimously 
 as everything else. 
 
 51 
 
 After this Mrs. Hope gave an address upon work among 
 the poor, and all hearts were gladdened around her. And it 
 mattered not which consideration floated uppermost in 
 the minds of the ladies who went home from the vicarage 
 tea party; it mattered not that this one thought of the 
 duchess and that one of the bishop and a third one of the 
 poor; some thought of the joyfulness of peace and some 
 thought of the peacefulness of joy, and others of the great 
 new epoch on the earth when all mankind should love man- 
 kind as well as Mrs. Hope loved her kitchen-maid. Some, 
 also, tried to remember what they had learned from Mrs. 
 Hope about the more abstruse technicalities of love, the 
 proper duration of a truly friendly visit to a charwoman, 
 the right topics to select when talking to a dustman's wife 
 on terms of really Christian equality, and the way to find 
 out which of the poor were living truly conscientious lives, 
 and which were not. But all these divers meditations were 
 illumined by an even higher cause of joyfulness, for the 
 good are always happy, and each of the ladies felt her- 
 self fifty times as good and holy as any one she had ever 
 heard of. So they all went home to radiate the joy that 
 they had learned, Miss Trickey, and the chemist's daughter, 
 Mrs. Heatherington-Smith, Miss Pinkley and the Misses 
 Trotman, Brown's wife and Lady Budge, Miss Hornby, 
 Mrs. Pewitt, and the rest. And if these were happy, what 
 shall be said of Matt Blood and Eliza?
 
 I6o THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 The joy and gratitude of Matt and Eliza were the first- 
 fruits of the labour of love. It cost Mrs. Hope twenty 
 shillings a week in wages and thirty pounds a year in rent, 
 but Matt and Eliza were established over Brooks's shop as 
 steward and stewardess of the Social Peace Club. They 
 were the first steward and the first stewardess of the first 
 Social Peace Club in all the world. So Mrs. Hope told 
 them, and so Matt also told his own soul, for he had no 
 sooner sent his notice to Underbell's and entered on his new 
 duties than the enthusiasm of work came back to him like 
 the years of his youth. His illness had only lasted forty- 
 eight hours, and on the Wednesday he carted his furniture 
 and possessions into the premises above Brooks's shop and 
 the griefs and hardships and disappointments of a dozen 
 years fell off his shoulders as he poured forth his plans and 
 projects before the irresponsive Eliza. As for Eliza, she 
 was happy in her own way. She was finding places in their 
 little sitting-room above the club for all that had not been 
 pawned or sold in the bad days, for the table and chairs 
 and pots and pans, and the picture of Queen Victoria, and 
 the photograph of Matt when he was the brilliant potman, 
 and the stuffed fox, and the paper fans and the Chinese 
 lantern and for all the new things which Mrs. Hope and 
 Mrs. Trevanion had just given her in the bountifulness of 
 their joy and love. She could not help saying that it all did 
 seem odd and funny, and she pointed out to Matt that the 
 children were so astonished they looked quite silly. They 
 were dazed, like herself, by the comforts and beauties of 
 the new home. All the top floor was given up to Matt and 
 his family. They had a sitting-room, a kitchen, and two 
 bedrooms, and all that their own possessions could not do 
 to make the place pretty and comfortable had been done by 
 the boundless kindness and generosity of Mrs. Hope. Eliza 
 felt that her eyes would never get used to the sight of so 
 many new belongings, and when she ceased thinking of
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 161 
 
 these she could reflect that behind them was a good and sure 
 living, without rent, without fines, without anxiety. Hunger 
 and sorrow were things of the past. Squalor and starvation 
 were taken away. Social Peace was no vain dream in its 
 bearing on the fortunes of Eliza. 
 
 Matt was glad enough to see the clean rooms. He was 
 glad enough to see the full cupboard. He was glad enough 
 to have the good income assured. But there were matters 
 more important. This Social Peace was going to be a big 
 thing. It was going to spread. Eliza talked of ending her 
 days in these nice rooms, but she was as blind as a bat, for 
 they were more likely to end their days in charge of some 
 big Social Peace Club in London or Glasgow or Liverpool. 
 Perhaps they would be earning several hundred pounds a 
 year. Matt was going to make this job a success. He was 
 going to stop drinking. He was going to work this club as 
 he worked the Rising Sun, and if he did not smash the trade 
 of every public house in Denbury in six months he would 
 blow his brains out. He would pit his tea and coffee 
 against their beer and gin, and throw his wits into the scale, 
 and in less than you can wink your eye he would have the 
 chaps trooping in, night after night, for talk and games and 
 secret betting and to read the papers with the sporting 
 news and settle about buying dogs. Matt saw it all. The 
 thing could be done. As for Mrs. Hope, he had no fears 
 about her. She was a lady, not like Miss Baker. She was 
 very religious, he admitted; but that was how she raked in 
 the money. Besides it was a good thing to be religious, 
 Matt said. 
 
 And thus Matt talked, while Eliza cooked the most 
 delicious cakes to be sold with the tea and coffee and 
 lemonade at almost nominal prices to the men and women 
 who might come into the club at night to talk on an equality 
 with Miss Trickey and Lady Budge and Mrs. Pewitt, Miss 
 Hornby, Miss Pinkley, and the rest. Several times a day
 
 162 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Mrs. Hope came tripping up the staircase to the top floor 
 to have a talk with Matt about the work. She sat on the 
 old sofa with the broken spring, petted the children, and 
 smiled and chattered on in her inimitable style so that one 
 might wonder what could possibly be the end of this ever 
 growing intimacy. From this, indeed, should have been 
 drawn some picture, some characteristic sketch, to be 
 reproduced on the cover of each issue of the Social Peace 
 Magazine. For here it was that the league took form and 
 substance. Pretty, gentle, happy, Mrs. Hope would be 
 shown in a pretty little costume of dark green, her shocked 
 expression conspicuously absent, and the spirit of true 
 lovingness dancing about her face like the bubbles on the 
 surface of boiling water while she chattered and smiled 
 and praised and patronised. Matt, with figure still youthful 
 and not ungraceful, would appear beside her, standing 
 with his hands on his hips and his legs apart, bending to 
 listen, eager to get in his word. You would be left to 
 guess which of the two was the more happy, and how many 
 times the united happiness of both would have to be 
 multiplied if it was to equal the sum of the happiness 
 which they planned together to bestow upon their fel- 
 low creatures. For they settled it all between them. 
 Street by street they went through the voter's list of Den- 
 bury. They decided into which houses which ladies should 
 carry true friendship, and they classified the people of the 
 place. On Matt's information they marked A against all 
 who did not lead straight lives. B against those who 
 betted on horses, C against those who used their children 
 ill, D against the drunkards, F against the foul-mouthed, 
 G against the godless, N against the nonconformists, T 
 against the thriftless, U against the uncleanly, and W 
 against those who beat their wives. So, to every erring 
 mortal the loving ladies would know what help to bring, 
 fluttering forth like ministering angels primed with facts
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 163 
 
 by Mrs. Hope, ever busy, ever happy, ever loving, and not 
 even expecting to be addressed as "Ma'am" or "Miss." 
 "It do seem odd," said Eliza when Mrs. Hope left the 
 room. 
 
 And it seemed odd to Mrs. Hope too. It seemed quite 
 odd that she had never thought of all this before. She had 
 worked for many leagues and societies, but she had never 
 thought of joining all forms of good work together in one 
 league that should wipe the tears from all eyes and cure all 
 the selfishness of the rich and all the vices of the poor by the 
 simple plan of loving one another. The idea was tre- 
 mendous, but she knew that the greatest ideas are always 
 the simplest. To her it had been given. Yet she knew she 
 must not claim the glory, for the glory was due to that 
 Higher Power, which in this instance, and not for the first 
 time, had scattered the proud and exalted the humble and 
 meek. When Mrs. Hope remembered her own humility 
 and meekness she quite understood why the great idea 
 had been given to herself and not to the Duchess or Miss 
 Baker; and she felt more truly happy than ever. 
 
 52 
 
 At this point it shall be stated plainly that Mrs. Hope 
 was the abomination of desolation. She was much more 
 frightful than Miss Baker. As a scarecrow is a counterfeit 
 man set up to frighten birds, so she, in the torn trappings 
 of sanctity, stood to frighten young and old from all the 
 virtues among which she was stuck down. Whomsoever 
 she set out to lead into goodness she pitched headlong into 
 vice, were it only the vice of hypocrisy. The sight of her 
 piety drove people away from churches; her disapproving 
 glances would goad a youth into mischief; even a young 
 girl's innocence perished when her basilisk eye was turned 
 to inquire into it. And now she was going to make peace
 
 164 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 
 
 between the classes. She was going to pry into every cot- 
 tage with streams of blasphemous cant and strings of 
 exasperating questions; she would have her nose in every 
 scandal and her fingers on every speck of dust, pretending 
 to love where she did not love, improving those who did not 
 wish to be improved, and giving a bad name to every 
 creature with a spark of spirit. She would give little 
 badges to the goody-goody; she would drive the black sheep 
 to the devil; the generality would hate her worse than ever 
 they had hated Mr. Deane; and righteousness would be 
 persecuted for her sake. The serious aspect of the matter 
 was that she wormed herself into the confidence of Michael 
 Jones, in whose charge were all the factory people, and she 
 won an influence over him by her eagerness to help in his 
 work. There was a fair prospect of Bobby's charity being 
 administered in her pap-spoon and of Underbell's becom- 
 ing a great experimental nursery for her system. 
 
 Mr. Deane had been the curse of Underbell's. Mrs. 
 Hope seemed likely to succeed him. In Denbury, as in 
 places more important, the curse of harsh employment bid 
 fair to be followed by the curse of socialistic goody-goody. 
 And the hope of Underbell's lay where the hope of England 
 lies, did the poor but know it, did the rich but know it, 
 in the possibilities that lurk where human character is still 
 untainted by industrialism. The hope of Underbell's lay 
 in the character of Bobby Wilton. 
 
 On the night of Thursday, the twenty-first of December, 
 while Mrs. Hope was at tea with the Bloods in the club, to 
 show how much she loved the poor, Bobby was at dinner 
 with the party who had come to Orchard Wilton for the 
 season of Christmas. His wife, his mother, and his aunt, 
 were there as usual. The others were guests. There were 
 Jock and Wilfred Rannard, brothers of Marian Wilton's 
 first husband, and Ethel Rannard who was Jock's bride. 
 These, with cousin Mary Wilton and Kate Deane, a sister
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 165 
 
 of Marian's, were of the family. From outside the family 
 came Curly Edwards, an old friend of Bobby's, and his 
 wife, Mr. Carpenter, a clergyman, and Malcolm Forth who 
 was called Keddy, whose friendship with Bobby had begun 
 at Oxford. He was now a schoolmaster, though, as Bobby 
 said, you 'd never know it. And every one of these was 
 here because their company gave pleasure to Bobby; of 
 those who sat at meat with him there was not one invited 
 from a sense of duty, not one whose absence he would not 
 have regretted. And among them he enjoyed himself, for, 
 with the obvious exceptions they were young and pleasant 
 and cheerful. Since he was going to a boxing class after 
 dinner he wore white flannel trousers and the blue jacket 
 of the Coulscombe cricket club, a costume that had a good 
 effect upon his spirits. Mrs. Edwards was on his right, and 
 her talk had the sort of humour that kept him in delight. 
 On his left was Ethel Rannard, a girl of extreme charm and 
 beauty at this time hardly twenty years old. Each of 
 these knew more of the world than Bobby, but conversation 
 was assured, for his blunt and eager questions showed a 
 kind of genius on these occasions, while his comments had a 
 point of view. 
 
 Meanwhile, in a room upstairs, in a bedroom where the 
 oak of the panels and the wardrobes and bedsteads had the 
 memories of three hundred years, while the linen was sweet 
 with the lavender of yesterday, Eddie Durwold in the light 
 of candles was dressing himself after a late arrival from 
 Newton Royal Station. He had gone back to school 
 from Denbury on Sunday. On Monday, when the school 
 broke up for the Christmas holidays, he was detained 
 that his conduct might be investigated. He was then 
 as awkwardly placed as he had ever in his life been 
 before. But he had some resources. The world is so 
 human that a bad boy who has behaved nicely at his 
 tutor's tea-table may, at a crisis, fare better than another.
 
 166 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Influence of such a kind was employed on Eddie's behalf. 
 Sentence of expulsion was commuted to an adequate 
 flogging. After this he retired to the house of his cousin 
 Yardale, in the country, where he carried on negotiations 
 with his mother and with Bobby in the time that he could 
 spare from shooting Yardale's pheasants. He was success- 
 ful. Forgiveness flowed towards him, penitent as he 
 declared himself to be, and Yardale gave him a five-pound 
 note for Christmas and another for his adventures. 
 
 He studied himself in the mirror. Bobby would have 
 told him to wear things for boxing, little as he knew about 
 that art, but Bobby had not seen him. So he was spick and 
 span in evening dress. Satisfied with his appearance, he 
 came down to the dining-room with the shyness natural in 
 any one arriving so late. 
 
 53 
 
 In the dining-room the first face he recognised was that 
 of Robin Dennet, for the boys from the stables helped the 
 parlour-maids when the party at dinner was large. Robin 
 whispered in Bobby's ear, and Bobby jumped up and 
 began without delay to say what he thought about the 
 inconvenience of the hours of the trains. At the same time 
 he put an arm round Eddie's neck and led him towards 
 Marian, who rose and said coolly such things as a kind 
 woman must say on such occasions. There was a disturb- 
 ance because it appeared that no place at the table had been 
 laid for him. Bobby was distressed by this. He dragged a 
 chair from the wall and set it at the end of the table, next 
 to his own, while Dennet with terrified rapidity brought 
 knives and forks and glasses. "This is the fellow," said 
 Bobby to Ethel Rannard, by way of introduction "who 
 walked all the way from Newton Royal in the middle of 
 the night to bring me a piece of news."
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 167 
 
 "I saw your photograph in the Illustrated Voice on 
 Tuesday, " said she. 
 
 "All Bobby's friends get posts given them," said Keddy 
 on her other side. "This fellow is the chief of the secret 
 police. We shall get the truth about Denbury at last." 
 
 "Yes, he's my Baker-hound," said Bobby, rather 
 grimly. "But you won't get the truth yet because he 's 
 going to have his dinner." 
 
 Eddie was inclined to blush at his celebrity among 
 strangers. But he quickly decided that Ethel Rannard was 
 the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. So he plunged 
 into confidence and told her what a fool the Illustrated 
 Voice had made him feel. He was opening a delightful 
 flirtation, and doing it quite prettily, but they interrupted 
 him. 
 
 "The great thing to know," said Wilfred. Rannard, "is 
 which of Bobby's scandals Miss Baker is going to publish." 
 
 Eddie did not know, and some one observed that it is 
 dangerous to start denying accusations until you know 
 which one you have to meet. 
 
 "And is he still to be lynched?" Wilfred asked, "or does 
 the scandal do instead?" 
 
 "Now they are going to make Bobby angry," said 
 Marian to Mr. Carpenter at the other end of the table. 
 
 "Angry?" 
 
 "Yes. They are going to tease him about Denbury." 
 
 "That will be dreadful," said the clergyman with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " No it won't, but it will be very unkind, " she said. " It 
 is too bad of Keddy and Wilfred." 
 
 For a time the conversation took a safer turn when they 
 started to question Eddie upon the origin of his acquaint- 
 ance with Miss Baker. Bobby advised him not to answer 
 a word, but his blushes roused a teasing spirit in Keddy 
 and parts of the story of the Maryhill churchyard were
 
 168 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 extracted from him. It aroused a good deal of surprise. 
 Unfortunately the name of Mrs. Hope was mentioned, 
 leading back to a topic which Bobby could not endure with 
 any show of patience. 
 
 "Mrs. Hope is the woman who has started the Social 
 Peace League at Denbury," said Keddy, "and to-day, my 
 dear Bobby, I see she has elected you president of it. " 
 
 Here Aunt Elizabeth took up the subject. She was sitting 
 next to Keddy with her knitting hanging from her neck by a 
 piece of ribbon. " I think it was very impertinent of them to 
 elect Bobby without asking leave," she said. "Only this 
 afternoon in Coulscombe I met Mrs. Tracey and she said I 
 didn't know your nephew was taking up social work. And 
 I said Really. And she said Yes, and I said Why? and 
 she said He is president of the Social Peace League, do you 
 think he would join our Christian Social Union in the 
 county, and Lady Elphley called and said the same, your 
 nephew becoming quite famous, I said Why, she said He is 
 president of the Social Peace League, I said he is nothing 
 of the sort, you are making a mistake, and she said well in 
 Newton every one is saying it, I said, very possibly, he is 
 certainly acting in a very handsome manner towards those 
 poor people at Denbury but he is president of nothing yet, 
 he is acting in a very handsome manner towards Denbury, 
 but he feels he has a duty to Denbury on account of his 
 becoming as it were the principal person in that place ' 
 
 The placid narrative might have lasted much longer, for 
 when Aunt Elizabeth talked at all she talked at length, 
 with her eyes half closed, till the objects round her seemed 
 to dance up and down and rock and reel and grow unreal 
 in contrast with her enduring tranquillity. But on this 
 occasion Bobby interrupted her. He pushed back his chair 
 and jumped up. "I 'm due at my boxing in the village," 
 he said, not very pleasantly. 
 
 Marian left her place and came round to him. " But you
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 169 
 
 were going to take Mr. Durwold," she said, in a manner 
 that carried an appeal and a slight reproach. She wished 
 him to do or say something amiable before he left his guests 
 in this fashion. 
 
 "He hasn't had his dinner," said Bobby. 
 
 "But he would enjoy it." 
 
 "He can enjoy something else." 
 
 "Bobby!" she said, appealingly. 
 
 "Well, make him hurry up, and I '11 wait for him in the 
 trap," he answered. 
 
 "The boxing will pacify him," Marian said to Mr. 
 Carpenter, when he had left the room. "Keddy is so 
 unkind and Aunt Elizabeth is so stupid. " 
 
 "What does he really intend to do about Denbury?" 
 the clergyman asked. 
 
 "If you want the truth," said she, "he is perfectly sick 
 of the whole subject." 
 
 54 
 
 Eddie was not sure that to stay and say amusing things 
 to Ethel Rannard would not please him more than the 
 boxing class, but he could see that Marian desired him to 
 go with Bobby, and to go as soon as possible. Robin 
 Dennet, in fact, stood behind his chair and gave him his 
 food as fast as he could eat it. In a few minutes he 
 was ready to go. He managed his exit with perfect self- 
 possession. 
 
 He found Bobby lying at full length on the rug in front 
 of the fire in the hall, his face buried in the neck of Rebel, 
 the deer-hound. Evidently he was pouring out his sorrows 
 to this not very sympathetic comforter. He got up. 
 
 "Pity you're not more sensibly dressed, Eddie," he 
 said. "Have you got a thick coat?" 
 
 "Anything will do," the boy answered.
 
 170 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Oh, you'll catch cold," said Bobby. "Come over 
 here." 
 
 A table near the hall door was piled with coats and rugs, 
 from which Bobby chose a great sheep-skin motor coat of 
 Jock Rannard's and he made the boy wear it, becoming, as 
 his habit was, eager and imperious on the point. He had 
 evidently forgotten his annoyance. He took a light over- 
 coat for himself and they went out into the open air which 
 he sniffed appreciatively. A groom was waiting with a 
 pony and trap. Over the business of getting Eddie safely 
 and comfortably settled in his seat Bobby fussed in a 
 manner bordering on absurdity. 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad to get away from that damn foolish 
 talk," he said, as they drove along, "and I call it very jolly 
 of you to come out like this, 'pon my word, I do. But 
 you '11 enjoy it, Eddie. You '11 meet some of the best 
 fellows there are. My boxing boys are simply angels. 
 If you 'd seen them when I had my elections they 'd simply 
 have made you cry." 
 
 "Did you take them down into Cornwall, then?" asked 
 Eddie. 
 
 "I took pretty nearly the whole village," he answered. 
 "The fact was, they took themselves. I suppose it was 
 very eccentric. I say, Eddie, you liked Ethel Rannard, 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "She 's simply charming," said the boy. 
 
 "I thought you liked her. But what you ought to do 
 is to fall in love with Mary." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 "My cousin; the dark girl in blue. You '11 notice her 
 to-morrow. I 'd like you to marry her, only you 're too 
 young. By the way, I never asked you, you are a bit of 
 a bruiser, aren't you?" 
 
 "I have never bruised a fly," said Eddie. 
 
 "What a pity!" said Bobby.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 171 
 
 Eddie said that Bobby would have to forgive him. They 
 were at the park gate, and Bobby whistled for some one 
 from the lodge to come and open it. No one came, so 
 Eddie jumped out and pushed the heavy iron gates suffi- 
 ciently wide apart. He waited, but the trap did not move. 
 He called out, and Bobby said, "Hullo, I was asleep." 
 
 "I 'm sorry you 're not a bruiser, Eddie," he said, as 
 they drove on. "But never mind. Wait till Saturday, 
 and I '11 give you a day's hunting. I expect that '11 be 
 more in your line, and to tell you the truth, when I was 
 your age it was more in my line too. Oh, if I 'd had some 
 hammering from Tom Trevor when I was your age I 'd 
 have been saved a lot of bother. Well, the next thing 
 would be for me to begin to teach you in the gallery before 
 breakfast every morning while you 're here. I think that 
 would be a very good thing indeed. You sit still to-night 
 and watch Tom Trevor for all you are worth. I tell you 
 it 's a most extraordinary thing how all these things depend 
 on science. Sometimes I think it 's positively beastly. 
 Pluck ought to count for more than science, and that 's 
 what I thought when I was your age, but the devil is that 
 it doesn't. Some fellow ought to write a book about it 
 and teach all the plucky boys no end of a lot they ought to 
 know. Now in boxing it' s not a year since I could lick 
 Tom Trevor three times out of four though he* s twice my 
 weight and six times my muscle. That was just because 
 I put my mind into the science of it. And then he took 
 to science too, and it has been the very devil ever since. 
 I think I 'm more proud of Tom than of anything I ever 
 had. I 'm going to see him through to some sort of cham- 
 pionship. Eddie, mind you 're nice to Tom. Don't be 
 shy with him. You know you ought really to have taken 
 him with you when you went out that night at Denbury. 
 He 'd have died sooner than let any one touch you, so if 
 they had found you he 'd have been useful,"
 
 172 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 They came to a halt, in the middle of the village street, 
 with the Wilton Arms on their right and the Parish Room 
 on their left. They turned into the yard of the inn, where 
 Mr. Kinglove made them welcome. He took charge of the 
 pony and trap, and Bobby and Eddie walked across to the 
 Room. 
 
 r 
 55 
 
 The Room was about thirty yards long by fifteen yards 
 wide. Its floor was of planks, its ceiling was whitewashed, 
 and its walls were lined with matchboard. There was a 
 good fireplace at one end, and another half-way down the 
 side opposite the door. The other end was blocked with 
 chairs and forms and tables piled high towards the ceiling. 
 A dozen oil lamps fixed to the walls gave the place, with the 
 bright blaze of the fires, a cheerful air. The walls were 
 adorned with large photographs framed in gilded wood, 
 photographs of the last three English Sovereigns, of Bobby's 
 grandfather, of some village groups, of Lord Roberts, the late 
 Lord Salisbury, and Archbishop Benson. On a table in 
 one corner were plates of buns, glasses, and several great 
 jugs full of lemonade. The place was somewhat overheated . 
 
 Of those present about twenty were young men between 
 the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, who were destined, 
 evidently, to take part in the boxing. All of these wore 
 rubber shoes, grey flannel trousers, and white sweaters. 
 On the latter, over the region of the heart, were embroidered 
 three letters in red silk, C. B. C., the meaning of which was 
 fairly plain since Coulscombe begins with a C. 
 
 A proportion of these boys and men were from Bobby's 
 stables and kennels and gardens, but many were in other 
 employment in the village and on the farms. What was 
 remarkable was that among them were several of the sons 
 of farmers, for whom it must have been far more difficult 
 to suspend their class superiority than it was for Bobby.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 173 
 
 There was a system of rotation, so that all of the boxing 
 class did not box on the same evening. A dozen or more, 
 in their ordinary clothes, were present as spectators. There 
 were older men present too, smoking and talking and sitting 
 all over the place. In all, some forty men were present. 
 
 It is worth noting, if there is any interest in these minutia, 
 that whereas the democratic Mrs. Hope would have pro- 
 ceeded at once to the end of the room to bid the whole 
 party heartily welcome from an insecure perch on the seat 
 of a chair, the aristocratic Bobby was at once involved in 
 conversation with the first whom he met as he entered the 
 Room. He was very anxious that they should understand 
 that Eddie was not going to box, but wanted to look on. 
 Then the proceedings were held up for some moments while 
 he fumbled about with the arm of a boy who was supposed 
 to have strained his elbow. There was also a boy who had 
 missed the last three classes, and Bobby wanted to know 
 what he meant by it. There were family reasons, it ap- 
 peared, and he was curious to know what they were. Then 
 he had a word to say to old Dennet about the carting of 
 some trees. In other parts of the room his arrival did not 
 seem to have caused the least disturbance, for the talk went 
 on as before. Dick Yeo, who was near the door, had a 
 matter to relate about the new bridge over the Went. This 
 raised some claim on Bobby's gratitude, which he expressed 
 bluntly and emphatically. Then the boxing instructor 
 from Newton Royal came towards him, and he said they 
 must get to work. If Bobby showed a trace of artificial 
 kindness to any one it was to Durwold, lest he should not 
 feel himself at home. 
 
 ' ' Where is Tom ? " he asked . Tom had a sort of unofficial 
 precedence among the boxing class, on account of his pro- 
 ficiency. It was like the precedence of Miss Agg among the 
 ladies of Maryhill on account of the exceptional splendour 
 of her morals. But Tom was not to be seen at this moment.
 
 174 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Take Mr. Durwold's coat and hang it up somewhere, 
 will you," Bobby said to one of the boys. "Where has 
 Tom got to?" 
 
 He proceeded towards the fireplace, pulling off his 
 flannel jacket and looking about for Tom Trevor. A little 
 knot of young men followed him, whispering together with 
 some degree of agitation. One of them, who was employed 
 at the forge where Tom worked, was pushed forward by 
 the others. He had a heavy inexpressive face, very suit- 
 able in a bearer of bad news. 
 
 "Sir Robert!" he began. 
 
 Bobby turned round, and answered, "Yes?" 
 
 "Tom '11 not come to-night." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The youth looked about to make sure that no one was 
 quite near enough to overhear him. "He 's drinking," he 
 said. 
 
 "But he ought not to be drinking to-night," said Bobby, 
 as if that expression of opinion would alter the facts of the 
 case. "He ought not to drink at all," he added. "Do 
 you mean he 's drunk?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir Robert." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "The Arms." 
 
 "What the devil does Kinglove mean by allowing " 
 Bobby began. He checked himself. "I '11 go across and 
 see him," he said. "Where's Mr. Durwold? Eddie, 
 you 'd better come along with me." 
 
 56 
 
 Between the door of the Room and the door of the Wilton 
 Arms a painful incident befell them, painful for Bobby for 
 ordinary reasons and painful for Eddie because it unpleas- 
 antly recalled one of the small follies of his past. A sturdy
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 175 
 
 middle-aged man with a grizzled beard ran up to them, 
 and seized one of Bobby's arms with both his hands. 
 
 "Hullo!" cried Bobby in surprise. "Hullo, it 's Wake? 
 What 's the matter?" 
 
 "I knew where I 'd find you, Mr. Bobby," said the far- 
 mer, who was much excited and distressed. "Bessie has 
 run away." 
 
 "Bless my soul!" said Bobby. "What has she done 
 that for?" 
 
 "Nobody knows. It was only yesterday she come back 
 from the Marquis of Clon Taff, and now she is gone. All 
 morning, she sits at home, and after dinner she goes out 
 to Went Wood, and now she is gone and left a letter to 
 say we shall never see her again." He added, turning to 
 Bobby's companion, "it 's my daughter, sir." 
 
 Eddie felt uncomfortable, wondering what Mr. Wake 
 would say if he knew to whom it was those words were 
 addressed. Though he had not a keen conscience, nor a 
 heavy crime upon it, he did not like meeting Bessie's father 
 under these circumstances. 
 
 "Have you any idea where she has gone?" Bobby asked. 
 
 "I have not," said the farmer, "but I know what I fear, 
 for she was terrible wild, surely, to go like that. Not a 
 stick of clothing did she take but what she wore. I reckon 
 she '11 drown herself." 
 
 Eddie began to be horribly frightened, and had to remind 
 himself that things which are impossible do not happen, 
 so that there was a limit to that for which he could be 
 answerable. They stood in the middle of the deserted 
 street, with the lights of the Room behind them and the 
 lights of the inn in front of them. Bobby began to make 
 his usual gesture of perplexity, cutting at his leg with an 
 imaginary whip. 
 
 " If we raise the village she will never hear the last of it," 
 he observed, and he asked if it were not probable that she
 
 176 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 had gone to some friends. If she had money she might 
 mean to walk to Newton Royal and stay there. It was 
 more likely, however, that she was with friends. He pressed 
 Mr. Wake to think with what friends she might choose to 
 take refuge. The farmer could not guess. So Bobby told 
 him with good-natured emphasis that the idea of her 
 drowning herself was simply ridiculous. 
 
 His instincts would have led him to call out the whole 
 village and start such a hue and cry as would have been 
 remembered for a generation. But he was sure this course 
 would not be approved by Marian, and with Marian he 
 decided to consult. A private telephone connected Orchard 
 Wilton with the Coulscombe post-office. He asked the 
 farmer to come with him to the post-office, "which was three 
 minutes' walk along the street, and he begged Eddie in the 
 meantime to go, like a good fellow, and get Tom Trevor 
 out of the public house and bring him also to wait outside 
 the post-office door. 
 
 By the aid of the telephone the mystery regarding Bessie, 
 though not explained, was cleared of its alarming character. 
 Marian reported that the girl was at Orchard Wilton, where 
 she would spend the night. She had behaved very fool- 
 ishly, said Marian, in a matter which could be explained 
 later, but there was nothing that need cause the Wakes the 
 least alarm. So Bobby was able to give the farmer sub- 
 stantial consolation, sending him home at once to allay 
 the fears of his wife. In the street, as they left the post- 
 office, he looked about for Tom and Eddie. They were 
 not to be seen. He started to walk in the direction of the 
 Wilton Arms. 
 
 Meanwhile the Wilton Arms had been the scene of a 
 catastrophe. Eddie, though glad to be relieved of the 
 presence of Mr. Wake, was very unhappy nevertheless. 
 He dug his hands in the pockets of Jock's big coat and 
 walked slowly towards the inn while he reflected that if
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 177 
 
 Bessie had drowned herself it would surely be thought due 
 to tribulations with which he was connected. Such is the 
 malice of a wicked world. He cursed himself thoroughly 
 for the folly of his flirtation with her. Such things appeared 
 particularly idiotic in comparison with the charm of sitting 
 beside Ethel Rannard at dinner. He was afraid he would 
 get into the most dreadful trouble now. 
 
 A moment later he entered the inn and paused in the 
 passage, hearing what he would have described as a sound 
 of revelry if he had not perceived, in the declamatory noise 
 that reached him, a tragic note. It came through a door 
 on his right. Almost at once this door opened and a man 
 of the labouring class came out, letting the door bang behind 
 him. 
 
 "Is Tom Trevor in there?" Eddie asked. 
 
 "Ess, mister," said the man heavily. "He'll be no 
 better till he 's been worse." 
 
 "What is the matter with him?" 
 
 "You could say spirits and you could say he 's crazed 
 mad with this about Mr. Wake's daughter, and you 'd be 
 right both ways. You '11 excuse me, mister, you come 
 about the boxing?" 
 
 "Yes," said the boy, with a fresh access of anxiety. 
 "What is it that has happened about Bessie Wake?" 
 
 "You '11 excuse me striking a match, mister?" the man 
 remarked, and he applied the flame to the black ashes 
 in the bowl of his pipe, which glowed red immediately. 
 "Tom '11 do no boxing to-night, mister." 
 
 "What has happened about Bessie?" 
 
 "I reckon," said the man, "there was always more in 
 her g6ings on than what the folks would speak of. And 
 Tom, I reckon he knows it now. You going back across 
 to the boxing, mister?" 
 
 "Presently," said the boy, who despaired of extracting 
 more news. " I must see Tom first. Is this the door?"
 
 178 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Ess, mister. In there he is." 
 
 Eddie was now even more uncomfortable than he had 
 been in the presence of Mr. Wake. Expecting some peril 
 to his person, if Tom should be drunk and should have 
 heard of his dealings with Bessie, he was unable to go gaily 
 to the encounter yet ashamed to take the prudent course 
 of waiting for Bobby's protection. He pushed the door 
 open with his shoulder, and entered the bar with gloomy 
 apprehensions. Within, he saw Tom, looking very wild, 
 leaning his right elbow on the bar by which he stood, and 
 gesticulating with his left hand. He was talking, as Eddie 
 supposed from the words he heard, not about Bessie but 
 about politics. His gipsy appearance was conspicuous to- 
 night. Eddie had forgotten what a ferocious looking fellow 
 he was. Behind the counter Mr. Kinglove was sitting on 
 a stool, plainly despising Tom. Two labourers sat on a 
 bench, holding mugs of beer, and serving as Tom's 
 audience. 
 
 "Hullo, Tom, good-evening," Eddie began. "We've 
 met before, haven't we?" 
 
 "Mis' Durwold," Tom observed, making no movement 
 but to roll his eyes in Eddie's direction. 
 
 "Sir Robert told me to ask you to come and meet him 
 outside the post-office," said the boy. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " It 's about the boxing. Will you come along?" 
 
 "I '11 come along" said Tom, borrowing the words, and 
 pushing himself off from the bar as he approached Eddie, 
 "I '11 come along as far as tell you, Mis' Durwold, that you 
 
 are a cad. And that 's from some one you know of. 
 
 D'you hear?" 
 
 "I think you're drunk," the boy answered. He was 
 pretty sure that there was trouble coming now, but, like a 
 deer before a serpent, he could neither fight nor fly. True 
 to his type, however, he stood still while Tom struck him
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 179 
 
 heavily between the eyes and he fell to the ground, uncon- 
 scious, not uttering a sound. 
 
 By the time when Bobby reached the Wilton Arms, 
 looking for Tom and Eddie, Mr. and Mrs. Kinglove had 
 made a little sick-room of the inn parlour. Tom having 
 departed immediately after his outburst, Kinglove carried 
 Eddie to the parlour, and laid him on the sofa, shouting 
 for Mrs. Kinglove all the while. She came, and ran back 
 hastily for a basin of cold water. With this she splashed 
 his face, while Kinglove, with faith in sterner remedies, 
 forced a quantity of brandy between his teeth. So they 
 brought him back to consciousness, and he began to explain 
 that he felt perfectly well. His nose, however, was bleeding 
 profusely. 
 
 Considering the theories upon which Bobby based his 
 life he could hardly have received news more distressing 
 than Kinglove's account of this affair. It was bad enough 
 that a friend of his own from under his own roof should be 
 assaulted in his own village. But that the aggressor should 
 be Tom, the darling of his heart, his pet pugilist and ruffian, 
 was a calamity that struck him mute. The orthodox 
 conception of Tom's blows was that they were delivered 
 as and where Bobby required them, with precision, like 
 the charges of shot from his gun. The present situation, 
 therefore, seemed almost parricidal. He was shocked in 
 the same way as Mrs. Hope when she found her secretary 
 making friends with the Maryhill schoolboys. 
 
 When he had sent the Kingloves out of the room he sat 
 down on the sofa, by Eddie's legs, and began to find his 
 tongue. 
 
 "Eddie, my goodness, what in God's earth made him 
 doit?" 
 
 "Righteous indignation," said the boy, mopping his 
 nose; "an aggravated attack of it." 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 180 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "I mean about me and Bessie Wake. That 's what I 
 think it was." 
 
 "But that 's all forgotten." 
 
 "It must have returned to his memory," said Eddie. 
 "Or more likely he has only just heard that I was the 
 fellow." 
 
 "Oh, what a miserable blasted pity!" cried Bobby. "I 
 shall have to make Tom suffer for it. And you, Eddie, 
 I 'm so ashamed of such a thing happening to you." 
 
 "What have you done about Bessie?" Eddie asked. 
 
 "Nothing. She's up at home, and Marian says it is 
 nothing a bit serious. 
 
 "Hurray!" said the boy. 
 
 "You simply live in the wars," said Bobby. "And I 've 
 not been able to keep you safe even down here. Ton my 
 word I shall never forgive myself. And what am I to do 
 about Tom? Oh, Hell!" 
 
 He rose and walked up and down for some moments, 
 acutely distressed. Then the thought of the boxing oc- 
 curred to him, as a duty in the midst of woe, and he asked 
 if Eddie would mind his going across to the Room for a 
 quarter of an hour to see how things were going. "I '11 
 send a boy to look after you till I come back," he said. 
 " I '11 not let you be alone again. No! Not for worlds!" 
 
 57 
 
 " Oh, I shall have to tackle him," Jock Rannard grumbled. 
 " Bless me, how a fellow does get cursed when all his closest 
 friends get together without him!" 
 
 "I know," observed Wilfred. "We curse him, but we 
 should all be too polite to curse his port." 
 
 "Well, I shall have to tackle him." 
 
 "Tackle Marian first." 
 
 "That 's no use at all. She only talks sarcasms about
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 181 
 
 him and admires him all the more. Thank goodness I 'm 
 a shopkeeper. There 's need of one in this family." 
 
 Jock was a little unjust to himself. He was not really a 
 shopkeeper, but, by inheritance, a merchant in a parti- 
 cularly large way of business. Nor did he look like a 
 shopkeeper, but like a man who has hardly ever met a 
 shopkeeper, even to ask him for a vote. Unfortunately 
 for himself he was not only wealthy but so transparently 
 honest and cautious and thorough that now, at the age of 
 twenty-eight, he was trustee under everybody's settlements 
 and burdened with a load of other people's affairs. 
 
 Bobby having gone to his boxing class, and the ladies 
 having left the dining-room, Jock was left at the table with 
 Mr. Carpenter, Edwards, Wilfred, and Keddy, oppressively 
 regarded by the eyes of Bobby's forebears in their frames 
 on the walls, men and women who had despised trade and 
 traders in the way that we all used to think so shocking. 
 Jock did not care twopence for the opinions of the dead, 
 but was troubled by the opinions of Bobby. 
 
 "I've had enquiries made absolutely independently," 
 he said, chewing the end of his cigar and speaking in the 
 grumbling manner of an old man whose advice is rejected, 
 "and it 's true enough, this pot and pan business is broke, 
 broke beyond hope, and the Germans have got all the 
 business. Bobby's left Michael Jones to pay all those 
 fellows regular wages just as if the factory was working. 
 It can't be less than three hundred pounds a week, and he 
 can't afford it, he can't afford a quarter of it. Well, who 's 
 going to stop it? They 're all crazy, quite crazy, Marian 
 as crazy as all the rest. I 'm trustee in both her marriage 
 settlements, and trustee in the Orchard Wilton settlement 
 as well. Bobby has no more idea than his own baby what 
 to do about it. He won't even talk about it. His head 's 
 full of notions about doing the handsome thing. I must 
 tackle him. I don't want to, but I must tackle him," *
 
 182 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 There was not a dissenting voice, nor yet a practical 
 suggestion. Jock gazed into his finger-bowl, and appeared 
 to see worse and worse aspects of the matter. 
 
 "Here we 're drinking his port," he said, "and goodness 
 knows how long he '11 have any left. There isn't much 
 difference between Bobby's goings-on and literal Christian- 
 ity. He certainly doesn't take any thought for the morrow 
 and he gives his goods to the poor " 
 
 "And turns his cheek to the boxing class," suggested 
 Keddy. 
 
 " which would be well enough, of course, if he meant 
 
 it that way," Jock went on, thinking that he might have 
 hurt Mr. Carpenter's feelings. "But you can't call Bobby 
 that sort of man, hunting four days a week, and so on. 
 You can't live the life he lives and be a primitive Chris- 
 tian too. Besides, he doesn't want to. It 's just his 
 pride and his notions about aristocracy. And bless 
 my soul he could do so much more if he went about it 
 sensibly. If he 'd only make money instead of chucking 
 it away he might by Jove, that sort of argument might 
 really have some effect on him. I think that 's what I '11 
 tell him." 
 
 Jock said no more on the subject, but felt that he had 
 won half his battle. Some arguments appear to be so 
 forcible that it remains only to choose the right time to 
 press them and they are bound to be accepted. If Bobby's 
 conceptions of honour required him to act like a public 
 department towards his poor neighbours, Jock argued, it was 
 obvious he would be more effective if he moderated his 
 transports with a few of the accepted rules of business. 
 As one might say to a Christian, you cannot give to the poor 
 if you have nothing left to give. Or, to an aristocrat, you 
 cannot be a shining and a burning light if you are a bank- 
 rupt. But, judiciously controlled, the noble heart of a 
 tolerably rich young gentleman may do a great deal of
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 183 
 
 good and be a very fine affair. Jock decided to ask Bobby 
 to be sensible to-day that he might the better be romantic 
 to-morrow. But this was not all. He meant to throw 
 enthusiasm into the idea of that great to-morrow, when, 
 prudently applied, the methods of Bobby might embarrass 
 the Liberals through three or four constituencies and give 
 the name of country gentleman a fillip of much local im- 
 portance. There was, so to speak, money in the notion. 
 Jock certainly did not mean to make use of any such vulgar 
 phrase, but he was prepared to offer Bobby most hearty 
 encouragement in return for a promise of sane behaviour 
 as regarded the present affairs of Denbury. 
 
 58 
 
 Jock's plan failed ; once because Bobby was too miserable 
 to be talked to, and again because he was too happy. 
 
 The misery was due to Tom Trevor's attack on Durwold. 
 They were in the billiard room, some playing bridge and 
 others playing billiards, when Bobby returned from his 
 boxing class. With no attempt to hide his depression he 
 walked up to the bridge table where Marian sat, and watched 
 the game, till the end of a hand. 
 
 "Marian," he said then, very gloomily, "I want you to 
 go, sometime or other, if you don't mind, and have a look 
 at Eddie Durwold and see if you think he 's all right." 
 
 "Where is he?" she asked. 
 
 "I've sent him to bed." 
 
 "But what has happened?" 
 
 "Tom is drunk," he replied, "and he has knocked Eddie 
 down in the bar of the Wilton Anns. That 's all, and for 
 one evening I think it 's about enough." 
 
 Then it seemed to occur to him that his manners might 
 be better, so he went and talked to Mr. Carpenter who was 
 enthusiastically looking on at the game of billiards. But
 
 184 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 neither then, nor later when they sat in the smoking room, 
 was he anything but gloomy. At breakfast the next morn- 
 ing he was the same. His unapproachable mood was the 
 more exasperating to Jock because, as it happened, the day's 
 programme was going to throw him and Bobby together. 
 The ladies of the party, all but Marian, who was busy, 
 were driving somewhere for a luncheon picnic. Bobby was 
 to ride, with any one who cared to accompany him. Nobody 
 did, except Jock, so the chances of a serious talk between 
 them were as good as could be wished. 
 
 With characteristic caution and thoroughness Jock had 
 been sitting in his dressing room till one o'clock the previous 
 night making notes of what he proposed to say to Bobby. 
 It was an admirable habit in one who wrote more coherently 
 than he talked. Though the notes would never be seen 
 by any eyes but his, they would clear his mind and enable 
 him to express himself with greater precision and force. 
 So it was all written down, the best wisdom of a cool head 
 and a generous heart in whose affections Bobby had had a 
 place since he was an inky schoolboy of thirteen. Noble 
 instincts require a bridle that is what Jock's opinions 
 came to. If Bobby should follow the course now taken in 
 Denbury, it would lead him to financial embarrassment. 
 Alternatively, on the other hand, in the other event (all 
 these expressions came to Jock's assistance at one point or 
 another) if Bobby would cut his nobility, or his coat, to 
 suit his purse or cloth, he, having an expectation of half a 
 century of life, might do incalculable good and win a name 
 to add lustre to the family whose virtues covered the walls 
 of Coulscombe church, but whose motto, Territus Terreo, 
 could no more be taken literally than could the motto of 
 any one else. You cannot, Jock wrote, terrify a bank 
 balance. But if you show some sense of business you can 
 ultimately terrify the Liberals and do no end of the very 
 finest sort of good.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 185 
 
 All this unanswerable counsel was ready in his head when 
 he went upstairs to dress himself for riding, but he feared 
 Bobby was too melancholy to give it much attention. 
 However, when the time came, the difficulty was precisely 
 opposite. Bobby was too exuberantly happy. 
 
 Tom Trevor was again the cause and Jock was a witness 
 of the transformation. Descending the steps from the 
 hall door he saw Dennet holding the horse he was to ride. 
 Bobby, already mounted, was fumbling with his reins and 
 evidently pretending not to see Tom as he walked up to 
 him. "Now for a feudal survival!" thought Jock. 
 
 Upon the whole the powerful young man behaved better 
 than his lord. About Bobby's severity there was something 
 artificial, but not about Tom's penitence. He did not 
 look in the least criminal or hang-dog, but the trouble in 
 his very expressive eyes was enough to have softened even 
 the virtues of Miss Agg. 
 
 "Mr. Bobby! "he said. 
 
 Bobby would not look at him. He was in dire disgrace. 
 
 "Mr. Bobby, I don't know what I can say to you." 
 
 " It 's not me" Bobby answered coldly. " What you had 
 better do is to apologise to Mr. Durwold." 
 
 "Sir, where is he?" Tom asked. 
 
 "You had better find out," said Bobby. 
 
 He told Jock to mount, and rode slowly towards the 
 drive. But he had not gone twenty yards before he drew 
 rein and called Tom to his side. 
 
 "When you have apologised to Mr. Durwold," he said, 
 in an unrelenting voice, "you are to ask Bessie Wake to 
 marry you. You are to ask her again. Do you see?" 
 
 Tom had no words,; he could hardly believe what he 
 heard. 
 
 "Don't you make any mistake," said Bobby. "You 
 are to do that because I say so." 
 
 Thus ended the period of gloom. Complete satisfaction
 
 186 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 come back to Bobby's face from the moment when he turned 
 his back on Tom, and, as they rode along, the product of 
 his good temper was bestowed on Jock in three characteristic 
 outbursts. The first was an inordinate solicitude for Jock's 
 comfort on his horse, to which was joined a history of the 
 horse, his virtues, vices, achievements, parentage, and 
 subtlest psychological peculiarities. The second was a 
 complete account of an offer of marriage made by Tom to 
 Bessie Wake, her refusal on the grounds of unworthiness, 
 her confession of the affair with Durwold, her flight from a 
 home that she imagined herself to have disgraced, and 
 Marian's incomparable skill last night in scolding her into 
 a more sensible frame of mind. The third outburst was 
 little less than a rhapsody. 
 
 "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," Bobby 
 counted. "Yes, they ought to have eight boys and girls, 
 at least. You Ve not seen Bessie, but you Ve seen Tom 
 and she 's as fine as he is. 'Pon my soul and honour how 
 those fellows can waste their lives with politics is more than 
 I shall ever understand. Lloyd George is patching up 
 consumptives while I will breed boys from Tom and Bessie 
 who will ride and shoot and tell the truth. If Lloyd 
 George knew the sort of lads I '11 breed here he 'd pass an 
 act to stop me." 
 
 "I hope you'll make all this quite clear to Tom and 
 Bessie," Jock observed. 
 
 Bobby began to laugh. 
 
 "Look here," said Jock, "I agree with you altogether, 
 really, but I do want to talk to you about one thing you 
 won't like half as much." 
 
 "Go ahead," said Bobby. 
 
 " It 's about Denbury." 
 
 "Denbury?" 
 
 "Yes. Now, look here, Bobby 
 
 ' ' I say ! You 're not going to rag me like Keddy , are you ? ' '
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 187 
 
 "Certainly not, I 'm going to be very serious." 
 
 "Well, I '11 be serious too." 
 
 "Look here," said Jock, remembering his notes, "God 
 knows I understand your feelings about doing the decent 
 thing,, but I do want to say " 
 
 Unluckily, at this moment, he was interrupted by the 
 behaviour of Bobby's horse, a young grey, with an Arab 
 appearance about his neck and jaw. He shied, as it seemed, 
 at something. He reared, and began to back and curvet 
 so that Jock was forced to wait till he was quieted. 
 
 "My dear Talgai," Bobby remarked, "what on earth is 
 the matter? What an extraordinary way to behave? I 
 can't imagine what on earth makes you make such an ass 
 of yourself! For goodness' sake be more sensible." 
 
 " Now I '11 tell you all about Talgai and what makes him 
 behave like that," he said to Jock, when peace was restored. 
 Then followed a story in which there was obviously not a 
 word of truth. When it was over Jock began again about 
 Denbury. But he had not said six words before Talgai 
 misbehaved once more. This time it was evident that 
 Bobby had given him some provocation, Jock could not 
 tell what, but it was enough to make him plunge about 
 and bring conversation to an end. 
 
 "Ton my word, Talgai, you are disgraceful," Bobby 
 said, in grieved and shocked reproof. 
 
 Some one's temper was bound to go if this continued, 
 and it was Jock's that went first. 
 
 "Are you going to do that every time I try to talk about 
 Denbury?" he asked. 
 
 "Every time except one," said Bobby. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Every time except the time you start off by telling me 
 you Ve thought out a way of getting the Denbury lads a 
 living." 
 
 "Well, that 's an elaborate way of letting me know it."
 
 188 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "I would have put it much more plainly," Bobby an- 
 swered, "if I wasn't in such a good temper about Tom, who 
 is worth forty-four thousand times as much as the whole 
 of Denbury rolled into one. But Denbury exists, Jock, 
 bad luck to it!" 
 
 59 
 
 Eddie Durwold was sacrificed to Aunt Elizabeth's con- 
 viction, which had the proportions of a landslide in her 
 nature, that he ought not to go for a picnic the day after 
 being stunned by Tom Trevor. He was left behind. He 
 was walking through the hall, to get into the open air, when 
 he came upon Marian. 
 
 "Come and help me, Mr. Durwold," she said. 
 
 "What am I to do?" he asked, drawing near to the table 
 at which she sat. The table held so many things that he 
 was puzzled. 
 
 "Help me to put these sweets into these muslin bags. 
 There are four boxes of sweets. Put some from each box 
 into each bag and then give them to me to tie up with 
 ribbon. Will you do that?" 
 
 "I should love to," said he. 
 
 " They are for the children's tea party on Christmas day," 
 she told him. 
 
 "I say! What lucky children!" he said, starting on the 
 work. 
 
 "Are you sure you have no headache, Mr. Durwold?" 
 
 "Quite certain." 
 
 "Has Tom apologised?" 
 
 "He found me on the terrace," Eddie answered. "It 
 was a terrifying apology." 
 
 Marian said that she was glad to hear it. "You are 
 putting too many sweets in," she added "You will make 
 the children ill."
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 189 
 
 "I '11 start again." 
 
 "Much less in each bag." 
 
 "Like that?" 
 
 "Yes, that's perfect." 
 
 "What else happens on Christmas day, besides the 
 children?" he asked. 
 
 "A dance in this hall," she told him. "The day ends 
 frantically, but it begins religiously. That reminds me, 
 you will want to go to mass." 
 
 "It doesn't matter." 
 
 "It does. You will have to go to Newton. You shall 
 have your choice between riding in and driving in a trap 
 with yourself for coachman." 
 
 "I shall choose the trap. You and Bobby will spoil all 
 my morals by being so good to me," he said. " I say, Lady 
 Wilton, what made Bessie run away from home?" 
 
 "An offer of marriage from Tom," said Marian, "which 
 she refused during temporary insanity. That 's all." 
 
 "And then she ran away?" 
 
 "Yes, to ask if I 'd send her to New Zealand." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I gave her some good advice. The next time Tom 
 proposes she will accept him." 
 
 "How romantic! That accounts for my distressing 
 incident with Tom. Do you know, something awful is 
 going to happen?" 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 "I am going to run out of brandy balls," he announced. 
 
 "You must have miscalculated." 
 
 "I have, and if we were really honest we should have to 
 go back and open all the bags you have done up and take 
 some brandy balls out of each to make them go round." 
 
 "We will perpetrate a fraud on the remaining children," 
 said Marian. "Instead of brandy balls we will give them 
 chocolate creams,"
 
 190 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 ' ' What ! And say nothing about it ? " 
 "Not a syllable." 
 "How awful!" he whispered. 
 
 " Infirm of purpose," she replied. " Give me the chocolate 
 creams." 
 
 60 
 
 "Oh, Constance, you are not doing the banner quite 
 right," said Mrs. Hope, for at Denbury too there were 
 preparations for Christmas. Mrs. Trevanion was stitch- 
 ing the words "Peace and Love" in slabs of white cotton 
 wadding upon a banner of turkey red evidently designed 
 for use in a procession. 
 
 "But isn't this how you meant it to be?" she asked. 
 
 "No dear," said Mrs. Hope brightly, "the letters should 
 come nearer together, and they should begin nearer the 
 top, and I thought I told you that the letters S. P. L. should 
 come above 'Christmas Union/ because I think we ought 
 to make every one understand that the Christmas Union 
 is really a branch of the S. P. L., a reward we are giving to 
 those who have done most for social peace in the last few 
 days, and I am afraid we must really and truly start again, 
 because it is so important to have it quite right ; the cotton 
 wool should be stitched in wider lines, too, so as to make 
 it glisten more when we put the frost on, and when you 
 remember the object I know you won't mind the little 
 extra trouble, dear. The idea of social peace has made 
 Christmas so important, you see. There, the letters ought 
 to be as wide as that, quite, and then they will be clearly 
 seen by every one when we carry the banner round, and I 
 thought, afterwards, we might give the banner to the club 
 to hang up in the room, so that they would always have 
 the words Peace and Love before them, to remind them, 
 wouldn't they, and they will hope that next Christmas 
 they may deserve to belong to the Christmas Union too,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 191 
 
 We can't tell how often they may be helped by that thought 
 if it is up on the wall. There, I think that is the proper 
 distance between the letters. I know you won't mind 
 doing it over again; sacred work ought to be done so care- 
 fully and reverently, of course. And the experience will 
 help you when you begin working on the Easter Expecta- 
 tion League. There, you see, the E of Peace is coming 
 just as far from the right hand side as the P is from the 
 left." 
 
 61 
 
 Who would have supposed that in little more than ten 
 minutes the Christmas Union, the Easter Expectation 
 League, the Social Peace League itself, together with the 
 joy and love of Mrs. Hope, would be dashed to atoms, 
 crushed under humiliation, and scattered like ashes in the 
 wind by a single catastrophic disappointment? 
 
 It was Bertha Patterman who dealt the blow, and like 
 other coups d'etat it was some time in the making. Terrible 
 struggles were proceeding in Bertha's mind while the last 
 hours of joyful serenity were shining on the vicarage and 
 the club. 
 
 The Misses Patterman had been away from home, stay- 
 ing with their sister who had married a London banker 
 and had a house in Surrey. They returned on the Wednes- 
 day before Christmas, but too late in the day to allow of 
 their going to the Social Peace meeting at the vicarage. 
 It needed not, however, that they should attend any meet- 
 ing to learn the news of the changes that had come over 
 the town. When they left home, a week before this date, 
 the strike and its horrors were raging. Now, as they saw, 
 and as they could have known earlier by reading the news- 
 papers, there was peace and plenty. The contrast was 
 astonishing. They were greatly interested, and particularly 
 gratified to learn that the change of conditions was not due
 
 192 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 to Miss Baker, of whom they disapproved, but to a Mrs. 
 Hope, sister to Mrs. Trevanion, who, with the Duchess of 
 Brackenbury and the Bishop of Stowchester and Sir Robert 
 Wilton, baronet, had cured all evils by means of a league 
 and club of Social Peace. This sounded very credible. 
 
 On the following morning, the morning of Thursday, 
 Bertha herself went to look at the club. She examined 
 the big club room above the shop, which was naturally 
 rather bare of furniture as yet, and then she mounted 
 another flight of stairs to have a chat with the caretaker on 
 the second floor. Here she met, of all people in the world, 
 her former cook Eliza. 
 
 She was amazed and horrified. Since the day of the 
 abortive attempt at marriage twelve years ago she had 
 not seen Eliza, nor dealt with her in any way except, on a 
 few occasions, long since, when she had tried to stir the 
 indolent woman to undergo the marriage ceremony. Fail- 
 ing of this good object, she had been obliged to strike Eliza 
 off the list of her acquaintance. 
 
 " Miss Bertha! Well I never," cried Eliza as she entered 
 the room. 
 
 "Eliza!" exclaimed the visitor. 
 
 " Deary me, how funny it do seem," said Eliza. 
 
 "What are doing here?" asked Bertha, not unkindly 
 but in sheer astonishment. 
 
 "Caretaking, me and Blood, miss." 
 
 "You and Blood are caretakers for the Social Peace 
 League?" 
 
 "Yes, miss, just took the job." 
 
 Eliza was perfectly calm, but Bertha's heart beat fast. 
 "I thought Blood was at Underbell's," she faltered. 
 
 "And so he was, miss, starving there for ten years or I 
 dunno how many, and, now patience has its reward. This 
 suits us just perfectly. Blood, he talks of moving up to 
 some big Peace Club in London, when they 've got them,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 193 
 
 but I tell him we 'd best end our days here where we know 
 it 's comfortable. You should a-come when Blood was in, 
 miss ; he 'd like to a-seen you, and the children. And how 's 
 Miss Annie and Miss Katie and the doctor?" 
 
 Bertha made perfunctory answers. She could only 
 think of two things; one was the marvel of finding such a 
 couple as Matt Blood and Eliza in such a place as the Social 
 Peace Club ; the other was the cosiness of the room and the 
 homelike appearance of the household gods, the stuffed 
 fox, the Chinese lantern, the fans, and the sewing machine 
 which Eliza said had come this very morning on the hire 
 system. Bertha prepared to depart as soon as was civilly 
 possible. Eliza asked her to call again, and said it was nice 
 to have somewhere tidy to be visited, after the life they 
 had led. 
 
 Bertha left the house, with no promise to call again. She 
 was appalled to think of the Bishop and the Duchess and 
 the Baronet and the unknown but doubtless virtuous Mrs. 
 Hope being represented by a couple who lived in a relation 
 which her tongue dared not characterise. Surely they 
 could not be aware of the truth. Eliza had spoken, also, 
 of her children. The more Bertha thought of it, the worse 
 it appeared to be. Yet she was continuously assailed by 
 the thought that intervention on her part might result in 
 the expulsion of Matt and Eliza from the Eden in which 
 they had found refuge with their fans and lanterns and the 
 stuffed fox and the sewing machine. The sensitive heart 
 of Bertha was torn in two. 
 
 She did not consult her brother, for she felt that this was 
 essentially a woman's question. She conferred with Katie, 
 however, and together they approached Annie. A hypo- 
 thetical case was put to Annie, who, it may be remembered, 
 was the clever one. Suppose that a friend engages a nurse 
 for her young children, and suppose you happen to know, 
 while the friend does not know, that the nurse is a dangerous 
 13
 
 194 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 drunkard. Should you tell the truth in kindness to the 
 friend or suppress it in kindness to the nurse? It was not 
 surprising that Annie pronounced in favour of the friend. 
 
 Still, Bertha's heart was troubled. She was hardly 
 afraid to strike, but she was very unwilling to wound. She 
 slept upon the problem, and in the morning it looked no 
 better. Receiving a letter from Mrs. Trevanion by the 
 early post, on that day, which was Friday, she had a pre- 
 sentiment that it would refer to the league. It did. It 
 begged her to become a member, and invited her to call 
 and meet Mrs. Hope. So she saw that she must cease to 
 trifle with sad duties. She went to pay a morning call at 
 the vicarage, sorrowing, nevertheless, for Eliza's cosy 
 home where the poor woman was hoping to end her days. 
 Possibly Mrs. Hope would take a lenient view, and the 
 marriage might yet be performed. 
 
 She little knew Mrs. Hope. From the beginning to the 
 end of the interview she did nothing but give that lady 
 shock after shock, so that they agreed on no single point 
 for a single moment. The two sisters were at work upon 
 the Christmas banner. Bertha said it was pretty, being 
 ignorant that Mrs. Hope did not make banners for the sake 
 of their prettiness. Then they talked of the league, of 
 which Bertha said that it was a clever idea. Again she 
 was wrong, for Mrs. Hope never pretended that her ideas 
 were what the world calls clever. Bertha, already somewhat 
 shaken by gentle reproofs, began to grope towards the real 
 object of her visit, and hinted that perhaps Matt Blood 
 and Eliza were not altogether the most desirable couple 
 for the club. Such a sentiment was rank mutiny. Mrs. 
 Hope knew very well that Matt and Eliza were rough 
 people, but they had crossed her path at a moment when 
 peace and joy were the fashion, and she had decided from 
 the first that they were quite perfect. She was certainly 
 not going to have any one else disapproving of those whom
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 195 
 
 she approved of. Such a paradox had never been heard of, 
 and could not be suffered now. 
 
 So Bertha had to blurt out the facts, in self defence, more 
 crudely than she had intended. Fortunately, notwith- 
 standing her natural distress, she kept enough of the power 
 of observation to enable her afterwards to tell a tale that 
 froze the blood of all who heard it. The terrible feature was 
 the stillness, the sudden and awful immobility of Mrs. 
 Hope and Mrs. Trevanion as they heard the news. The 
 former was stitching the border upon the Christmas Union 
 banner, and happened to have her right hand uplifted as 
 she drew the needle and thread. Uplifted it remained. 
 The latter was rising to put coal on the fire and, with her 
 knees still bent, she too stood petrified. There was not a 
 cry, not a word, nor a gasp, but the wildest shriek could not 
 have been more dreadful than the silence. Bertha had 
 concluded with the words " are not man and wife, and 
 never have been, no, not for these dozen years." Then, 
 the truth being spoken, the blow delivered, while the awful 
 silence reigned she began to plead in mitigation of the 
 sentence. This she was suffered to do until Mrs. Hope 
 recovered her mental balance. She was then made to 
 understand that she might save herself the trouble of 
 excusing the Bloods any further, and she was glad enough 
 to escape homewards. 
 
 Let us now see the counts of the indictment against 
 Eliza and Matt Blood. There must be no unfairness. 
 
 1. For twelve years they had lived in that state which 
 must not be described ; 
 
 2. They had actually lived this life under the roof of a 
 house hired by pure Mrs. Hope with the money of pure 
 Mr. Hope; 
 
 3. under the roof of a house hired, as they well knew, 
 
 for something closely approximating to a sacred purpose; 
 
 4. a purpose particularly connected with purity and
 
 196 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 holiness and goodness; yet they had dared to live in that 
 house ; 
 
 5. as they had lived, unrepentant for twelve long years; 
 
 6. thereby becoming bad characters ; 
 
 7. with the contact of which bad characters they had 
 dared to sully Mrs. Hope and one of the holiest causes she 
 had ever taken up; 
 
 8. well knowing the holiness of the cause and the 
 purity of Mrs. Hope ; 
 
 9. (worst of all) well knowing that they had been 
 specially charged to keep their eyes on cases of vice and 
 wickedness; yet even this high trust had not brought the 
 sense of sin to their abandoned hearts. 
 
 No, there could be no mercy. It was impossible for 
 Mrs. Hope to take any but the gravest view of such a case. 
 For, apart from their wickedness, she had unluckily made 
 a complete fool of herself in regard to them. How could 
 she show herself again in any drawing-room in Denbury, 
 or at any cottage door? For the last three days she had 
 told every soul she had met, with all the confidence of one 
 divinely guided, that Matt and Eliza were specially sent 
 to her by God, humble instruments of good entrusted to 
 her hands by Heaven, miraculously provided in the very 
 hour of need, an example of the gratifying response that 
 was accorded to her influential prayers. This, with no end 
 of gushing praises, she had said of a drunken potman and a 
 lazy woman who lived in adultery. It was too cruel. 
 After this she would be utterly sickened of the Social Peace 
 League, and would have to go home to Maryhill, where no 
 one had heard her silly talk of peace and joy, to rest content 
 with exhibiting the sweet patience of a trusting woman 
 cruelly deceived. She could, and would, make the Bloods 
 suffer. She would turn them into the streets, and persuade 
 Michael Jones not to engage Matt again at Underbell's. 
 She might devise tortures even sharper. But, to herself,
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 197 
 
 the confident serenity of the last few days would never be 
 restored. Often as Mrs. Hope pretended to be grieved, 
 she was seldom grieved in fact. But now she wept bitterly 
 in the torments of her mortification. 
 
 Bertha Patterman continued to be unhappy. She knew 
 that she had done right. She knew that Mrs. Hope was 
 right. But there were little revolts in the commonwealth 
 of her soul. There were little tumults of pity, little riots 
 of remorse, little movements in favour of doing the Bloods 
 a kindness. These had to be suppressed. She knew that 
 any deed of mercy would bring her into disgrace with the 
 ladies of the vicarage, and gossip would get about, and she 
 would regret her deviation from the path of duty. 
 
 62 
 
 " Not join the Social Peace League?" cried Matt. "Why 
 you 'd suit capital. You don't beat yer wife, you don't 
 bet more 'n a little, you don't drink more 'n ordinary, 
 you 'd suit like a boot on a foot." 
 
 They were in the bar of the Nag's Head in North Street, 
 on the Friday evening after seven o'clock, Matt, and Har- 
 man the fishmonger, Lee and Grossman from UnderbelTs, 
 and Bill Worley the road scraper. 
 
 "Everybody 's joining," Matt declared. It was Harman 
 he addressed. "Why, bless you, there's tea and coffee 
 every night to steady yer nerves after the beer. There 's 
 games, there 's folks to talk to " 
 
 "Mrs. Hope, ain't it?" said the fishmonger. 
 
 "That's her." 
 
 "What does she want meddling round the likes of us? 
 She swears at Joe Carver, like anything she swears at him, 
 for a hiding he gives that lad of his, which ain't her affair 
 no more 'n mine or yours or Lord Rosebery's, if you like." 
 
 The landlady of the Nag's Head, a widow with a red
 
 198 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 face, a yellow fringe, and some pretensions to a figure, 
 gave vent to a long moan that expressed compassion. 
 
 "O oh!" she cried, "you could hear him screaming all 
 down the street, you could; it was a shame." 
 
 "And what 's that to you," cried Matt to the fishmonger. 
 " You ain't got no son to give a hiding to, have yer? Any 
 one 'd think I was asking yer to be Roman Cartholic! 
 You 've no more to do when you joins the league 'n put 
 yer name on paper and wear a badge. What harm '11 
 that do you, I wonder. Socialist, aren't you?" 
 
 "What 's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "Got to do with it?" cried Matt, who was pleasantly 
 full of beer, "why, everything! This is Socialism growed 
 practical and sensible for the first time in its life. There 's 
 more Socialism in Mrs. Hope's little finger than you 've 
 got underneath all that belt, and twice more too." 
 
 "How much is there in Sir Robert Wilton?" said the 
 fishmonger, rather insolently. 
 
 "You let Sir Robert Wilton mind his own affairs," Matt 
 answered. 
 
 "Ain't he the president of your league?" 
 
 "He is," said Matt, with all the emphasis of a man who 
 is losing the drift of a conversation. 
 
 "And where 'd we be if Sir Robert Wilton hadn't come 
 in?" said Lee, the man from Underbell's. 
 
 "Not in here," laughed his companion. 
 
 "Quite right," the fishmonger retorted in a vein of 
 sarcasm. "Let him come in, and some day perhaps we '11 
 come in to him. I reckon he gives you a pound a week of 
 something he had left him by the late Mr. Deane's will, a 
 matter of a few hundred thousand million pounds, perhaps." 
 
 "A matter of a few hundred thousand stinking herrings, 
 perhaps," said Matt. 
 
 "There! Now you 're personal." 
 
 "As you please!"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 199 
 
 "I seed Sir Robert Wilton the day he come," said the 
 widow behind the counter, thinking Bobby a safer topic 
 than the herrings. 
 
 "Riding a white horse," said Lee. 
 
 "Ay, riding a white horse," said Matt. 
 
 "And looking fine," said the widow. 
 
 "Scowling like sin," said the fishmonger. 
 
 "Ay, scowling like sin," said Matt. 
 
 "With half a dozen to fetch and carry for him," the 
 fishmonger continued. "Bloody gen'leman that he is ! " 
 
 "Ay, he is," said Matt, angry he knew not why, "and 
 I Ve seen a better gentleman than him, and a worse too, 
 and that 's a fact." 
 
 "Mr. Torringdon, I suppose!" 
 
 "You suppose right," said Matt, thankful to have a clear 
 cause of quarrel after all, "and what may you wish to say 
 about Mr. Torrenden?" 
 
 "Matt, you silly stoopid, if you get talking like that 
 you '11 lose your new place," said the widow. 
 
 "He 's learning social peace," observed the road scraper, 
 entering the conversation successfully with a sally that 
 raised laughter. 
 
 "May be, but I learned about Mr. Torrenden before I 
 learned about social peace," said Matt. "And if any one 
 wishes to express an opinion on the point, I 'm not 
 deaf." 
 
 "Stupid fellow, no one 's expressing opinions. We was 
 talking about Sir Robert Wilton, if I remember right," 
 said the widow. 
 
 "Ay, the little cock-sparrow," said Matt. "Took a 
 leaflet out of my hand that told a pack of lies about hisself 
 and looked across at his face and he could do no more 'n 
 blush like a blooming girl and ride on to get out of my way. 
 I tell you if I 'd done half as much as that to Mr. Tor- 
 renden I 'd not be here to tell you how I done it. That 's
 
 200 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 the difference between those days and these, and that 's 
 a fact, and more 's the pity." 
 
 "And you call yourself a Socialist," said the fishmonger 
 with scorn. 
 
 "So I do, and no mistake." 
 
 63 
 
 There was small chance of a serious quarrel for no one 
 except Matt was quarrelsome, and he was not hard to con- 
 ciliate. The fishmonger was assuring him that he meant 
 no offence, when, towards half-past seven, they were joined 
 by Eliza. She looked somewhat dreary. She sat on 
 a bench against the wall and nodded her greetings to every 
 one. 
 
 "Is he drunk?" she asked the widow. 
 
 "Not he." 
 
 "Matt?" she said to him. 
 
 "Good evening to you, Liza" 
 
 "I think I '11 take a drop of something.'* 
 
 "What! You?" he cried. 
 
 "Yes, me. I '11 take a drop of stout." 
 
 "Well, I 'm blessed. Do you hear, ma'am? Will you 
 serve the lady?" 
 
 "She 's tired," said the widow. 
 
 "Tired? Wouldn't you be tired if you done a day's 
 work like she have?" 
 
 "The last," said Eliza phlegmatically. 
 
 "What d 'you say?" Matt asked. 
 
 "The last day's work. I 've got the sack. So 've you. 
 Sacked by Mrs. Hope. We 're to turn out to-morrow." 
 
 Matt, speechless, leaned against the wall. 
 
 "Well I never," said the widow; "that'll be a bad 
 business." 
 
 "It couldn't a-last, that job," observed the fishmonger. 
 "Not that I aren't sorry you lost it, ma'am."
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 201 
 
 "We got the sack?" shouted Matt. 
 
 "From to-morrow," said Eliza dully. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Ask Mrs. Hope," Eliza laughed, with a touch of 
 hysteria; "she '11 tell you." 
 
 "I say you are to tell me what has happened," he cried, 
 advancing towards her in the manner of a threat. 
 
 "Steady what yer doing," said the fishmonger. 
 
 "He ain't a-going to hurt her," said the widow. 
 
 " You keep off," Eliza said to Matt. " Pay for my stout 
 and we '11 go along home together and I '11 tell you 
 then." 
 
 Matt paid. He stared at Eliza till she rose to go. 
 
 "Good-night all," she said. 
 
 In the street her tone changed. She stood and clasped 
 her hands on her bosom, trembling with passion. 
 
 "It 's because we was never married," she cried, hoarsely 
 and wildly. "Ah! It was Miss Bertha, Miss Patterman; 
 she come and she done it and tells Mrs. Hope, and then 
 comes Mrs. Hope and sacks us. May God Almighty do 
 the like to her. Oh, the brute, the serpent ! She turns us 
 out of home into the streets. Says she '11 tell Mr. Jones 
 to keep you from Underbell's, too. She '11 send you to 
 Canada, if you will go, and the children to a orphanage, 
 and me to a 'ome for 'ores, she will, for she calls me adult- 
 eress; may God Almighty find her!" 
 
 None knew so well as Matt the injustice of that charge. 
 The last fragments of his self-control were dispersed. 
 Eliza began to cry bitterly. By the time when Matt 
 noticed this he was too much excited to console her. 
 
 "Come back inside," he cried. 
 
 "Mercy on us, no, no," she answered. "You'll tell 
 them all. You 're drunk, you are. Stay out here. Matt, 
 say you won't go to Canada. Say you won't leave us." 
 
 He was not calm enough to say anything. He broke
 
 202 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 away from her clutches and ran back into the bar while 
 she followed him, sobbing wildly. 
 
 "Has she the right to sack me?" he cried to those within. 
 "I made the league. I told her all she knows. I got the 
 chaps, I got the place, I got the things; it 's my league, and 
 she sacks me for nothing. Has she the right in law?" 
 
 "Best go to Sir Robert Wilton," said the fishmonger, 
 while the widow came running from behind the counter 
 to caress and console Eliza. 
 
 "I will," Matt shouted. "I '11 go to Sir Robert. I '11 
 go to the Lord Chancellor of England." 
 
 "Best go to Sir Robert 'cause he 's president of your 
 blooming league." 
 
 That was common-sense, and Matt knew it. He was 
 more excited than ever. 
 
 "D' you hear it?" he cried to Eliza. 
 
 "Ah, Sir Robert, he 's a gentleman," said the widow. 
 
 " D' you hear it, dearie? Sir Robert, he '11 put things 
 to rights." 
 
 "You are mistook, if I may say it," observed the road 
 scraper from the other end of the bar. 
 
 "What?" cried Matt. 
 
 "Sir Robert is not president of this here league." 
 
 "Who are you and where are you getting to?" 
 
 "Read for yourself," said the man. He threw over a 
 copy of the Cotswold Leader, a weekly newspaper published 
 every Friday, having underlined one paragraph with the 
 charred end of a match. The paragraph read thus: 
 "We are requested by Sir Robert Wilton to state that he 
 has no connection whatever with the league called the Social 
 Peace League, and, though he learns that he has been 
 elected president of this league, he does not and will not 
 accept that office, nor does he intend to associate himself 
 with the league in any way." 
 
 Matt stared at the words for a long time.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 203 
 
 "Am I right?" asked the road scraper. 
 
 "Read it out," said Matt. He threw the paper back, 
 and leaned his elbows on the bar, burying his face in his 
 hands, while the other man read the crushing intelligence 
 aloud. No one uttered a sound while he was reading. 
 The news, coming at this moment, was dramatic. It dis- 
 posed of the fishmonger's bright idea, but, as soon as the 
 slow and difficult reading reached an end the widow became 
 inspired. " Give the league the kick, 'as 'e? " she observed. 
 Then, releasing her hold of Eliza, she sprang towards Matt 
 with a roar of indignation that made everybody jump. 
 
 " O oh ! You good for nothing ! " she shouted. " Can't 
 you see the credit to him? Not to have no truck with such 
 a league? Who 'd have guessed it of him, ever, interfering 
 meddling dratted rubbish that it is? Can't you tell he 's 
 a gentleman, you with your Torrendens and such like, 
 can't you tell a gentleman when you sees one? Off with 
 you, I say; go and tell him you 've been had by trusting to 
 his name at the head of the league. Oh, soft head, can't 
 you do so much for your wife and children?" 
 
 "What 's to come to them while I 'm gone, then?" asked 
 Matt rather stupidly. 
 
 "Won't I see to them? She can have my bed and 
 the brats can have the couch. Isn't that enough for 
 you?" 
 
 Such generosity did not help Matt to recover his wits. 
 He fumbled in his pockets, after an interval of stupefaction, 
 and brought out all the money he had in the world. It 
 was about five shillings. 
 
 "Take it," he said to the widow. 
 
 "What's that for?' 
 
 "It won't more 'n keep them while I 'm gone." 
 
 She drew back with a scornful toss of her head. Matt 
 banged the coins down upon the counter and left the 
 house.
 
 204 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 64 
 
 The Social Peace Club gave shelter for one more night 
 to Matt and his ill-starred family. On the next morning, 
 the Saturday, when he had arranged for the carting of his 
 goods to a shed in the yard of the Nag's Head Inn, he set 
 out to walk to Coulscombe. 
 
 He had little hope that his expedition would bear fruit. 
 His disillusionments had been too many. All that was 
 plastic in his nature took a pessimistic shape, and hardened 
 into gloom, after this last and worst of his betrayals by 
 mankind. He had very few cheerful memories to hearten 
 him as he tramped along the southward roads, but a number 
 of sad thoughts. The Torrendens had ben crushed out 
 of existence by a deteriorating world. The Bristows sat 
 on their money bags and patronised the poor. A publican 
 dismissed a potman for doing his duty too well. A Tory 
 member of Parliament gave twenty shillings for an offer 
 of lifelong loyalty. Industrialism at Underbell's threw live 
 men in the ditch and marched to wealth across their bodies. 
 Charity, in the person of Mrs. Hope, was cruel to the point 
 of being fiendish. The only people who had treated Matt 
 well were the Torrendens, and they, like the mastodon, 
 were extinct. 
 
 The further he walked, the less he hoped or cared. He 
 was often obliged to rest, being in bad condition for tramp- 
 ing, and he had also to beg his bread. He grew to be numb 
 with wretchedness. He trudged forward because that 
 seemed easier than to trudge back and face Eliza's misery. 
 On Saturday night he slept, without permission, on some 
 straw in the stable of a farm. 
 
 On Sunday he passed through Bristol, enduring the stiff- 
 ness and lameness of the previous day's walking. The 
 present and the future were equally black to him. The 
 best that he could hope was reinstatement, by the grace of
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 205 
 
 Wilton, in the factory of Underbell's. This meant the 
 continuation of a hated life, even though he earned a better 
 wage than formerly. Nor was this prospect assured. It 
 occurred to him with an utterly overwhelming shock that 
 Wilton would probably recognise him as the man who was 
 distributing libellous leaflets last Saturday week, who 
 refused his charity and scowled at him and followed him 
 down the street with a crowd. If so, what could he hope? 
 He could not expect better treatment from a man he had 
 insulted than from those whom he had served with devo- 
 tion. He could hardly expect Wilton to be kinder than 
 Mrs. Hope. 
 
 On Sunday night he obtained shelter at the house of a 
 village policeman to whom he had told some of his story. 
 This good-hearted man gave him breakfast the next morn- 
 ing, leading him to hope that with an effort he could get 
 through Newton Royal to Coulscombe before the time 
 when people went to bed that night. When Matt had 
 thanked him, and was starting off, he wished him a happy 
 Christmas. 
 
 True it was, though Matt had overlooked it; it was 
 Christmas day. Again and again he was reminded of it. 
 In one village he saw holly in the window, in another he 
 heard the bells pealing, in a third he saw the people coming 
 out of church, and in a fourth the faces of a group of children 
 were so merry that he made sure they were going to some 
 unusual festivity. There was never a Christmas but Matt 
 was reminded of his childhood and of the Torrendens, 
 naturally, for never since those times had a Christmas day 
 been different from other days. All the children used to 
 have tea at High Ridge on Christmas day; there was a tree 
 with presents for all, and Lord Torrenden spoke words of 
 commendation to those whom the schoolmaster named as 
 good boys, and brief exhortations to the bad ones. Matt 
 could remember the hymn that he had learned, where the
 
 206 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 angel brings the shepherds good tidings of great joy to them 
 and all mankind. Such recollections were sad, for never 
 more would Matt see the Torrendens, save in melancholy 
 dreams, or the oranges and cakes upon their tables. Yet 
 he began to have a kind of hopefulness. Weary as he was, 
 he looked at the houses he passed and wondered if Christ- 
 mas was being kept inside them. Was it being kept at the 
 house of his destination? Was it possible that Sir Robert 
 Wilton this day had heard the hymn about the good tidings, 
 and would he be disposed on this day, to deal kindly with 
 his slanderer? Here was another fond illusion, surely, yet 
 Matt resolved to see Bobby before the stroke of twelve 
 brought Christmas to an end. 
 
 65 
 
 When Eddie Durwold had attended mass in the Roman 
 church at Newton Royal on Christmas day, his horse and 
 trap being in the stable of the Citadel Hotel, he stood in the 
 street and scratched his chin. "When do shopkeepers 
 have their Christmas dinners?" he asked himself. He 
 decided that the meal would begin at some time between 
 one and two o'clock, and would last for hours and hours. 
 This was disappointing, for he was hungry and would have 
 liked to go at once to the hotel and get something to eat. 
 But that would not do. If he was to obtain the services of 
 a shopkeeper to-day he made sure that immediate action 
 was his only chance. 
 
 Not twenty yards from where he stood he saw the sign- 
 board of "Jeffson Jewellerand Watchmaker." That would 
 be his man. "Probably a Baptist," he thought, "with 
 tremendous views on the profanation of Christmas, and 
 I shall get into another row. Never mind. I '11 be a hero 
 once more." He rang the electric bell beside the private 
 door of the barred and shuttered shop, and presently there
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 207 
 
 appeared not a Baptist but a young lady of something 
 under six years old. This was capital. "Good-afternoon, 
 my dear," said Eddie, brilliant as usual with his favourite 
 sex, " I Ve come to have a little talk with your father. 
 What do you think about it? Has he begun dinner yet? 
 Are you having a jolly Christmas day? Do you think 
 you would do me a great favour and go and fetch your 
 father out here? What! Are you going to cry? I say, 
 you 're too big to cry before you 're hurt, you know. Oh! 
 Solidissimo ! " 
 
 He was caught again. Just as he was lifting the young 
 lady in his arms and preparing his lips for a kiss, the 
 jeweller came down the passage. "This is awkward," said 
 Eddie, blushing in a most becoming manner. "Your 
 daughter was asking me for a kiss, but of course I won't 
 give it her if you 'd rather I didn't. Do you know I feel 
 most awfully ashamed of myself, but I want to ask you if 
 you 'd mind doing a little business in spite of its being 
 Christmas day. I know what a shame it is. But the 
 business is very urgent." 
 
 "Best put that child down; she 's heavy," said the shop- 
 keeper, a stout short man with small eyes and black 
 whiskers and beard cut short like a freshly mown lawn. 
 
 " Nothing so beautiful should ever be called heavy," said 
 the boy. 
 
 "What is it you want?" asked the shopkeeper, who did 
 not like Eddie at all. 
 
 " I want to buy a ring. I know it 's too bad to trouble 
 you to-day. But if you would only stretch a point and 
 let me buy a ring I should be really very much obliged 
 indeed." 
 
 " It 's not the proper time for shopping," said Mr. Jeff son. 
 
 "I know," replied Mr. Durwold; "what I really hoped 
 was that you might know of some other jeweller who 
 wouldn't mind obliging me with a ring."
 
 208 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Oh, there 's no other," said the man. "You can come 
 in if you like." 
 
 "Thank you very much indeed," said the boy. 
 
 The jeweller turned round as he led the way down the 
 dark passage. "What sort of a ring do you want?" 
 
 " I want it to be made of gold, and to be quite light and 
 small, and to have two or three very small stones, blue or 
 green stones. I expect you know the kind better than I do." 
 
 "Oh; so it 's not a wedding ring," said the jeweller with 
 his first traces of a gruff jocularity. 
 
 "Oh, a wedding ring wouldn't do at all," said Eddie. 
 "That would be a terrible mistake." 
 
 Inside the shop they were in darkness, but the jeweller 
 turned on the light. He opened a drawer that contained 
 rings. 
 
 " I say ! What beauties ! ' ' said Eddie. 
 
 "Please yourself," said the man. 
 
 "But I shall never be able to decide which I like best." 
 
 "There 's other drawers you may like better." 
 
 "Really? I don't suppose you would let me get this 
 young lady to choose for me, would you. I 'm sure she 'd 
 choose better than I should, and after all the ring is for a 
 lady." 
 
 "Not for yourself, then?" 
 
 "Oh, dear no. If I wore rings, I should get into trouble 
 at school. There, she has chosen the blue one. Now, I 
 don't think there could be a nicer one than that. What 
 does it cost?" 
 
 "Forty-two and six." 
 
 "Not more than that? By Jove, then I '11 take it. Do 
 you think you could put it in one of those little boxes with 
 cotton wool and your name on the outside?" 
 
 While this was being done, he brought money out of his 
 pocket and laid the exact sum on the counter. "I could 
 never afford such beautiful rings if it was my own money,"
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 209 
 
 he said. Then he gave the young lady a shilling in payment 
 for a kiss, and left the shop with the ring in his pocket after 
 bidding good-bye to the jeweller in a manner that was 
 surprisingly casual. 
 After this came luncheon at the Citadel. 
 
 66 
 
 Matt passed through Newton Royal at about four o'clock 
 in his stiff and footsore state. He was a sufficiently intel- 
 ligent tramp to notice that the country changed in character 
 after he had left this county capital. It was getting dark, 
 but he could tell that he was in new country. The effect 
 upon his impressionable mind was bad. He began to feel 
 lonely and far from home and very much aware of his 
 imperfections. Though his life had been hard he had never 
 starved before, except, together with his whole acquaint- 
 ance, in the closing days of the strike. His starving con- 
 dition, therefore, made him ashamed. So did his clothes. 
 When his prosperity dawned a few days ago, he had in- 
 tended to renew his wardrobe, but had not done so. Con- 
 sequently he was in the ragged and squalid attire that he 
 had worn all through the strike. His coat was torn; so 
 were his trousers; he wore a grimy scarf round his neck; 
 he had not shaved or washed for three days; and his boots 
 had suffered on the roads. He knew he must present a sorry 
 spectacle, which hurt him because the bent of his nature 
 was quite towards dandyism. His appearance was a practi- 
 cal disadvantage, too, in one who hoped to get an audience 
 of a country gentleman behind the garrison of a country 
 house. Matt himself had been a footman. He knew the 
 sort of reception he would get when he stood at the door in 
 his dirt and his rags with starvation in his face and asked 
 for an interview with Sir Robert Wilton on a matter of busi- 
 ness. His gloom increased, lightened only by indignation. 
 14
 
 210 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Here is the picture in the mind's eye of this promising 
 Socialist. Sir Robert Wilton sits at dinner, a fine looking 
 young fellow with plenty of swagger. Opposite is his wife, 
 the heiress of UnderbelTs, elderly and plain and vastly 
 wealthy because such are the traits of all widows who marry 
 young men. With them are a number of guests who all 
 bear a strong resemblance to Mr. and Mrs. Bristow of 
 High Ridge. Footmen with powdered hair and costumes 
 all radiant with red and blue and gold are serving a dinner 
 of countless courses under the supervision of a butler earn- 
 ing sixty pounds a year besides his board and lodging. 
 Matt arrives and is told that he can have a crust of bread 
 if he goes to the kitchen window. Matt who was not 
 unworthy to receive a parting present from the last 
 Lord Torrenden is unworthy to breathe the same air as 
 a young baronet whose family may have made their pile 
 by selling bread pills to the poor in 1866. Matt's father 
 could and did speak daily with his lordship as man to man, 
 but Matt is turned from the door of the rich widow whose 
 uncle made pots and pans. Such was the brand of Matt's 
 socialism. 
 
 These thoughts came and went in Matt in much less 
 time than it takes to read them. They seized him in alter- 
 nating spasms together with all sorts of other thoughts, 
 gleams of hope in the magic influence of Christmas, or in 
 Bobby's easy settling of the strike, and a multitude of 
 bodily cares that ranged from sheer weariness to the painful 
 desire for beer. In one respect there was a steady tendency, 
 however; the nearer he came to Coulscombe the more Matt 
 dreaded the performance of his mission among strange 
 people in that distant village. 
 
 67 
 
 Eddie was glad to get back to Coulscombe, for, as usual 
 he had been in the wars. He had met what seemed like a
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 211 
 
 hundred motor-cars on the road, and these were as dis- 
 tressing to the young mare that drew him as her distress 
 was distressing to him. Of all the manly exercises in the 
 world he was experienced in none except football, and his 
 powers between two goals did not help him between the 
 hedges of the narrow roads. However, he came along in a 
 fine spanking style when there was no motor within hearing, 
 and was home before half-past three. 
 
 There was no one in the hall, and no one in the drawing- 
 room, nor was Bobby in his little room at the back. One 
 of the parlour-maids said she thought that every one was 
 out walking except her ladyship who was sitting in the 
 billiard room. Eddie went there. The parlour-maid had 
 been mistaken. Bobby, Jock, and Wilfred were there as 
 well as Marian. 
 
 Something in the appearance of the party gave him a 
 feeling that he had better not stay more than a few moments 
 among them. He could guess that they were talking 
 business. As in all the other rooms there was a fire of logs 
 burning here, emitting the most pleasant of scents. The 
 deerhound, contrary to good morals, lay warming his spine 
 at the heat of it. Marian sat in one of the tall straight 
 arm-chairs of black oak and red damask, and gave Eddie a 
 kind welcome, bidding him come to the fire, since after his 
 drive he must be cold. Jock, in the chair opposite, made 
 no movement but looked perturbed and dark. Wilfred 
 Rannard leaned against the chimney piece, a taller, slimmer, 
 looser, and more easy-going copy of his brother Jock; he 
 can be visualised as a young man who wore clothes of a 
 tweed so loose and coarse as to resemble basket work. He, 
 too, looked serious. Bobby, whose greetings were usually 
 of a most exacting description, took no notice of Eddie, 
 but continued to walk up and down at the other end of the 
 billiard table. He had his hands tucked inside the top 
 of his trousers, and he looked hot and worried,
 
 212 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 In spite of Marian's amiable words the schoolboy thought 
 he had better not stay here. "I only came to see where 
 everybody was," he said. "I'm going; I'm quite sure 
 you 're busy." 
 
 "Why not ask him now?" said Wilfred to Jock. 
 
 "Shall we?" Jock said to Marian. 
 
 "As you please," she answered, with a little gesture that 
 did not tell of a contented mind. 
 
 "Come and be questioned," said Wilfred. He laughed 
 as he spoke, but Eddie became rather frightened, being 
 used to associate questions with incidents that were dis- 
 agreeable. Marian told him to come and sit down. Always 
 a master of deportment, he seated himself on a low stool 
 which exactly fitted his humility among these reverend 
 seniors. 
 
 "It is about Miss Baker," said Jock, crossing his legs 
 and leaning back. "It was you who heard her talking 
 after that meeting at Denbury, wasn't it?" 
 
 "I am afraid it was." 
 
 "How far do you remember her actual words?" 
 
 The boy shook his head. He did not understand. 
 
 "You remember that she threatened to make scandal 
 about Bobby?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "Well, what words did she actually use about it?" 
 
 "Do you want me to try hard and remember?" 
 
 "Yes. Try." 
 
 "She said she could crush him if she liked. " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "And that he had committed a crime against decency." 
 
 "Yes? Goon." 
 
 "Well, it came to this, that if he went on as he was doing 
 at Denbury, they would let the cat out of the bag and make 
 the place too hot to hold him. Wait a minute; she said 
 she would make him stink in people's nostrils,"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 213 
 
 "Did she say Bobby had actually done something, or 
 did she say they would say he had done something?" 
 
 "She said he had done something." 
 
 "She didn't say they would invent a scandal, or deduce 
 a scandal, or any words like that." 
 
 "I don't think so," said the boy. 
 
 "Damn," said Jock. 
 
 "Is it likely that she would have said any such thing?" 
 said Marian impatiently. 
 
 "What has happened?" Eddie asked. 
 
 There was silence, until Bobby spoke from the other end 
 of the billiard table where he still walked up and down. 
 "I can't see why you shouldn't tell him," he said; "he 's 
 not an infant in arms." 
 
 "The virtuous Miss Baker," said Wilfred, "has written 
 Bobby a Christmas letter, and she accuses him of abducting 
 a young friend of yours called Bessie Wake from a Home at 
 Woottonhampstead and then taking advantage of her 
 unprotected state. She 's going to publish that news 
 unless he caves in to the Denbury strike committee and 
 generally behaves himself as Miss Baker wishes. I say, 
 if there was a libel case, I suppose you wouldn't mind 
 telling your story about the young lady, would you?" 
 
 "I should love to," said Eddie. "But what an awful 
 thing to happen! It 's my fault once more." 
 
 "Not at all," said Bobby. "And as to his telling his 
 story in court, that 's simply preposterous. So is the whole 
 idea of going to law. Great fun to have Miss Baker in the 
 witness box and all that, but what is the good? The story 
 is a damned lie, but it is the sort of story every one will 
 believe though we go to law for the rest of our lives." 
 
 "There you have the truth," said Marian. 
 
 So far as Bobby was concerned a slander of this sort was 
 not likely to cause him more pain than a cold bath. It 
 brought his blood to the surface, and that was all. But it
 
 214 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 was plain to him and to the Rannards that Marian would 
 not take it so easily. She was to be branded as an unlucky 
 wife. 
 
 "What an infernal thing it is," cried Jock in sudden rage, 
 "that this sort of beastliness comes into life at all! What 
 have we done to deserve it?" 
 
 "We shall have to put up with it," said Marian rather 
 excitedly. "Bobby is quite right. To go to law would 
 only advertise the lie. We shall have to put up with it, I 
 have quite decided, and really I do not mind in the least." 
 
 Here was another lie. 
 
 "My dear Marian, you don't realise," said Jock. 
 
 "Oh! Perfectly!" 
 
 "I 'm ignorant," said Wilfred. "What do you do when 
 you want to spread scandal? What will Miss Baker do?" 
 
 "Another leaflet," laughed Marian; "a very showy one." 
 
 "Possibly, but she will do a great deal more than that," 
 said Jock. "She will make speeches just carefully moder- 
 ate enough for the newspapers to dare to report them. 
 Then she will get questions asked in the House of Commons 
 as to whether the Home Secretary has had information of 
 the outrage committed, and so on. There is a special 
 class of Liberal member who exists solely to ask questions 
 of that sort. Then a Conservative or two will take up 
 the defence, to make matters worse. Then it will get from 
 the House to the clubs, where it will be carried round by 
 little creatures that Providence has created for the purpose, 
 and the net result will be that whenever Bobby and Marian 
 come to town or go about (and I suppose they won't stay 
 here all their lives), they will have this story in everybody's 
 mind." 
 
 When Jock had drawn this picture of the future, there 
 was an awkward silence. Bobby was distressed. He 
 muttered something not to be overheard. Three or four 
 times he muttered it, as he paced up and down. Up to the
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 215 
 
 present time, so far as he had given a thought to Miss 
 Baker's threats he had regarded them with the keenest 
 pleasure , but he had miscalculated. He had never con- 
 sidered that the slander she would launch against him might 
 pass through his reputation into Marian's feelings. 
 
 " Is it too late to suggest letting Denbury go to the devil?" 
 Jock suggested. 
 
 "You forget that we have our principles as employers," 
 Marian answered, in that tone of which she was a mistress, 
 which gave no hint of the degree of irony or bitterness 
 contained. 
 
 "Good heavens!" Jock exclaimed, "what a thing to say 
 at this time of day! What does Miss Baker demand, after 
 all? Nothing but that you should deal with these factory 
 men through her as their representative. Why! Every 
 one does it. Isn't it the natural result of trade-unionism? 
 She doesn't ask you even to stop this torn-fool pension 
 you give. She only asks you to deal through her. Bless 
 my soul, if you don't mind my saying so, the whole thing 
 is the most preposterous, crack-brained, misdirected fuss 
 I ever knew. Miss Baker may be unpleasant, but she is 
 no worse than hundreds of others." 
 
 "The fact is," said Bobby, "that we are rather a bad 
 committee to discuss this particular question." 
 
 "Come along then," said Jock to Wilfred, "we will clear 
 out. You come too, Durwold." 
 
 68 
 
 As soon as the door closed upon them, Bobby came to 
 the fireplace by which Marian sat. Taking a chair he 
 placed it with its back towards her, and he sat astride it as 
 his habit was. There was a mysterious deliberateness about 
 his movements. He called the deerhound, and indicated 
 that the dog's fore paws were to be placed upon his knee.
 
 2i6 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 So, when the dog stood up, his face came to a level with 
 Bobby's. Bobby took his head between his own two hands, 
 from behind, not giving the kiss which the dog probably 
 expected. 
 
 "Do you see Rebel's head?" he said to Marian. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, not knowing what to expect. 
 
 "Do you see how I can move it like that, to the right?" 
 he said, suiting the action to the word. 
 
 "Yes," said she, for the spectacle was straight in front 
 of her. 
 
 "And like that, to the left?" 
 
 "Yes, Bobby." 
 
 "And upwards and downwards?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Wherever I want to, in fact?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Now you can go away and lie down," he said to Rebel, 
 kissing his nose, "you Ve been a useful dog." 
 
 He crossed his arms over the back of the chair. 
 
 "Well, you can move me just like that in this thing of 
 Miss Baker's," he said. "You say what you want done, 
 and I will do it. Do you see?" 
 
 Bobby's face expressed his mood so thoroughly at all 
 times that it was easy to tell when he was earnest in his 
 purpose, whether friendly or unfriendly. He looked full 
 into Marian's eyes while he made this present offer to 
 sacrifice his pride, and continued thus to look at her till 
 she should express her wishes. She knew that he meant 
 what he said and would perform as he had promised, but 
 she knew what it would cost him to yield to Miss Baker so 
 little as a straw. Well aware that his pride was like the 
 widow's mite, the best he had to offer, she was intimately 
 touched. Since he sacrificed his prejudices, she felt the 
 more impelled to sacrifice hers. But the feeling of the 
 moment had a double edge, for just as she looked up at him
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 217 
 
 to make the concession of her love, she realised that she 
 could not do it. She could not allow the world to look at 
 him as she saw him now, and think that his eyes went 
 roving from herself towards others. "I am very sorry," 
 she said, with her queer hollow laugh that came of a stunted 
 impulse to weep, "I am very sorry, but I am afraid I 
 couldn't bear it." 
 
 He simply said, "Very well, then Denbury shall go to 
 hell. I will write to-night and send some one into Newton 
 with a note for Fatty to tell him to take over the whole 
 business and manage it from his office in the ordinary busi- 
 ness way, and we won't think any more of the Denbury 
 boys than we do of the fellows on your railways in India. 
 Fatty shall treat Miss Baker just as she wants to be treated." 
 
 And here the matter remained until Bobby was dressing 
 for dinner that night, when Jock strolled into his room. 
 
 69 
 
 "I hope you're not annoyed," Jock said. "I really 
 couldn't help saying what I said this afternoon. And 
 Marian has told me what you have decided. My dear 
 Bobby, I must say, I 'm devilish glad to hear it. I 've got 
 no end of admiration for your way of doing things, and 
 always have had, but there 's no getting away from the 
 fact that Denbury is different. I can't help thinking, you 
 know, you Ve always been a bit inclined to push things too 
 far. You Ve never let me have a chance of explaining 
 what I mean, but it really would be too preposterous if you 
 went and spent a lot of money on poor relief in Denbury, 
 considering you never even heard of the place until the 
 other day. Besides, there 's another thing. And I know 
 this is a thing you '11 agree with. I do feel this very strongly, 
 Bobby. It 's playing it low down on other people. After 
 all, you are a man of property and if you go and behave in
 
 2i8 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 a way that other fellows simply couldn't and wouldn't 
 stick, you 're not being fair to your own class. You simply 
 set every one making comparisons between your romantic 
 way of doing things and the way that other people go on, 
 and the others get cursed because they don't do mad things 
 like you. So the fact is, you 'd be a kind of traitor to the 
 Tories, Bobby, you would really. Of course, I know, 
 I 'm flogging a dead horse, but I must say I 'm devilish 
 glad you 've dropped it." 
 
 Bobby, who was pulling off his clothes, took the very 
 young line of pretending that he hardly noticed what was 
 being said to him. 
 
 "Have we quarrelled?" Jock asked. 
 
 "No, my boy," he answered. "If I'm going on my 
 knees to Miss Baker, I 'm not likely to mind having my 
 head smacked by you." 
 
 After this he fell back upon the plan of answering nothing. 
 
 70 
 
 "A traitor to the Tories," Bobby thought, when Jock 
 left the room. He had not any particular reflections to 
 make upon the words, but they continued to echo in his 
 mind while he dressed, together with an indistinct idea 
 that somehow, in a way that was not clear, they did 
 not do him justice. Another set of words ran in his 
 head also, called up from his small but precious stock of 
 literary and classical quotations. These were the words 
 attributed to the dying Henry the Second: "Shame, 
 shame, upon a conquered king." Beyond these he had no 
 ideas in his head. He was too bewildered by the strange- 
 ness of making a surrender. 
 
 Shortly before he finished dressing he was visited by 
 Eddie Durwold whose appearance was truly a poem in 
 starched linen against an exquisitely tinted waistcoat and 
 clothes of incomparable fit.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 219 
 
 "Here 's the ring I bought you for Bessie," he said, "and 
 here 's your change." 
 
 "I say, how awfully good of you," said Bobby. "What 
 a jolly one! She '11 never wear it, but it '11 be a regular 
 heirloom all the same." 
 
 "I Ve had rather an idea," Eddie remarked. "Suppose 
 Miss Baker wants to spread that libellacious story about 
 Bessie. Suppose Tom hears about it. Suppose he goes 
 to Miss Baker and says " 
 
 "Oh, you needn't trouble to suppose all that," Bobby 
 interrupted. ' ' It has all been settled. I 'm to climb down. 
 I 'm to be a good boy. I 'm to ask Miss Baker to let me 
 off till next time. I 'm to run away, Eddie." 
 
 There was silence while this astonishing news was 
 digested. 
 
 "Well, I 'm blowed!" said Eddie at last. "Now that 
 does simply astonish me. I say, I do hope you won't mind 
 my saying it, but I 'd got an idea that you were a kind of 
 fellow who had grown up to be a man without losing the 
 idea of being a sportsman. I thought you 'd take anything. 
 I thought you were different from everybody else. I 'd 
 I 'd made a resolution to try and be like you ! Oh, it is a 
 pity!" 
 
 7i 
 
 Of course they were all mistaken, Jock, Eddie, and 
 Bobby. They were all mistaken because they all supposed 
 that the solemn decisions of reasonable people were suffi- 
 cient to determine issues. Bobby, in particular, was an 
 old offender. Nothing cured him of the belief that Marian 
 must mean what she said. 
 
 She herself was not deceived. No sooner had she heard 
 from his lips that he would sacrifice his instincts to her 
 wishes than she knew his guardian angels would meet in 
 emergency committee to extricate him from the position 
 in which his promise placed him. He might undertake to
 
 220 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 yield to the dirty fear of dirty tongues, but she could not 
 look at him, even at the instant of his promise, without 
 knowing that something would happen to prevent him. 
 She knew it at that moment, while she heard his promise 
 from his lips. Something would happen to prevent it. 
 The hours passed. The chi dren's tea party began and 
 ended, but Marian's opinion did not alter. She was not 
 going to take any action; not she; but something would 
 occur. She was going to be exactly the same as usual. 
 She was going to wear her best diamonds in honour of 
 Bobby's tenants, and laugh her mirthless laugh while she 
 talked with his guests, and say things more caustic and 
 shrewd than he would ever say, but she knew quite well 
 that Bobby would not yield to Miss Baker. She knew it 
 when Jock congratulated her on the saving of money and 
 trouble, and when she saw the resigned despondency of 
 Bobby's face, and when she walked along the passages of 
 the house, feeling like an interloper, and when she regarded 
 herself in the mirror before coming down to dinner. She 
 had not any prophetic feelings about Denbury, as to whether 
 its inhabitants were destined for good or evil times. She 
 cared no more about them than about the rats in the stable. 
 Nor had she any thoughts about Miss Baker, as to whether 
 she was likely to win or lose her battle. But about 
 Bobby she had opinions that nothing could alter in the 
 least degree. The end might be poverty, or a broken neck, 
 of anything else, but Bobby was like a river flowing out of 
 great tracts of the past, with too much volume for his 
 course to be diverted. The past was behind him, bearing 
 him to where he was appointed to be borne, almost without 
 his knowing it, as Marian had observed in a hundred little 
 instances every day since she had known him. So she was 
 even able to find some intellectual pleasure in a set of 
 guesses. She wondered what event would save him from 
 the promise she had wrung from him.
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 221 
 72 
 
 It was at half -past eight that Matt saw the first houses 
 of the village he supposed to be Coulscombe, an enchanted 
 village, as it seemed to him from the moment he first set 
 foot in it. It had a feature which might have puzzled a 
 traveller with more normal perceptions than Matt's. It 
 was entirely without inhabitants. 
 
 There are times when an empty house appears more 
 desolate than the top of a mountain. To walk under the 
 starry heaven into a snug village nestling round a church 
 is to conceive expectations of finding human life. Matt 
 knocked at a cottage door because he wished to ask his way 
 to Orchard Wilton. There was no response. There was 
 not a light in any window he could see. He proceeded, 
 and knocked at the doors of another and another house. 
 Presently a dog barked and a second dog, and all the dogs 
 of the village joined in the chorus. But of humanity there 
 was not so much as a head looking out of an upper window. 
 
 Matt was so tired and so hungry that he had very little 
 left of those memories and hopes and fears and indignations 
 that had beset his mind upon the road. But he had life 
 enough still to wonder at the dearth of life about him. He 
 would have noticed such a thing with surprise in any other 
 village through which he passed. In the village of his 
 destination, however, in the place where his last hope lay, 
 the impression was such as to assail him with ghostly 
 terrors. At last some one opened a door. It was a girl 
 of eighteen, who in fact had been left in charge of a collec- 
 tion of young babies. She told Matt the way to Orchard 
 Wilton. 
 
 ' Marvelling greatly he made his way to the end of the 
 village, passed through the iron gates, and began the long 
 and winding ascent towards the house. "The quietest 
 place I ever been," he said to himself.
 
 222 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 He was too tired to please himself with the thought that 
 his Socialist feet were treading the paths of the rich, and too 
 tired also to consider what was to be his policy on arriving 
 at the house. Neverthless, in a dim fashion, the sensation 
 of walking upwards through park land recalled his memories 
 of High Ridge. "There 'd be the lake," he thought, " and 
 there 'd be the garden, and the house over yonder." A 
 moment more, and he sighed, but not with sentimental 
 feelings. He sighed with relief because he remembered 
 a previously registered opinion that the Wilton household 
 could not possibly fail to offer him some sort of food. 
 
 Then came the second of the enchantments of the place, 
 just as the impression of the desolate village was fading 
 from his mind, just as he was wondering how many times 
 the drive would wind and curve again before the house was 
 reached. He heard the sound of music. 
 
 He was always susceptible to the stimuli of gaiety. Gay 
 music, like good beer, gave movement to his blood. Hardly 
 had he heard the sound before a turn in the drive so placed 
 him that he heard it more distinctly, the hedge of rhodo- 
 dendron having ceased, and there was something now to be 
 seen also. Both his hands went suddenly to his stomach in 
 answer to a spasm of hunger. He saw, unexpectedly near, 
 great windows ablaze with light. "Gawd! They are 
 dancing," he said. "That 's why the village was empty." 
 
 " I will get in there," he cried out loud. He began to run. 
 "The back way will be open," he thought. In the rising 
 of excitement he felt his hunger no more. 
 
 73 
 
 "There is Bessie Wake," said Eddie to Wilfred Rannard. 
 "Dancing with Tom Trevor?" 
 
 "Yes. I think it would be rather touching if I danced 
 a little dance with her too,"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 223 
 
 "You won't," said Wilfred. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because it 's one thing to annoy schoolmasters who can 
 hit back and another thing to annoy Tom who mustn't." 
 
 "Mr. Durwold," said Marian, coming up. "I want you 
 to take pity on the stouter and more aged of the parlour- 
 maids." 
 
 "Dance with her?" 
 
 "Will you? She is standing there." 
 
 "Why, of course I will." 
 
 "When do we leave them to themselves?" Wilfred asked. 
 
 "About nine o'clock," said Marian. 
 
 From the band at the other end of the hall the volume of 
 sound was considerable, for there were six instruments and 
 six musicians from Newton Royal to belabour them. To 
 stand near them, as Marian had found, was painful to the 
 ears. But a lusty noise is proper for a lusty company. 
 Some one had taken care that the illumination should sym- 
 pathise with the sound ; it was profuse enough to become a 
 lasting memory, for the house had been raided for lamps 
 and lanterns wherever there was space to put them. In 
 the kitchen regions, as Marian took care not to know, Bobby 
 had been generous with an even surer talisman for gladness. 
 About a hundred couples were now dancing in the hall. 
 
 "Imagine my mother's face," said Wilfred, "if we did 
 this sort of thing at Tormichael." 
 
 "Imagine anybody's face when they hear it going on till 
 two in the morning," said Marian. 
 
 "What fine-looking beggars they are!" he said. 
 
 "They live out of doors," she answered without much 
 interest. 
 
 "Where is Bobby?" asked Wilfred. 
 
 She pointed with her fan in a certain direction. 
 
 Bobby was quite close at hand, sitting on the edge of one 
 of the tables that were pushed against the walls, swinging
 
 224 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 his leg, while he listened to Mr. Kinglove telling what was 
 plainly a complicated story. He kept his ear inclined 
 towards Mr. Kinglove, but he fixed his gaze on the people 
 dancing before him. Each couple that came near he 
 regarded with a sort of vacant intensity. 
 
 "He 's not looking particularly bright," said Wilfred. 
 1 Suddenly and abruptly the band brought their music to 
 an end, just as Marian was thinking of leaving Wilfred 
 because he had started a topic that was awkward. The 
 dancing ceased ; the dancers drew towards the walls. Activ- 
 ity was relaxed amid the panting of all whose rest was 
 deserved, and the wiping of hot brows, and the laughter 
 and chatter of the whole company. Then, also, Marian's 
 spirits were revived, for she saw what was likely to take the 
 gloom from Bobby's face. It was the conclusion of a little 
 drama made in heaven, as we learn, but staged by herself 
 for Bobby's delectation. Tom and Bessie went up to him. 
 Mr. Kinglove drew back, just as others, scenting interest, 
 discreetly closed round the place. Bobby's eyes looked 
 questioning; Tom's looked things unspeakable; something 
 was said which was certainly a blotting out of Tom's late 
 misdemeanour. Tom said something further, and this 
 was too much for Bobby's sorrows to resist. It was news 
 of his successful wooing, as Marian could tell. There was 
 a shaking of hands ; the news was bellowed into Kinglove's 
 ear; it was told to Mrs. Jones, just because she was nearest; 
 it was heard by a farmer, by a farmer's wife, and by the 
 postmistress. After this, Bobby appeared to be rather 
 embarrassed. The situation held more emotion, perhaps, 
 than he altogether liked. As for the ring, he forgot it, or 
 judged it best to postpone the gift. He sat still, smiling, 
 while felicitations poured upon the happy couple, and pos- 
 sibly he felt a trifle out of place. There was a spectator, 
 however, to whom he seemed in the best of all places in the 
 world. There was a spectator who did not know that Bobby
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 225 
 
 liked Tom better as a pugilist than as the centre of this 
 emotional storm. To Matt, who saw it as a picture, Bobby, 
 seemed to be presiding over the most wonderful and moving 
 scene that he had ever witnessed. 
 
 So noiselessly had Matt entered that he stood for nearly 
 a minute before Marian and Wilfred noticed him, though 
 the door he had opened was at their elbows. Marian 
 turned because a faint draught reached her shoulders. 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, "who are you?" 
 
 "Sir Robert Wilton," said Matt, answering rather what 
 he wanted than who he was. 
 
 "Where do you come from?" she asked. 
 
 "Denbury," he said. 
 
 74 
 
 No sooner did Marian hear Denbury named than she 
 recognised a crisis. She was beset by an extraordinary 
 feeling of criminality, for, though she knew at once that 
 this was the sort of event she had expected, she was sud- 
 denly moved to resist its working. At the same time she 
 achieved a very prompt command of her wits. "Say 
 nothing to Bobby," she told Wilfred. To Matt she said, 
 "Come with me. I am Lady Wilton." 
 
 She signed to him to go back through the door he had 
 opened, and followed him. This brought them to the stone 
 passage that runs along the back of the hall, leading towards 
 the staircase. But in order to gain the nearest refuge 
 Marian led Matt in the other direction, through the door 
 which opens into the dining-room. Here there was light 
 from candles on the table and on a sideboard. To spare 
 the labour of the servants on this busy evening they had 
 dined without attendance, the dishes being placed on side- 
 boards and tables where they still stood, for nothing had 
 been taken away. 
 
 IS
 
 226 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Marian shut the door of the room as soon as Matt was 
 inside. She spoke to him in tones of urgency. "Why 
 have you come here?" she asked. 
 
 Excited by the music, astonished and somewhat bewild- 
 ered by his unchallenged invasion of the house through the 
 deserted kitchen passages, and moved to inexpressible 
 wonder by all that he had seen in the hall, Matt had not 
 much coherence left among his thoughts. The sight of 
 the food undid him altogether. He could make Marian 
 no answer. He looked at the food. 
 
 "You are hungry," she said, almost as angrily as though 
 she thought he would deny it. 
 
 "Yes, my lady," said Matt. 
 
 She searched his face with an urgent and penetrating 
 scrutiny as though all depended on her reading of his 
 symptoms. " Sit down at the table," she said. She hurried 
 to a side-table and cut some cold pheasant, carefully choos- 
 ing what he could eat without being inconvenienced by 
 the bones. This, with bread, she set before him on the 
 table. She looked at him again, and made a mixture of 
 champagne and soda-water that she judged would revive 
 him wisely but not too well. He ate and drank ravenously. 
 Marian, who was not without experience, saw that he was 
 hungry in grim earnest but judged that he had not been 
 starving for many days; she thought, therefore, that she 
 might safely let him eat what he desired. She cut him a 
 plate of ham, and gave him more champagne. Not a 
 word passed between them. The seriousness of the ques- 
 tion of Matt's food kept him from any wish to speak or 
 think or do anything but eat, while she, regarding him 
 as a messenger of destiny, was silent through positive awe 
 of him. She watched him, but, in her nervousness, she 
 found other things to do. She poked the fire. She snuffed 
 the candles and lowered their shades. She gave water to 
 some flowers in a vase. Lastly, she stood by the hearth,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 227 
 
 opened her fan, and gazed uneasily from it to Matt and 
 from Matt to it. Presently, when his plate was almost 
 bare, she asked if he would have some more meat or some 
 pudding. 
 
 But Matt was so far revived by food and drink that he 
 was now aware that Marian was a lady. He was no longer 
 able to sit and eat before her. He refused her offer, and 
 rose from his chair, the effort being painful to his stiffening 
 limbs. 
 
 "What is your name?" she asked him. 
 
 "Blood, my lady," said he, in a dazed way. 
 
 "Sit down," she said. "You are tired. I believe you 
 have been walking a long way." 
 
 "Yes," said he. 
 
 "You have come to see Sir Robert about some business 
 at Denbury? That is it, isn't it? " 
 
 She was nervously curious, and spoke now with tender- 
 ness that was quite insinuating. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, still like a man in a dream. 
 
 "You are in some trouble," she said. 
 
 "Yes," said he. 
 
 "Then you shall tell your trouble to me. Sit down. 
 What is it that has happened?" 
 
 But he remained standing, and the only answer he gave 
 Marian was to stretch out his right arm and point in a 
 certain direction with what seemed to her like the finger of 
 fate. He was pointing towards the sound of the gay music 
 and the pulsation of the feet of the dancers. It over- 
 whelmed him. Though he gazed at Marian, he was plainly 
 seeing that at which he pointed, not her at whom he looked. 
 His body and mind had conspired to produce this state of 
 raptness. As he had passed from hunger to comfort, he 
 had passed from desolation to festivity, and the change 
 filled the sails of his imagination. He was much nearer 
 than he seemed to an outbreak of sanguine eloquence. He
 
 228 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 was fit to enter on another of the list of his illusions. He 
 was beginning to remember that he had come from ten 
 years of the mechanism of Underbell's factory to a scene 
 of life and human sympathy which was more than he re- 
 called even of the Torrendens. The effect was paralysing, 
 and all his political opinions came back on him in a flood, 
 together with the scornful things he had said of Bobby 
 whom he had just seen sitting in glorious security, loosely 
 and at ease, among workpeople who were his friends. With 
 the force of an inherited instinct he craved to cast before 
 a man such as that his troubles and his needs and his 
 aspirations and his discontents just as in a few moments 
 he would crave to throw his exhausted body on a 
 bed. 
 
 So, while Matt was groping in this latest dreamland, 
 and while Marian was suffering the pains of increasing 
 apprehension, as though a doom was to fall from his lips, 
 the following conversation occurred. 
 
 " Mr. Blood, will you not tell me what your trouble is?" 
 
 " My lady, I been meaning to tell it to Sir Robert." 
 
 "He is busy." 
 
 "I can wait, my lady." 
 
 "Is it about Denbury?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Are you not satisfied with what Sir Robert has done?" 
 
 "Satisfied?" 
 
 " Yes. You work at Underbell's, don't you? " 
 
 "For ten years, my lady." 
 
 "Are you in want? Have you a wife and children?" 
 
 "Yes, my lady, all that." 
 
 "Then you have the payment which Sir Robert has 
 allowed you?" 
 
 The question raised more issues than Matt would deal 
 with. But, suddenly, the truth became articulate within 
 him, and he spoke it with a flash and gesture that were
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 229 
 
 worthy of the brilliant potman. "Payment?" he cried. 
 "I don't want his payment but himself!" 
 
 Marian's fears were receiving confirmation. 
 
 "Have you not Miss Baker and the trade-union?" she 
 asked. 
 
 He gave her a wave of his hands and a speaking glance 
 of scorn. 
 
 "And Mrs. Hope and the league?" she added. 
 
 "And would them do for you?" said he. 
 
 She looked at him, saying nothing, while he continued 
 to stare his contempt for her absurd estimate of the value 
 of Miss Baker and Mrs. Hope. Marian knew, of course, 
 that he had beaten her. A man such as this and a man such 
 as Bobby she could not have kept apart though she had 
 been the Pacific Ocean. When next she spoke, it was with 
 honest curiosity. 
 
 "Tell me; if Sir Robert comes to you at Denbury, what 
 is it that you wish him to do?" 
 
 "Wish him to do?" Matt repeated. 
 
 "Yes. What is it?" 
 
 "You do not know?" he asked. 
 
 "I am afraid not." 
 
 He was astonished that any one in this house, within 
 sound of the music, should be ignorant of such a thing, and 
 most of all the lady who should best have understood it. 
 How to tell so great a matter to so great a lady he could 
 not think. He could only let the passion of his voice supply 
 what was wanting in his words. 
 
 "That, that," he whispered, pointing towards the sound 
 of the music. "A gentleman to live over us, to know how 
 a man should be treated, to make life what it used to be." 
 
 "Have you any idea," said Marian, in tones almost as 
 soft as his, "how extraordinary a thing you are asking? 
 Do you know that not one gentleman in a thousand would 
 ever dream of doing such a thing?"
 
 230 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Do I not?" said the brilliant potman, most brilliant 
 and most simple when his need was greatest. " B lit my lady, 
 I have seen in Sir Robert's face that he is different from the 
 rest." 
 
 It was so like a calculated attack upon her weakest side 
 that she was actually amused into feeling kindly towards 
 Matt for his own sake. " Well, well," she said, " we cannot 
 tell what will happen to Denbury. There are things you 
 do not yet know. But whatever your own trouble is, Mr. 
 Blood, I am sure you will find Sir Robert will be more kind 
 than you have ever expected. You must put all your 
 worries away. Wait here now, and I will go and tell him 
 you are here." 
 
 Her purpose was frustrated; just as she was walking 
 towards the door, it was opened, and there appeared Miss 
 Wilton, followed by almost all of those who were staying 
 in the house. 
 
 "We were all thirsty," Miss Wilton explained. "Oh, 
 are you engaged? " 
 
 "No, come in," said Marian. 
 
 She stepped slowly back to the place where Matt was 
 standing, that he might not be overwhelmed by the terror 
 of the invasion, and she told him that Sir Robert would 
 come. Regarding the others as they trooped into the room, 
 talking and laughing, she had some reward for the surrender 
 she was to make. She did what she seldom did. She 
 remembered that she was the daughter of a poor parson in 
 London. She had the right to some detachment. She 
 was so fond of them all. Jock and Wilfred were dear 
 cousins. Edwards was a man whom no human being would 
 not respect and like. She was fond of Keddy. She 
 liked Durwold as one likes a nice dog. But Matt was 
 right, for they all lacked a quality of Bobby's. They 
 were too softly seated on the cushions of this world. Of 
 none of them could she easily believe, as of Bobby, that he
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 231 
 
 would throw away life's cushions for the glory and delight 
 of life itself. She bitterly regretted the concession she had 
 forced from him. 
 
 Bobby, the last to enter, came up to her as soon as he 
 saw the strange man with her. The others were at the 
 side-table pouring out drinks. 
 
 "This is Mr. Blood," said Marian. "He has come from 
 Denbury to see you on business. He has walked all the 
 way." 
 
 Bobby stood stock-still, looking from her to Matt and 
 from Matt to her. His action towards each of them was 
 checked by a different awkward aspect of the situation. 
 
 "Oh, my dear Bobby," said Marian, taking his hand and 
 laughing, "I am so sorry for what I said this afternoon. 
 Mr. Blood has talked to me and I have changed my mind 
 completely. Do you understand? Completely, com- 
 pletely." 
 
 He looked into her eyes to see if she spoke the truth, and 
 his cheeks flushed at the pleasure of it. He held out his 
 hand to Matt. 
 
 "I remember you," he said, with a welcome and a threat 
 most oddly mixed in his tone. "Last time we met we 
 didn't agree. Is that forgotten? Are we to be friends?" 
 
 Had it been the ghost of Hugh Torrenden that addressed 
 him, had the eyes of the speaker shone like moons, and had 
 his voice been thunder, Matt would not have been less able 
 to reply. He had no muscle that would move. Across 
 the tract of years he had come as far as the Queen of Sheba, 
 and at last he was face to face with the fearless eye, the 
 crisp voice, the personal civility, the kindness, and the 
 authority, which were his notions of a gentleman. Marian 
 put his hand in Bobby's. She said that they were friends. 
 At last Matt drew himself up, for a kind of pride was set 
 working in his mind by the very sight of Bobby. He could 
 not speak. - But he could show the truth in his eyes and
 
 232 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 face. He had found his gentleman, and he held up his head, 
 for he himself was again a man. 
 
 75 
 
 There was nothing sentimental in Bobby's conduct 
 towards Matt. As soon as Marian explained that the 
 traveller was tired beyond endurance he fell into practical 
 courses and became as dictatorial as though Matt had been 
 born and bred at his park gates. He made him sit down, 
 gave him more wine, sent Eddie to bring Dick Trevor, and 
 told Matt firmly that he would talk no business with him 
 that night. He was to have a hot bath and go to sleep at 
 once in the bed Dick Trevor would provide for him. He 
 should tell his business in the morning. 
 
 Nor was he sentimental the next day on the subject of 
 Matt's matrimonial irregularities. They were sitting in 
 his small room, the stone room, after breakfast. Matt, 
 washed, shaved, well fed, and provided with a change of 
 clothes, as spick and span as any other object that passed 
 through Dick Trevor's hands, explained to Bobby what had 
 brought him to grief at Denbury. Bobby expressed Mrs. 
 Hope's opinion in words that Mrs. Hope would not have 
 used. 
 
 "You should have married Eliza long ago," he said. 
 "When a man lives with a woman for a dozen years, he 
 ought to marry her. People ought to do the things that 
 are usual. Well, you can marry her still. You can bring 
 her here and marry her in this church. I '11 see the rector 
 and see how soon it can be done." 
 
 Though not sentimental, the interview was satisfactory. 
 Bobby told Matt that the business of Underbell's was 
 ruined and that the factory would not re-open. But he 
 said that he intended to provide for the destitute hands and 
 assist them to find new employment. In this undertaking
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 233 
 
 he would need the help of men who knew the town and its 
 inhabitants. After many questions about Matt's past life 
 and experience of Denbury, Bobby offered him a post for 
 which there is no established name, the post of his adviser 
 and assistant administrator in his dealings with the men of 
 UnderbelTs. This arrangement having been made, he 
 gave him money to look after Eliza and his children. Upon 
 the whole Matt took away a satisfactory impression. He 
 had met with no enthusiasm or exuberant affection from 
 Bobby, but with practical help and with a sincere interest 
 in himself as a man, or at least a Denbury man, not as one 
 of the poor. He was cheered, as the Duchess of Bracken- 
 bury had once been flattered, by the eagerness of Bobby's 
 interest. 
 
 Orchard Wilton remained in the hands of the guests 
 until the New Year began. Since the activities of all were 
 bent on amusement, and since no one more amused himself 
 than Bobby, there was little done towards settling the 
 future of Denbury. The Denbury men remained in pos- 
 session of their allowance, and Bobby remained in enjoy- 
 ment of his home, for one more week. But this result 
 followed from Matt's visit, that the council of critics at 
 Orchard Wilton ceased to oppose Bobby's purposes. They 
 reconciled themselves as well as they could. They ex- 
 pected to see him incur the ruin of his estate, a bad name 
 with respectable people, and a final disillusionment, just 
 as if the object of his benevolence had been not a manufac- 
 turing town but an actress with expensive tastes. But, 
 said Jock, a wilful man must have his way. Bobby thought 
 that maxim excellent. 
 
 Really he thought very little of Denbury in the days that 
 followed Christmas. He took no practical steps except 
 that with a dog-like recognition of his natural friends and 
 allies he put himself in correspondence with Father Gauden. 
 For the rest he was among his guests, shooting and riding
 
 234 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 by day, playing cards and billiards by night, giving advice 
 about things known to him and asking questions of things 
 known to them, as he had done since he was three and would 
 do till he was three times thirty. With regard to Denbury 
 he had no more feeling of priggishness on his conscience. 
 That had been dispelled by the statement of Mrs. Hope's 
 dealings with Matt and Eliza, and by Matt's description of 
 the Social Peace League and its doings. If he spoke of Den- 
 bury now, he could say, without a blush, that he was out 
 for a skirmish with Miss Baker and Mrs. Hope, two pesti- 
 lent squatters upon Marian's domain, whom he would 
 dearly like to crush but by whom he would probably be 
 crushed though one never knows one's luck. He was 
 not aware that Miss Baker had withdrawn- to London in 
 dudgeon that would keep her quiet for a time, while Mrs. 
 Hope, from the terrors of ridicule, had returned to Maryhill 
 and a safe suburban soil with her banners and rosettes, her 
 peace and joy and love, her purity chats, and her system of 
 visiting, and all the other apparatus of her Most Holy 
 Inquisition. 
 
 It was not until New Year's day, when his last guest had 
 left the house, that Bobby advanced a step towards his 
 undertaking. That day at luncheon he sat staring at 
 Marian with speculation in his eyes. The meal at an end, 
 he suggested they should spend the afternoon together. 
 She could see it was no ordinary occasion. He drove her 
 out in a trap behind a well-behaved tandem. With twice 
 his usual care he ensured that she was properly wrapped up. 
 The road he took was supposed to be her favourite. Like a 
 child with a favour to ask or anger to avert he talked of all 
 that he thought would please her most. Now he bluntly 
 flattered her and now more subtly he raked up ancient 
 facts about himself that he happened not yet to have told 
 her or anybody else.* She guessed what was coming. 
 They reached an inn that she had once admired, put up
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 235 
 
 the horses, and had tea in a room prepared for tourists in 
 the summer. A fire was lighted. Chairs were dragged 
 into a position that looked cosy. To make the occasion 
 pleasant everything was done till Bobby could think of 
 nothing else. Then, after tea, with unvarnished penitence, 
 he confessed that he meant to leave her for weeks, perhaps 
 months, and make Denbury his home. 
 
 She said she would come with him. He answered that 
 it was impossible. She would be insulted by Miss Baker's 
 crowd or reproached by Mrs. Hope, and either of these 
 occurrences would be more than he could bear with good 
 temper or good manners or credit to himself or her. He 
 said he must leave her at home among the Coulscombe 
 people, where, perhaps, when she had time, she would do 
 some of the things that he would be compelled to leave 
 undone. 
 
 She asked him about money. Whatever it cost him to 
 find employment for the Denbury men, he said, he had 
 vowed not a penny should come out of the Coulscombe 
 estate. He thought he could provide the means from other 
 resources, which meant, as Marian knew, from his pocket 
 money and the sum spent on the stable. Scrawled upon a 
 sheet of note pap2r he had what he called an estimate, an 
 unintelligible and much corrected tangle of figures, which 
 he showed her with some diffidence. She knew not whether 
 to laugh or cry, so pathetic an object did it seem. 
 
 "Is the adventure worth so much?" she asked tenderly. 
 
 The question disappointed him. 
 
 "You 're not looking at it in the right way," he said. 
 "Anything that 's worth doing at all is worth life and limb." 
 
 She put away the estimate in her own pocket and made 
 an emphatic pronouncement. Whatever the adventure 
 might be worth as an adventure, as resolutely noble conduct 
 it was worth all that she could offer Bobby. The labour 
 would be his; every penny of the charges should be hers.
 
 C36 'THE [BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 76 
 
 Bobby sent no reply to Miss Baker's threatening letter. 
 Day after day his friends who were in the secret turned the 
 pages of the newspapers in fear of finding him the hero of 
 a case of seduction, but they scanned the headlines in 
 vain. The blow never fell. The old year gave place to 
 the new, January passed, and February, but Miss Baker 
 did not publish her tale of scandal. 
 
 Why should she? When her slow nature swung round 
 into one of its moods she would have been glad enough to 
 strike at Bobby had she possessed a rod big enough to hurt 
 him, but it appeared, from his silence under threats, that 
 he was callous to the minor pains which scandal could 
 inflict. Not being childishly passionate, therefore, she 
 laid aside the futile weapon. She remained in London 
 and professed, sometimes with sincerity, that she had lost 
 interest in Denbury. She said that the strikers had so 
 thoroughly routed their employer that he had been forced 
 even to make them an allowance of money till work at the 
 factory could be resumed, and that she was perfectly con- 
 tented. But this was a lie. There were times when she 
 suffered a good deal of mortification. 
 
 First she had the knowledge that she had been crucially 
 defeated on a point of principle. Though the money al- 
 lowance could be represented as an admission of the justice 
 of the strike, and though it was for a time supposed that 
 the factory was to re-open with better wages and shorter 
 hours and other reforms, all had been granted in the wrong 
 way. It had been given freely from lord to man, and not 
 extorted constitutionally by the men's intellectual cham- 
 pions. Miss Baker fully realised that Bobby was in the 
 position of a Napoleon who adopted a few of the more trifling 
 republican ideas but simultaneously abolished the Republic. 
 
 That was bad enough. A little later, soon after the new
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 237 
 
 year began, it transpired that the business of UnderbelTs 
 was ruined and that the factory was not to re-open at all. 
 Yet the allowance of money continued. Worse still, Bobby 
 went to live at Denbury and was understood to be spending 
 his time and money upon giving the now destitute factory 
 hands such training as would fit them for emigration. He 
 was acting with romantic generosity. His photographs 
 were in the half-penny papers. His praises were sung even 
 by journals of higher rank. He was commended both as 
 a friend of the poor and as a builder of the Empire. One or 
 two Socialists, with maddening obtuseness, joined in the 
 flattery. They did not see that he was practically reviving 
 the feudal system and that one of his kidney was more 
 dangerous to democratic principles than all the Budget 
 Protest and the Primrose League. 
 
 So much for the public aspect of the matter. There was 
 a personal aspect as well. Miss Baker fully understood 
 that she had been expelled from Denbury by one who was 
 little more than a schoolboy, for whose brain she had the 
 utmost contempt, and whose obvious pride and courage 
 she had particularly enjoyed the prospect of humbling. 
 She made some effort to drive these unpleasant reflections 
 from her mind. She worked at a novel, and kept her usual 
 engagements to lecture at clubs and institutes in London 
 and the suburbs. She even had an afternoon's inspection 
 of the churchyard at Maryhill, always a solace to her, yet 
 it was only for a time that she could keep her Denbury 
 thoughts at bay. They returned in the usual cycle of her 
 moods. Miss Baker never really combated her moods. 
 Her activities were too spasmodic, her habit of brooding 
 was too strong. The Denbury thoughts returned, first in 
 the darkness of night, then amid the employments of the 
 day, till suddenly she fell a victim to the morbid fascination 
 and vowed that she would yet defeat Bobby Wilton if it 
 cost her all she had in the world.
 
 238 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 It was about the middle of March. She had received a 
 chatty letter from Mrs. Trevanion, written, presumably, 
 in order that the coolness between them might not end in a 
 permanent break. The letter gave some news about Bobby, 
 telling that he was addicted to favouritism and unfairness 
 and had roused the opposition of quite a large party in 
 Denbury, though another party were still deceived by the 
 glamour of his liberality. The hostile party was rapidly 
 growing, and Mrs. Trevanion dwelt upon this singular 
 proof that even charity is useless if it does not proceed from 
 the right motives. 
 
 Yes, Miss Baker knew all'about those right motives, and 
 knew the beautiful look that had shone in Mrs. Trevanion's 
 face as she wrote the words. Her own opinion was different. 
 It came to her in a flash, darkened by no shadow of doubt, 
 and she could see a sort of picture of Bobby as he was after 
 ten weeks of work in Denbury, actuated by the simplest and 
 best of motives, anxious to be as just as he was generous, 
 but like every other country squire, like the country clergy, 
 like the officers in the navy and army, like-nine tenths of 
 those who have had a public school and university training, 
 wholly unable to understand the urban temperament. He 
 could not understand the alert mind, the independence, 
 the intellectual tendency, the corporate spirit, the appre- 
 ciation of rights and privileges, by which a modern towns- 
 man is distinguished from a yokel. So, thinking these 
 qualities immoral, he persecuted them in the goodness of 
 his heart. And so, floundering from tactlessness to tact- 
 lessness, with scandals caused by the sternness of his disci- 
 pline, with quarrels and recrimination and copious offence 
 to the tender-hearted feelings of people in general, he would 
 soon commit crimes enough against democracy to make 
 him ten times as much a public villain as he was now a 
 public hero. 
 
 No further stimulus was needed by Miss Baker. The
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 239 
 
 grim mood was upon her now. On the thirteenth of 
 March she left for Denbury by the morning train. 
 
 77 
 
 Those who engage in war must endure the hardships 
 of campaigning. At one o'clock Miss Baker lunched at 
 the White Hart. At half-past one she walked out into the 
 town. At six o'clock, disappointed and exhausted, she 
 returned to the hotel, sat heavily in the chair by her fire, 
 and asked for a cup of tea. She had not been successful. 
 
 Her purpose had been to meet and talk with the men and 
 women whom she had known at the time of the strike, to 
 collect evidence of Bobby's conduct up to that date, to tell 
 her informants to communicate regularly with her on this 
 subject in the future, and thus to collect a list of his blunders 
 and petty tyrannies that would suffice to blast his reputa- 
 tion. She was intellectually convinced that this could be 
 done. She was persuaded that in Denbury Bobby must 
 blunder, and that his blunders would look like crimes 
 against the people. With sufficient evidence of this sort, 
 and with energy to use it, she would take a short way with 
 his popularity and power. 
 
 This afternoon, however, she had not achieved much. 
 As luck would have it, she had encountered mostly those 
 who were, in Mrs. Trevanion's words, "deceived by the 
 glamour of his liberality." In the cases of almost all with 
 whom she had spoken on her walk she had perceived this 
 immediately, and she had not attempted to cross-question 
 them in order to extort the kind of facts she wanted. She 
 let them speak, listening, nodding her head, and answering 
 little. She heard of men whom Bobby had sent to Canada. 
 She heard of farms where he had placed the factory hands 
 as labourers to learn the rudiments of a new trade. She 
 heard that Father Gauden was his counsellor, and that
 
 240 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Father Gauden was severe, but Bobby kind. One man, a 
 Socialist, told her with strange pride that "all" the best 
 families in the county had called upon him at the little 
 house in Church Street where he lived with his servants 
 and his grooms. Another said that sometimes in the eve- 
 ning he would walk into the square and make the children 
 race and jump and fight, rewarding the winners with half- 
 crowns. At the White Hart he held a boxing class that 
 drew the young men from the vicar's lectures. All the 
 girls were in love with him, and the chairs in his house in 
 Church Street were covered with tiger-skins worth a 
 hundred pounds apiece. 
 
 Miss Baker drank her tea in a state of bodily and mental 
 exhaustion. Her convictions were the same, but her mood 
 was altered. From disappointment she sank into despond- 
 ence, from despondence she passed to gloomy brooding, 
 from gloomy brooding to morbid curiosity, and thus into 
 the grip of a peculiar temptation that she did not trouble 
 to resist. If she could not have a triumph, she was tempted 
 to have at least a sensation. She would pay Bobby a visit 
 in his most strange of feudal castles at No. 27, Church 
 Street, and sit there gazing at the last of living creatures 
 whom she would ever have expected to be her conqueror. 
 
 She would have to be civil, but that would cost her 
 nothing. So, at half -past six, she set out upon her painful 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 78 
 
 No. 27, Church Street, stands at a corner of the street, 
 one of half a dozen houses that are slightly superior to the 
 ordinary dwellings of the working men of Denbury. It is 
 built of red brick, and is separated from the pavement by a 
 low paling of iron and a very small patch of garden. It 
 presents to the street, on the ground floor, the front door 
 and the bay window of a room. Upstairs there are two
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 241 
 
 windows. On the second floor is the window of an attic. 
 The gate of the next house bore the plate of an insurance 
 agent. The next but one was occupied by a dentist. 
 
 Miss Baker rang the bell of No. 27, and the door was 
 opened by a tall youth in dark clothes, by Tom Trevor, in 
 fact, who said that Sir Robert Wilton was at home. There 
 seemed to be no difficulty about the admission of strangers. 
 Tom led Miss Baker into the room that had the bay window, 
 saying that Sir Robert was upstairs, and he asked her name. 
 She wondered how he would behave when he heard it. He 
 showed no sign. He turned up the wick of the lamp that 
 stood on the table, and left her alone. 
 
 Tall, gaunt, melancholy, badly dressed, with her hat 
 and skirt awry and every garment carelessly put on, looking 
 in some ways like a woman who takes morphia, Miss Baker 
 stood in the middle of the small room and gazed about her. 
 With instant acuteness she guessed that the objects she 
 saw had been discovered in the attics at Orchard Wilton 
 by some servant who took pride in giving Bobby a suitable 
 environment. The walls were hung with framed photo- 
 graphs of cricket and football groups that must have been 
 his property at school. There were some gaudily coloured 
 hunting pictures, and some faded photographs of dogs and 
 horses that had probably been his pets in his earliest years. 
 Then there was a number of the objects with which Oxford 
 tradesmen fish in freshmen's purses, tobacco jars ornamen- 
 ted with the college arms, pipe-racks, heraldically embroi- 
 dered cushions, and baked clay models of fantastic cats and 
 dogs. Of more solid furniture there was a table used for 
 meals, a small writing-table, some plain chairs, and two 
 wicker arm-chairs by the fireplace that were covered with 
 the tiger-skins of which Miss Baker had already learned 
 the fame. The writing-table held a disordered pile of let- 
 ters. The dining- table was laid for a meal of three persons, 
 and on it were two great jugs of what Miss Baker guessed
 
 242 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 to be cider from Orchard Wilton. A number of unopened 
 letters lay on the mantelpiece, in various places, among 
 cigarette cases, pipes, pocket-knives, pieces of string, post- 
 age stamps, match-boxes, small change, and other litter. 
 In one corner stood an absurd number of crops and cutting 
 whips, further evidence of the artistic fidelity of the servant 
 who had furnished the room. Let no one suppose that Miss 
 Baker was tempted to spend her time on a search among 
 the letters on the writing-table. She would have scorned 
 such petty spying unless she had been in an acutely melo- 
 dramatic mood, and, in any event, she had all the sensation 
 she wanted without such aids. The marvel was to be seen 
 in everything around her, and felt in the very atmosphere, 
 that this, of all influences, had invaded the realm of demo- 
 cracy and wrested a sceptre from herself. 
 
 In three minutes Bobby entered the room and stood 
 before her, looking so much as she had expected him to look 
 that she could have laughed as she stared at him. That is 
 to say, he was at the last limit to which a hostile feeling can 
 bring a young and well-bred Englishman, but paralysed 
 because the foe was female, and so he had no course but 
 to assume a stiff politeness everywhere except in his eyes 
 whose honest expression of dislike he was not clever enough 
 to conceal. He was dressed for riding, and, on this occa- 
 sion, dressed well, and it was evident that he had just had 
 his head in a basin of water. He came forward, said, 
 "How-do-you-do," but did not offer to shake hands. 
 Nor did Miss Baker attempt that form of greeting. She 
 looked him up and down, let her eyes rest on his, and said, 
 with a smile of grim but sincere amusement: "You will 
 have to be chivalrous, Sir Robert. I have come to visit 
 you ; but I Ve nothing to say ; I only wanted to look at you." 
 
 " Oh," said Bobby. "Will you sit down? " 
 
 "With pleasure," said Miss Baker. 
 
 She sat in one of the tiger-skin chairs. He took up a
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 243 
 
 position on the hearth-rug, put his hands in his pockets, 
 advanced one leg, and looked at her till she should choose 
 to speak. 
 
 How long he would have to wait neither of them could 
 have foretold, for Miss Baker had come to see and not to 
 be heard. From head to foot she surveyed him with a 
 coolness of manner that would have been insolent if she 
 had not appeared to be in a kind of mystical state. "This 
 is my conqueror," she thought. She was experiencing the 
 sensation that she had wanted. 
 
 "You have a pleasant room," she remarked. 
 
 Bobby said he was glad she thought so. 
 
 She was silent again. It was not only a sensation that she 
 was enjoying now, but a great curiosity. She said to her- 
 self, "He is my conqueror," but she asked also how in the 
 world it had come about, how in the name of cause and 
 effect it could continue to be, that a conflict between her 
 and him upon her own field of politics could leave him 
 victorious. To ask such a question was to answer it. She 
 raised her eyes again from his admittedly efficient legs to 
 his obviously unintellectual brow, and saw, once again, 
 as though her depression had been a cloud obscuring her 
 vision, and had now lifted, that the laws of nature them- 
 selves must give her the victory over Bobby in due time. 
 She perceived it like the truth of an axiom, to which only 
 indigestion can make one blind. 
 
 Thus, well repaid for the trouble of her visit, she began 
 to talk to him, speaking slowly, in her deep tones, and in 
 such a manner that he could not tell if her words were 
 ironical or not. 
 
 "Well," she said, "some one must keep up this conver- 
 sation. You ought not to be angry at a woman's curiosity, 
 Sir Robert, you who are so chivalrous, especially a woman 
 you have beaten in politics. Oh, I know I have been 
 beaten. They have told me all about you to-day. You
 
 244 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 are popular. You are more popular than ever I was. You 
 are a conquering hero, and a political genius. You have 
 brought feudalism to the towns. You have learned the 
 secret that all Tories have forgotten for three hundred 
 years. You have learned that a man must make sacrifices 
 if he is to make a leader. You have discovered by a flash 
 of insight that one gentleman has more influence than fifty 
 Socialists, if only he uses it the right way. You have found 
 the road to the triumph of your class, and you have taken 
 it. It has been revealed to the saintly Mrs. Trevanion 
 that you have cast a glamour over Denbury, and it has 
 been revealed to me too, though I am no saint. But, Sir 
 Robert, believe me, I shall beat you." 
 
 "Very likely," said Bobby, "but of course I don't under- 
 stand what you are talking about." 
 
 "Of course not," she replied. "It is not your mtiier to 
 understand. That is why I can afford to tell you. And 
 now I am going to tell you why you will fail and why I shall 
 beat you. It is because you are too late. I know that if 
 you had made your sacrifices in the days of the great Mr. 
 Cobden, we should have had no Mr. Cobden then and no 
 Socialists to-day. But you missed your opportunity; you 
 missed your opportunity; and now your class has rotted 
 like the carcass of a dog, and you will keep the sheep no 
 more. Try it, and your class will not follow your example. 
 Try it, and you yourself will fail because you will never 
 understand the generation that has come to birth while you 
 have been amusing yourself with motor-cars and chorus 
 girls. Ichabod, Ichabod, your kingdom has passed to those 
 who have the brains to govern." 
 
 Her tone was so much less offensive than Bobby would 
 
 have expected from a woman who had plotted against his 
 
 life on one occasion, and against his good name on another, 
 
 that he was inclined to be less frigid than at first. 
 
 >, "I thought," he said, "that the kingdom was supposed
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 245 
 
 to be passing to the people with votes, who haven't got 
 brains at all." 
 
 "No," she replied calmly; "it is passing to people like 
 myself. Parliament passes bills, but it is we who decide 
 what the bills are to be about." 
 
 "So far as my kingdom is concerned," he remarked, 
 "you won't get it without a struggle." 
 
 "No," said she, "but I shall get it." 
 
 "May I ask how?" 
 
 "May you ask? Yes, you may. You could hardly 
 ask a more appropriate question. The answer is that these 
 men in Denbury who like you so much to-day will be 
 hanging you from a lamp-post to-morrow. That 's put- 
 ting it in a way you will understand. There will be quar- 
 rels, and your popularity will vanish and you will be driven 
 out in defeat and disgrace, and then I shall come back. 
 Why not go now, Sir Robert, before you are driven out? 
 Why not go back to your own kingdom and leave mine to 
 me?" 
 
 "There is no chance of my doing that," he said. 
 
 "Why not go now, before your heart is broken and your 
 illusions are lost?" 
 
 "You seem to know a great deal about it," he remarked. 
 
 "Why not go?" 
 
 " I didn't go when you threatened me," he replied. " So 
 I 'm not likely to go when you simply ask me." 
 
 "Tears after blackmail," said Miss Baker, with her first 
 approach to a sneer. "How unmanly of you to wound a 
 woman by allusions to her past! Never mind, I am not 
 wounded. And now I am going. I knew it was useless to 
 ask you to yield to me. I know you would rather die. So 
 I shall go back to London. But I shall return in a fort- 
 night, or perhaps a week, and I shall find that rope all 
 ready beside the lamp-post, Sir Robert, little as you may 
 believe it."
 
 246 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 She rose, smiled, and held out her hand which he took. 
 
 "Thank you for your civility," she said. "Some day 
 in the future we shall remember this meeting. Enjoy 
 your popularity while it lasts, my friend, for I shall beat 
 you in the end." 
 
 She was holding Bobby's hand, and the whim had taken 
 her to smile at him until he should smile back at her, when 
 Bobby heard a sharp crashing noise from the window 
 towards which he was facing. The same instant Miss 
 Baker uttered a sound, half gasp, half cry, started forward, 
 and clapped her right hand to her left shoulder. The half 
 of a brick fell to the ground at her side. Having penetrated 
 the glass of the window it had found a passage between the 
 curtains, which did not meet closely, and it had struck 
 Miss Baker with considerable force. 
 
 "My goodness!" said Bobby, "I hope you are not hurt." 
 
 "Not at all," she replied, though she was certainly 
 flustered. 
 
 "Come out at once into the passage," he said. "They 
 may throw another." 
 
 He opened the door, and she went out, still startled and 
 alarmed. He followed her. He began to express his regret 
 with volubility, and to inquire if she was hurt, if she would 
 like to have a doctor, or a cab, or some brandy, a glass of 
 wine, or a rest upon a bed, after the usual fashion of his 
 hospitality. She refused everything. 
 
 "Who threw it?" she asked. 
 
 "I 've no idea," said he. "But he '11 catch it hot if he 
 hasn't got away." 
 
 "Who from?" she asked, fierce with excitement. 
 
 "One of my men is always in the street." 
 
 "To guard you?" 
 
 "To guard the house, I suppose." 
 
 "Let me pass," she cried, for he was standing between 
 her and the passage to the street door. He made way,
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 247 
 
 obeying an imperious gesture. She ran out into the street, 
 and he followed, and they met Dick and Tom Trevor who 
 had come out by a door that led from the kitchen into the 
 street round the corner. Tom pointed in the direction 
 away from the square, and ran, with Dick at his heels. 
 Miss Baker followed, running, and Bobby went after them 
 at a more leisurely pace. It was dark, but they could see 
 two figures struggling in the road some fifty yards away. 
 One of these was Robin Dennet; the other was seized by 
 Dick and Tom, held down, and probably handled with no 
 great tenderness. 
 
 "Who is it? " cried Miss Baker, but she was not answered. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked Bobby when he came up. 
 
 "The man Murley, sir," said Dick. 
 
 He was a man of forty, not of a prepossessing appearance. 
 Bobby stood and looked at him with some appreciation of 
 the way in which his captors had hold of him. 
 
 "Why do you break my windows?" he said. "It 's a 
 very stupid thing to do. The next time you give me any 
 trouble I shall have you locked up, and that 's a fact." 
 
 For reply the man swore at him, and howled the next 
 instant under a twist which Tom gave to his arm. 
 
 "There, you see what happens," said Bobby. "Now 
 you can get up and go, and next time you won't get off so 
 easily." 
 
 He called the men off and whispered a word to Dick 
 which resulted in a half-crown being tossed upon Murley's 
 stomach as he lay groaning. It was to provide him with 
 supper. 
 
 Bobby turned to Miss Baker. "Well," he said, "I am 
 very sorry this happened, but if I cannot do anything for 
 you I am going in." 
 
 "Oh, nothing, I assure you," said she, not even removing 
 her gaze from Murley. ' ' Good-night . ' ' 
 
 Miss Baker waited till the door of the house had 'jfaut
 
 248 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 behind Bobby and his men. Then she addressed their 
 
 victim. 
 
 "You know me," she said, in low excited tones? "I am 
 
 Miss Baker." 
 The man groaned again. 
 "Why do you break Sir Robert's windows? What has 
 
 he done to make you angry with him?" 
 "He has given me the sack." 
 "What from?" 
 
 "From his farm training, of course." 
 
 "Why did he give you the sack from his farm training?" 
 
 "Because I ain't one of his favourites." 
 
 "Get up, get up, you miserable man," said Miss Baker. 
 
 "Don't you see, you fool, that a word spoken to me will 
 
 hurt him more than a brick through his window? Get up, 
 
 and tell me your story from first to last." 
 
 79 
 
 In the course of the next hour the unfortunate man not 
 only told his story but found half a dozen others to tell 
 similar stories of their own. Consequently Miss Baker 
 returned to London, after all, with a feeling that she had 
 neither wasted the day nor misjudged the situation. What 
 the situation was, and what was the nature of the tales she 
 heard, may be told most shortly as follows. 
 
 When Bobby came to Denbury after Christmas in answer 
 to the appeal of Matt Blood, to do something which would 
 annoy the kind of people he was prejudiced against, and 
 to show that a country gentleman need not be such a fool 
 as he seemed, he had the haziest notion of the steps he was 
 actually to take. He housed himself in a poor lodging by 
 a mere instinct of courtesy, not liking to be comfortable 
 where others were in straitened circumstances. The people 
 of the factory were still living on the small allowance he
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 249 
 
 made them. He had to decide what was to happen to 
 them in the future. Father Gauden almost immediately 
 won an influence over him, and, since the prospects of the 
 factory were hopeless, it became the policy that the work- 
 less dependents of Bobby should be helped and forced to 
 emigrate. As soon as Bobby was reconciled to this plan, 
 which at first he did not like, he threw his heart into the 
 matter and led off with such characteristic steps as bring- 
 ing horses and grooms from Coulscombe so that the pro- 
 spective emigrants might at least learn to hold on to a horse's 
 back. Father Gauden drew him onwards. A Catholic 
 farmer had a thirty-acre field to be broken up, and some of 
 the factory hands were sent to work at this under the super- 
 vision of the versatile Dick Trevor. As soon as it appeared 
 that farmers were likely to get some slight advantage from 
 this rough labour, Bobby lent them money that they might 
 pay a wage in lieu of his own allowance, and, the priest 
 being sternly business-like, some sort of a system was 
 evolved. At this point there appeared symptoms which 
 made Bobby furious. Heartily as he despised every man 
 not bred in the fields, he was utterly amazed to find the 
 townsmen's defects showing themselves in actual fact as 
 he rode round the places where the ex-factory hands were 
 working. It appeared that many of them were such poor 
 creatures that emigration in their case was out of the ques- 
 tion. They could not or would not do the work appointed 
 for them. Father Gauden, without turning a hair, pro- 
 nounced the proper place for these to be the workhouse. 
 But Bobby could not believe it: now it was before his eyes. 
 He was utterly shocked. He had the tender-heartedness 
 so common in those who have been severely treated in their 
 own youth or boyhood, and he tried to save the poor incom- 
 petents, by raging and storming at them instead of letting 
 the devil take the hindmost. Father Gauden watched him 
 grimly, knowing how incurable is the townsman's vice of
 
 250 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 working in a grudging spirit and that a grudging worker on 
 the land is much worse than useless. Not until the facts 
 overwhelmed him did Bobby yield to the policy which 
 Father Gauden intended him to follow, and then the pro- 
 cess began, so justly feared and loathed by Socialists, of 
 recognising the inequality of man. Class distinctions were 
 set up. There were the aged and infirm, who were placed 
 on a pension list. There were the able and willing, eagerly 
 encouraged, favoured, gratified, and marked for emigra- 
 tion (such is the irony of fact). Some of them had already 
 been sent to Canada, by arrangement with the proper 
 authorities, their families remaining at Denbury for the 
 present with the money lent by Bobby. Then there were 
 the young; there were cheery and active boys who pleased 
 Bobby more than anything else in Denbury, who learned 
 their new work surprisingly quickly, and proved that the 
 uncorrupted raw material is good. Bobby had a genius 
 for putting life into these. Among them, in some cases, 
 he cured the grudging spirit. Stubborn defaulters felt the 
 lacerating effects of his tongue, or, rather than be turned 
 adrift, they submitted to a sterner sentence and were 
 beaten by Dick Trevor. But it was not thus with defaulters 
 past the gates of manhood. That melancholy class, 
 familiar with bad employment and bad politics, poisoned 
 by both, jealous of effort and sensitive of their rights, were 
 cut off day by day and man by man, as Father Gauden 
 named them. It was a highly undemocratic proceeding. 
 Because they took into the fields no more than the unwilling 
 labour they had taken to the factory, and because they 
 would not repent, Father Gauden called for their dismissal 
 and Bobby agreed to have no more to do with them. They 
 had the sad satisfaction of continuing to rail against the 
 capitalistic system and the arrogance of feudalism. > They 
 could feed themselves upon Miss Baker's old leaflet about 
 Bobby's debauchery, a characteristic dish upon the table
 
 THE BUSINESS, OF A GENTLEMAN 251 
 
 of Socialism. They could think regretfully of the Social 
 Peace League that had been so rich in promise but so brief 
 in performance. Worse than any disappointment and 
 more horrible than the scandals of Bobby's private life 
 they had the scandal of seeing men of sound character 
 preferred before them, contrary to what they had learned 
 from political teachers of all parties. 
 
 One of these outcasts it was who pitched a brick through 
 Bobby's window and then regaled Miss Baker with the 
 story of his wrongs. 
 
 80 
 
 Bobby had important business to transact in his room 
 that night, so he gave orders that the window-pane was to 
 be patched up with paper and that no more bricks were to 
 be allowed an entrance until his guests should have de- 
 parted. 
 
 A few days before this he had met Miss Patterman and 
 she said that he ought to bring his wife and baby to Den- 
 bury. "Thank you," he replied, "I 'd rather they stayed 
 among the downtrodden peasantry at home." 
 
 The affair of the brick explains his preference. The 
 smouldering habit of violence in the town was excessively 
 annoying to him. He did not like having things thrown 
 at him, any more than other people do, yet he had a strong 
 disinclination to engaging in personal conflict with the 
 Denbury people. He did not want the kind of popularity 
 that a man gets by coming to fisticuffs with a rude fellow 
 in the street, and he did not think that any such occurrence 
 would be proper. A general uprising of the mob against 
 him would have been another matter. ^He would have 
 welcomed that for several reasons, among which it must 
 be confessed that there was one which was not very noble. 
 The fact was that he would have been glad of any proof
 
 252 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 that his work in Denbury was no longer possible, and that 
 he could leave the unpleasant town and the tedious labour 
 without injury to his pride and honour. 
 
 He had fallen characteristically into a life of routine 
 varied by an occasional impulse to do something wild. 
 But no wild deed suggested itself, and the routine con- 
 tinued. He rose at seven in the morning, craving for the 
 swim and the gallop that began his days at Coulscombe, 
 and had to content himself with a puddle of cold water in 
 a zinc bath on his bedroom floor. Each day he had a large 
 correspondence, for his conduct was getting sufficient 
 notoriety to bring this upon him, and he would have needed 
 a secretary had not Father Gauden drifted into the posi- 
 tion of acting in that capacity. Bobby -picked out the 
 letters that bore familiar handwriting, leaving all the rest 
 for the priest who called every morning to deal with them. 
 Bobby did not see him, for at half-past eight he was out 
 on one of the two horses, Talgai and another, that he kept 
 in the stable of the White Hart. His daily task was to ride 
 round to the farms where his men were at work, to help 
 in giving them their training, to get reports of their progress, 
 to encourage and rebuke, and to find new jobs upon which 
 some further batch could be set to work. He lunched 
 sometimes at a farmhouse, sometimes at an inn, sometimes 
 at the house of one or other of the families whose acquaint- 
 ance he had made. At four o'clock he was back in his room 
 at Denbury, usually tired and bored, to meet Father Gauden 
 who came daily at this hour to talk business, to report on 
 the correspondence, and to hear what Bobby had learned 
 in the course of the day about the progress of the work and 
 the faults and merits of the men engaged upon it, all of 
 which he noted in a book. He had tea with Bobby, and 
 sometimes returned to give him company at dinner. After 
 dinner Bobby went to the boxing class at the White Hart, 
 or, more frequently, stayed at home to receive visits from
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 253 
 
 men upon whom he wished to bring his influence to bear. 
 Last of all he wrote a letter to his wife and went to bed. 
 
 On the evening of Miss Baker's visit Father Gauden 
 came to dine with him, bringing great treasure in the person 
 of the most influential of the neighbouring landowners, 
 Lord Williams of Dene, who had undertaken to supply 
 work for Bobby's men. He was levelling a piece of park 
 land, near his house, three miles out of Denbury, in order 
 to lay out tennis courts. He would give Bobby a "con- 
 tract" to do this work, so that the Denbury men could be 
 set to do it. Also, he had some pine wood to cut. He had 
 proposed to do this in the following year, but would give 
 Bobby a contract to do it now. There must be proper 
 supervision, but Lord Williams agreed not to look too 
 closely at the contract while the work proceeded. Further, 
 he would urge some of his tenants to put work in Bobby's 
 way. All this was discussed at and after dinner, a dinner 
 cooked by her to whom a recent ceremony in the church 
 at Coulscombe had given the right to be called Mrs. Blood. 
 
 Mrs. Blood cooked the dinner. Dick and Robin brought 
 it to the table. Tom and Matt patrolled the street outside. 
 The dinner ended, and the two guests sat in the tiger-skin 
 chairs on either side of the fireplace, with Bobby bestriding 
 a rickety cane chair between them. Lord Williams was a 
 soldier, a practical man, and he repeated his offers in precise 
 form. Father Gauden, no less capable, wrote the contract 
 upon paper. Bobby, bad at contracts, was better at 
 expressing gratitude. After the gratitude came more 
 discussion of ways and means, of park land and the felling 
 of trees, and after this the gratitude was renewed, for Bobby 
 could not find language strong enough to express it, and had 
 to supply in quantity what it seemed to him to lack in 
 quality. Then they drank whisky, when the hour was 
 late, and after the whisky there entered into Lord Williams 
 a sense of the strangeness of the whole proceeding. He
 
 254 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 looked at Bobby with as much curiosity as had been felt 
 by Miss Baker when she sat in the chair he occupied, and 
 he asked him bluntly what had induced him to spend his 
 money on Denbury instead of on something more amusing. 
 
 81 
 
 "Oh," said Bobby, "you don't understand. I expect 
 you think I 'm one of those fellows who go in for charity. 
 Well, I couldn't do charity even if I tried. I know I 
 couldn't. I haven't the patience. But I '11 tell you what 
 it is. I '11 tell you what I think. I can't understand how 
 fellows who have been at public schools, and all that, let 
 their affairs be managed by the Government and the 
 Socialists and a lot of interfering beggars from I don't know 
 where. All I 'm doing is managing my own affairs. You 
 didn't know my grandfather. Well, my grandfather used 
 to put new roofs on old churches, and if any one put up 
 this kind of roof when he wanted that kind, I can tell you 
 there was as big a row as you could see anywhere, and quite 
 right too. 'Pon my word, if I was a clerk in an office with 
 one boy under me, I 'd manage that boy my own way, or 
 I 'd know the reason why. Well, there you are. I know 
 very well everybody wants to manage my affairs for me 
 and hand over my land to the State, which means the offi- 
 cials in the offices, and I can tell you I '11 see them disem- 
 bowelled first. It 's a damned dishonourable thing for a 
 gentleman to let his affairs get into the hands of other 
 people, and a damned unpleasant thing not to have your 
 own way. And that 's why I 'm here. But don't you 
 think I don't enjoy it. I enjoy it very much, and I enjoy 
 my own fellows at home all the better when I get back 
 among them. I wouldn't stay here, but I like it for a 
 time." 
 
 Lord Williams accepted the explanation, though he
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 255 
 
 knew that Bobby lied when he spoke of his enjoyment. 
 The lie was visible in Bobby's face. It showed in the 
 swaggering courage of his talk, and had Lord Williams seen 
 into his mind an hour later he would have learned one 
 reason why his words were false. The guests went away. 
 Bobby wrote to Marian, telling her how completely safe 
 and sound he was. He answered a letter of Durwold's, 
 telling something of his methods with the Denbury youths. 
 He went to bed, and lay gazing at the stars for some time. 
 He could not rid his thoughts of the man who had thrown 
 a brick through his window because he had been turned 
 adrift on the world by the authority which he himself had 
 wielded. It was Father Gauden's doing, and Bobby knew 
 it to be necessary and right. He knew that the perpetua- 
 tion of a worthless type would be ruin to the nice and pro- 
 mising boys and men whom he liked and must keep from 
 contamination. But the act of dismissal he did not like. 
 It set a stain on something that he had kept stainless. It 
 spoiled a kind of pride that he had often taken as his com- 
 fort amid troubles. He had never put it into words, but 
 he had thought it out for himself, and had been at no small 
 pains to keep other people from guessing its existence. It 
 held together in his mind as a single indivisible idea, of 
 which the breach of one part would be the loss of the whole, 
 applicable to beasts as well as men, not to flinch from the 
 strong, nor to trouble the weak, nor to turn from a depend- 
 ent or a friend. But after he had turned against the worth- 
 less man Murley he was afraid he would never have that 
 secret pride again. 
 
 82 
 
 Bobby at Denbury continued to live the life of which a 
 glimpse has been shown, with Father Gauden as Grand 
 Vizier and with the Trevors as his janissaries. He trained
 
 256 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 those of the Denbury men whose characters would admit 
 of training, succeeding always best among the youngest, 
 until, if they had not learned much of agriculture, they had 
 learned something of how to learn. Dennet was his groom, 
 Eliza was his cook, and Matt was his informant on all 
 questions of local men and things. He was very glad when 
 his friends would come to see him, and he would take them 
 each day riding round the places where the people were at 
 work. Once a week he went home to Coulscombe for a 
 night. And so the time passed until Easter was drawing near. 
 More than fifty men had been sent to Canada, and some 
 were repaying what they owed on account of their families. 
 Meanwhile, in other places, there were other doings. It 
 should be understood that on every Sunday afternoon she 
 spent at home Mrs. Hope was in the habit of entertaining 
 a number of the Maryhill schoolboys at tea. She often 
 remarked that these tea parties could practically be counted 
 as a branch of the Purity Chatting League. It was true 
 that the conversation did not always turn on purity, but 
 it was also true that around Mrs. Hope's tea table no impure 
 word was ever spoken. So she felt that it was not really 
 unfair to say that the tea parties were practically a branch 
 of the League. At the very least she was quite justified in 
 calling them Purity Teas. Besides, purity was really one 
 of Mrs. Hope's objects in giving the teas. For it would be 
 doing her a great injustice to let it be thought that she had 
 the boys to tea because she liked them, and, to be quite 
 plain, the boys who came were mostly such as no one could 
 have even pretended to like. But there are exceptions 
 to every rule. One of those who attended the Purity Teas 
 was the youngest of the many cheery children of Canon 
 Langdon-Kerridon, of Cayle. He came about twice in 
 every term to please his mother who was a second cousin 
 of Mr. Hope and believed in the solidarity of families. 
 Had Mrs. Hope known more about this nice young gentle-
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 257 
 
 man of seventeen she would have thought it simply blas- 
 phemous of him to appear at such a tea table as hers. " But 
 she did not realise that the sons of canons are sometimes 
 quite ordinary boys, or that canons themselves are not 
 always absolute apes, though it might be their duty to 
 behave like apes in the presence of herself or Miss Agg. 
 So the young Langdon-Kerridon sometimes came to the 
 Purity Teas. He did so on the Sunday last but three 
 before the end of the Easter term, and gave Mrs. Hope a 
 very pretty account of the prospects of the school sports 
 in exchange for a bright description of the amusing play 
 lately acted in the Parish Room for the benefit of the 
 Partial Dipsomaniacs' Home. They had other conversa- 
 tion, the purport of which will appear. After tea Langdon- 
 Kerridon walked back to the school chapel with the other 
 boys who had been at tea, and during the evening service 
 he recovered from the feeling of suffocation always produced 
 by Mrs. Hope 's salon. When chapel was over he returned 
 to his house, and, later, he strolled into the room of his 
 dear friend Durwold in whose outrageous doings he was 
 sometimes allowed to share. 
 
 Eddie also had been out to tea. He was wearing a little 
 bunch of primroses given him by one of those masters' 
 wives who were so injudicious as positively to like him. Had 
 he not been a nice boy to have to tea, or to dinner, or to 
 meet beneath the trees at cricket matches, his Maryhill 
 career might not have endured so long. He was getting 
 rather blast, it may be said, and inclined to wish for a wider 
 world than that of school. His friend found him sitting 
 at his table with a book open in front of him. 
 
 "Come and learn your rep." he said, with the morbid 
 desire of saying something original. But Langdon-Kerri- 
 don declined the invitation. He stuck to the orthodox and 
 decent habit of learning his repetition as he went up to 
 school in the morning. 
 
 17
 
 258 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 83 
 
 "I have been to tea with Cousin Joan Hope," said 
 Langdon-Kerridon . 
 
 " Poor boy," said Eddie. " Do you feel better? " 
 
 "Much better thanks." 
 
 "I '11 draw you a picture of her," said Eddie, reaching 
 out for a piece of note paper. "But I don't think it is 
 very nice of you, all the same, to go and have tea with 
 people who get me into trouble. If you really think it 
 over, I think you yourself will see that it isn't really quite 
 what you might call wait a bit, I 've forgotten how 
 her nose goes." 
 
 " My dear Eddie, that 's no more like Her than it 's like 
 you. Less, in fact." 
 
 " I say, you do say unkind things," said Eddie. " I won't 
 draw her at all, after that. I 've been to tea with Mrs. 
 Winslow. Hinc ilia primroses. She introduced me to 
 somebody as the worst boy in the school, or the worst 
 woman in London, or something. That 's not bad for a 
 master's wife of sixty-five. I say, it 's funny you should 
 have been to Mrs. Hope to-day. I was thinking about her 
 last night in bed." 
 
 "What on earth for?" 
 
 Eddie went on drawing his picture. "Hacked shins," 
 he said. "I was thinking of those postcards I got, 
 'Do you suffer from stiffness after football Johnson's 
 embrocation buy it now.' I thought what a good 
 thing it would be to. send postcards to some one like 
 Mrs. Hope. If you think about that sort of thing in bed, 
 you get perfectly brilliant. Postcard Number One 
 Darling, what a day we have had together, be ready again 
 on Thursday, your devoted Edwin. Postcard Number Two 
 Oh, faithless, what has happened, why were you not at 
 the appointed place to-day, your anxious Edwin. Number
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 259 
 
 Three Alas, I fear the worst, your husband has discovered, 
 your despairing Edwin. Number Four Still no reply, 
 how can you be so cruel after all that has passed between 
 us, your heartbroken Edwin. Number Five False and 
 wicked woman, at last I have discovered, there is another 
 man! Only you could make it a much longer series if you 
 really tried, and it would be quite worth while making it 
 long because every day the postman and the servants 
 would get more interested in it. Next time some innocent 
 little boy gets into trouble through Mrs. Hope I shall be a 
 kind big brother to him and advise him to pay her back 
 that way." 
 
 "If you've thought it out so bally carefully," said 
 Langdon-Kerridon, "why don't you do it yourself?" 
 
 "Because I 'm so chivalrous," said Eddie with aplomb. 
 "My picture is getting beautiful." 
 
 "I say," said the other, "I told her that story about 
 your friend Wilton." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "The thing you said would make her so excited." 
 
 "Such a lot of things would do that," observed the man 
 of the world. " What was it I told you? " 
 
 " How he has the chaps tanned at Denbury when they 're 
 bad boys." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Was she shocked? " 
 
 "Rather. I told her the streets rang with the shrieks 
 of the injured." 
 
 " My word ! I '11 try and make my picture look like her 
 when she heard that." 
 
 "And all because they didn't touch their caps in the 
 streets." 
 
 "You put it on thick," said Eddie, as he added the last 
 touches to the portrait. 
 
 "That 's what you told me to say." 
 
 "Is it? I'd forgotten. The postcard plan would be
 
 260 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 much better than that. What the Hopes and Bakers and 
 Aggs want is to be made giddy asses of. Now, look at my 
 picture; it 's simply perfect, and there 's not a line in it to 
 bring the blush of shame to the cheek of modesty." 
 
 84 
 
 At the very moment when Langdon-Kerridon was telling 
 Mrs. Hope about the screams of the boys of Denbury, 
 Bobby was sitting with Marian on the top of a hill that 
 overlooked a number of the valleys round Coulscombe. He 
 was at home for the Sunday night and was so exuberantly 
 happy that Marian found it hard to make him talk business. 
 He was enjoying everything from his meals up to her 
 company, and when he did speak to her "of Denbury, as 
 they sat on the hill, it was in a vein as cheerful as all else. 
 Sixty men had gone to Canada by now, and there were 
 good reports of them, and the families in some cases had 
 followed. But, best of all, Bobby had discovered two men 
 who were so perfect in all respects that he had decided not 
 to part with them. They were brothers, aged about five 
 and twenty, and he proposed to bring them home and set 
 them up on a farm. They would become Coulscombe men. 
 They would marry Coulscombe women. And they would 
 breed Coulscombe children. This last item on the pro- 
 gramme pleased Bobby to a pitch that was astonishing. 
 That the children of two factory hands who used to call 
 themselves Socialists should grow up, not in dreary Den- 
 bury, but here, where their limbs would be sturdy and their 
 cheeks red, fit for life and jolly to look at, learning to ride 
 before they could walk, and to swim and to breathe and to 
 be honest, was, to Bobby, a thing that was perfectly delight- 
 ful. Putting aside the pleasure of it, too, he could not 
 help telling Marian that it really seemed a better job to 
 work at than going to Parliament and calling the Liberals 
 blighters, which every one already knew they were.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 261 
 
 85 
 
 All the while, at Denbury Vicarage, Mr. Trevanion was 
 in a fix. Things were going badly for that go-ahead Social- 
 ist. . He had been first man in Denbury until Bobby came, 
 and the very sight of the intruder, generally mounted on a 
 capitalistic-looking horse, made him angry and sore. He 
 suspected that even his congregation had fallen off since 
 Bobby came; certainly his lectures and social classes had 
 gone to pieces. He was losing adherents, and those he 
 lost were of the very best kind, so that he feared one day 
 he might be left with none but the ne'er-do-wells and the 
 feeble and the semi-cracked. Among the youth the defec- 
 tion was ghastly, and he asked himself despairingly how 
 he could compete with Bobby who offered such attractions 
 as riding lessons, boxing lessons, football, and the like. 
 His own colleagues, an intellectual curate and one or two 
 long-haired clerks with literary tastes, could not be expected 
 to rival Bobby in these respects. They had been good at 
 stirring discontent against Mr. Deane, in the old days when 
 talking signified, but they could not possibly give lessons in 
 boxing; it was out of the question. So far as the vicar 
 could see, if Bobby stayed in Denbury, every boy would 
 grow up with Tory inclinations. And should he bring his 
 wife the same might happen with the girls. 
 
 But the vicar's fix was even worse than this. The real 
 trouble was that he had always attacked rich men, from 
 the pulpit and the platform, because they were idle. His 
 text had been St. Paul's words: "If a man will not work, 
 neither shall he eat." This could not be applied to Bobby, 
 because, as it was futile to deny, he was working at his own 
 inconvenient job as hard as any man alive. The vicar 
 had railed at the idle rich Log, and here was an energetic 
 rich Stork. It did not suit him at all. He could not bring 
 his old accusations against a man who was supporting the
 
 262 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 destitute and personally teaching them a new trade. Again, 
 what could be more aggravating than that his annoyance 
 should be caused not by a clever schemer, for the vicar 
 knew Bobby was not that, but by a stupid and simple 
 young man with a mere liking for honest faces, willing 
 workers, and cheerful, sturdy boys? 
 
 The vicar might have grounded his charge upon Bobby's 
 connection with Father Gauden, a Roman Catholic, but 
 he was estopped. He was tied up by all sorts of past 
 assertions about the great universal religion of society, and 
 the unimportance of sects, and the brotherhood of man; 
 so he could not start crying No Popery. Again, he could 
 have made a good deal of the pitiful position of those who 
 contrary to their natural rights and in defiance of the equality 
 of man, were cut adrift by Bobby because they would not 
 work properly. He could ask them why they should starve 
 while Bobby had a fine house in Somerset and a quantity 
 of that land which God had given to the people. In fact 
 he did ask them this, with the usual ecclesiastical precau- 
 tions against stating anything quite frankly. But no 
 result followed. The vicar harangued the malcontents and 
 the malcontents harangued the vicar, but nothing seemed 
 likely to occur in consequence. What was the use of be- 
 wailing the woes of the middle-aged riff-raff while Bobby 
 was stealing the hearts of almost all the boys and young 
 men? That was the true disaster. That was the crime. 
 The young were not only the easiest prey for Bobby, but 
 they carried the future in their loins. 
 
 Over and over again the vicar was on the point of going 
 to Bobby for a conference. He thought he might perhaps 
 arrange a compromise. He was clever, while Bobby was 
 stupid, which gave him an opportunity. If only Bobby 
 could be induced to hand over his Denbury affairs to a popu- 
 larly elected committee, which would mean a committee 
 of the glibbest talkers, there would be a chance of getting
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 263 
 
 things back into the hands of the proper leaders of the 
 people, the intellectual, the literary, and the adroit. Since 
 there was so much administration being done in Denbury 
 under Bobby's auspices, and since it concerned the people, 
 the vicar thought he would be able to make the young man 
 see the obvious justice of letting the people themselves 
 control these affairs of their own. So he would consider 
 the question of going to Bobby with some such proposition. 
 And then, while the scheme was maturing, he would meet 
 him in the street. He would see him on his horse trotting 
 fast, and looking as though he would never care much for 
 elected intellectuals. Or he would see him, going slow, 
 looking thoughtful, as though he actually had ideas of his 
 own, however crude. Or he would meet his eye, and see 
 the look of a man who was used to being obeyed, even 
 through the grave salute that Bobby gave him. And then 
 a spasm of antipathy would convince him that he would 
 rather bear all woes than go to ask favours of such an 
 embodiment of what he hated. 
 
 So he suffered and endured, until, on one and the same 
 morning, two telegrams came calling him to London.. One 
 was from Mrs. Hope, and the other, much to his surprise, 
 was from Miss Baker. The truth flashed into his mind. 
 Something had occurred, and his enemy was to be given 
 into his hands. 
 
 86 
 
 "I could not imagine," said Miss Angela Verritt, looking 
 round her, "a more perfect room to hold the meeting in." 
 
 It was the drawing-room of Jock Rarmard's house in 
 Cavendish Square. It was big enough to suit a meeting 
 of over a hundred people, but that was not the point. If 
 the room found favour with Miss Verritt it was because of 
 the pretty decoration and the luxurious softness of the 
 chairs and sofas. The meeting in question was not to be
 
 264 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 of the stern or Spartan kind, for Miss Verritt had the sense 
 to see that business can be done as well in a boudoir as in 
 a board room. Here, in this excellent part of London, in 
 this fine house, in a drawing-room almost too rich in gilt 
 mirrors, gilt picture frames, and gilt chairs, and almost 
 sickly with the scent of spring flowers, Miss Verritt could 
 picture such a meeting as warmed her enthusiasm. She 
 was the elder sister of Ethel, Jock Rannard's wife, whose 
 beauty Eddie Durwold had preferred to that of the girls 
 of Maryhill. She herself was far from being plain. She 
 was rounder in outline than her sister, shorter, more fair, 
 more fluffy, and more eager. Though her years were twenty- 
 four, to Ethel's twenty, the marriage of the younger girl 
 had made her seem the elder. So it is in the twenties. In 
 the forties it is otherwise. Miss Verritt sat on the edge 
 of a chair whose blue brocade did not quite harmonise with 
 the blue of her gown. Ethel, reclining in the depths of a 
 Chesterfield sofa, was dressed to suit the room and looked 
 as though she might have perpetrated this vanity with an 
 intention quite deliberate. 
 
 " It may be a very nice room for a meeting," she observed, 
 "but it is quite nice enough for me without one." 
 
 Miss Verritt, looking shocked, replied, "How can you, 
 Ethel?" 
 
 " Meetings are such a bother," said Ethel. 
 
 "Now that's just because you're married," said her 
 sister. "Of course girls who married used to drop out of 
 things, but you ought to know quite well that they don't 
 any longer. With your money, and a house like this, and 
 all the good you could do, it 's simply wicked of you to talk 
 like that." 
 
 "And the Duchess terrifies me," Ethel added. 
 
 "There, now I knew that was it. You will think that 
 all the women who really work are old and horrid and ugly. 
 They used to be, I know, but now it is absolutely different.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 265 
 
 You know that quite well. You know Agatha Hill and 
 Muriel Chailoner and Isobel and Gertrude. You know 
 they 're not like that. Besides, the Duchess won't even 
 be here. She 's too busy." 
 
 Ethel performed a thoroughly schoolroom contortion 
 which signified impatience and shook the sofa. 
 
 "Look here, Angela," she said, "why can't you all be- 
 have like other people? If these horrible things have been 
 going on in the place you can't remember the name of, why 
 can't you make the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty 
 to Children take charge of it? I can't see what more you 
 want to do." 
 
 "But it 's such an opportunity!" 
 
 "For making yourselves ridiculous!" 
 
 "It's an opportunity for raising the whole question," 
 said Angela, "the whole question of corporal punishment. 
 Don't you see? In public schools, and among the poor, 
 and everything. The Duchess says it 's essentially a 
 woman's question, and so it is. Who are the mothers of 
 the boys it happens to? Why, Ethel, one day you may 
 have boys of your own! It 's brutalising and cruel and 
 unjust, and it 's essentially a woman's question." 
 
 "Angela," said her sister, "tell me honestly how long 
 it is since you began to feel so deeply about corporal punish- 
 ment. For instance, did you feel it last Tuesday week?" 
 
 "Of course not," said Angela. "How could I? It was 
 only last Friday I heard about this horrible case." 
 
 "I expect the 'case' is all nonsense," said Ethel pettishly. 
 
 "How can you possibly know?" Angela replied, with 
 heat. "It was discovered by one of the Duchess's friends, 
 at Wimbledon or somewhere, and she is one of the ablest 
 and cleverest workers in the country. Besides, what has 
 the 'case' got to do with the whole question of corporal 
 punishment ? It 's only one in a thousand, every day. We 
 ought to stop boys bein? brutalised. It 's essentially a
 
 266 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 woman's question. And another thing is that while it 
 goes on we shall never get mixed education. That was a 
 thing the Duchess thought of, and it makes the whole 
 question more important than ever. We shall never get 
 mixed education until corporal punishment is stopped, and 
 so it means the whole question of refining influence. Be- 
 sides, it 's so horrid of you to say No when I told them I 
 was sure you would say Yes." 
 
 Ethel made an exclamation that showed her to be about 
 to yield, though not with a good grace. 
 
 "The Challoners lent their house for the suffrage," said 
 Angela, "and the Deveneys had the meeting about addi- 
 tional lifeboats, and the Bruces took no end of trouble only 
 last week for the petition about West End Clubs Inspec- 
 tion, and you know we can't have meetings at home. Every 
 one has done something, and I said I knew you and Jock 
 wouldn't mind having just one meeting here, when you 
 thought you might have boys of your own some day. It 
 is really becoming almost a religion with us. Dr. Ruth 
 Warden said it was even more important than the suffrage." 
 
 At this point the door opened and Marian Wilton was 
 announced. Ethel welcomed her with delight that bor- 
 dered on excitement. She introduced her sister whom 
 Marian, quite unintentionally, froze into silence. Ethel 
 gave her a cup of tea and opened the question of whether, 
 having come this day from Coulscombe, she would stay in 
 Cavendish Square or would feel obliged to go to her own par- 
 ents in Kensington. As soon as was civil, Angela rose to go. 
 
 "Will you say Yes?" she asked Ethel. 
 
 "Oh, if you really wish it," said Ethel. 
 
 "Next Thursday?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 87 
 Angela went out, and Ethel remained standing in the
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 267 
 
 middle of the room. Her face wore such a look of 
 amusement and delight that Marian waited for an 
 explanation. 
 
 "Did you mind my sending for you?" she asked. 
 
 "No, indeed," said Marian. "I was very glad." 
 
 "Ah, I thought a change would do you good," said Ethel, 
 as if that sufficed to explain the telegraphic summons she 
 had sent in the morning. Yet she still smiled. 
 
 "But your telegram said it was something important," 
 Marian remarked, becoming puzzled. 
 
 "So it is," said Ethel. 
 
 "What has happened?" Marian asked. 
 
 "Wait and see. Will you really stay here and not go to 
 Kensington?" 
 
 " I will sleep here. I must have one meal in Kensington 
 every day, and I must go back to Coulscombe on Saturday." 
 
 "No you won't. You will go somewhere else." 
 
 "Why? What is it?" 
 
 "I will show you," said Ethel. 
 
 She went to a cabinet that stood in a recess beside the 
 fireplace, opened it, and brought out a bundle of Kashmir 
 shawl that appeared to be wrapped round some object. 
 This she laid in a chair, very carefully, and looked about 
 her. There was a small table of carved sandalwood stand- 
 ing by one of the windows. She carried it to Marian, and 
 placed it in front of her as she sat. She took the bundle 
 from the sofa, slowly and tenderly unwrapped the shawl, 
 and, at the last moment, said, "Shut your eyes." 
 
 Marian obeyed. When allowed to open them, she beheld, 
 on the sandalwood table, the two broken halves of a brown 
 bowl. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 "A porridge bowl." 
 
 "Oh, did it belong to Henry the Eighth?" 
 
 " No, to Jock. It broke this morning."
 
 268 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "You are too clever for me, Ethel," she said. "I don't 
 understand." 
 
 "This bowl," said Ethel, "broke in half while we were 
 at breakfast this morning, standing on the copper stand 
 over a spirit lamp. And five hundred thousand million 
 other bowls and dishes and mugs and jugs have been crack- 
 ing and breaking in every house in England ever since the 
 German manufacturer took away the business from your 
 factory at Denbury. No one can make pots and pans like 
 you, Marian. The ones you make have an average life of 
 four times as long as the ones that come from Germany. 
 Do you understand now?" 
 
 " I begin to," said Marian. " Is it Jock? " 
 
 "It is. But you must not interrupt, or I shall forget. 
 The first important thing is twenty thousand gross. When 
 your factory had the strike and could not supply the Coro- 
 nation mugs, the contractors had to go to Germany for 
 them, and the Germans would not make them unless the 
 contractors promised to buy twenty thousand gross of some 
 sort of pots and pans, whenever they wanted them, until 
 the whole had been bought. That was why there was no 
 work for your factory when the strike stopped. Every- 
 thing was coming from Germany. And then everything 
 cracked and spotted and broke, but still they had to buy 
 from Germany. And then the shops said, if we go on sell- 
 ing things that crack, no one will ever buy this sort of thing 
 again. This is where I get muddled. Jock will explain it. 
 Anyhow, the other day, Sir Abraham Moss told Jock he 
 would order millions and millions of your pots and pans 
 for his tea shops. They 're to be bought straight from you 
 and not from the shops and at all Moss's places there is to 
 be an advertisement to say that the Denbury factory made 
 the china used here. By the time you finish making what 
 Moss wants the contractors will have finished their twenty 
 thousand gross from Germany and Jock says your factory
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 269 
 
 will get all its business back. So you won't lose any money 
 after all, and Bobby will be rewarded for being such a dear." 
 
 Marian was a little overcome, not so much by the hope of 
 profit as by the kindness. 
 
 "Jock will explain it all when he comes in," said Ethel. 
 "What I liked was that the porridge bowl went bang just 
 while he was telling me the news this morning." 
 
 It was half an hour later when Ethel was called to the 
 telephone to converse with the secretary of the Duchess of 
 Brackenbury. She returned, a trifle harassed, and im- 
 mediately claimed payment of some of that gratitude which 
 Marian had been expressing. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," she said, "I have been rushed into hav- 
 ing a drawing-room meeting here on Thursday to abolish 
 flogging. It is a nightmare. You will help, won't you?" 
 
 "Indeed I will," said Marian. 
 
 88 
 
 "What a very delightful thing to abolish!" said Eddie 
 Durwold in the same room on the following day. He had 
 not let the Easter holidays grow many hours old before 
 availing himself of a general invitation to come to tea at 
 Cavendish Square. "Of course I '11 come to the meeting. 
 I shall support it strongly." 
 
 "How very nice to find an enthusiast!" said Ethel. 
 "And as soon as it is abolished, we are to have mixed 
 education. You will have girls at Maryhill." 
 
 "That will suit me beautifully," said he. 
 
 "They are going to exercise a refining influence." 
 
 "Better and better!" 
 
 "Preposterous nonsense," grumbled Jock. 
 
 "So you '11 come and hand buns, Mr. Durwold?" 
 
 "I should love to." 
 
 "Why buns?" Jock asked.
 
 270 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Great causes always have buns," said Marian. 
 
 "There 's tea before the meeting," Ethel explained. 
 
 "We '11 be the male sympathisers," said Wilfred. 
 
 "There'll be others," said Ethel. "Angela says there 
 will be some brilliantly clever members of the Fabian Society 
 at Oxford." 
 
 Wilfred objected to these being called males. 
 
 " Well, there I draw the line," said Jock. " I don't mind 
 putting up with Angela's cranky females, but I 'm blessed 
 if I '11 be civil to their male sympathisers as well. I won't 
 really. Besides, I can see through the whole notion. 
 Angela's women aren't satisfied with turning themselves 
 into she-asses but they want to turn men into mules as 
 well. That 's at the bottom of this last craze, yes, it is, and 
 if they get their way there '11 be male sympathisers wher- 
 ever you turn, male sympathisers in your drawing-room and 
 male sympathisers at your club and male sympathisers in 
 the streets, not a decent male or a decent female left, nothing 
 but a washy mixture of all the worst of both. Now you 
 see if that 's not what they 're driving at on Thursday." 
 
 "I say, how gloomy we are getting!" said Wilfred. 
 
 "But how clever!" said Ethel. 
 
 "Let 's change the subject and talk of something refined 
 yet cheerful," said Wilfred. " Or better still, let 's smoke." 
 
 89 
 
 Thursday afternoon came, and Ethel had one single 
 compensation for the annoyance that the meeting caused 
 her; she had one scrap of satisfaction in return for her 
 resolve to behave civilly; she was the best dressed woman 
 in the house. It was not that the ladies of the meeting 
 were dressed badly. No affectation of high thinking and 
 plain clothing could be found among them. But dress is 
 an art requiring thought and time. Those who work for
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 271 
 
 great causes cannot compete with others who have leisure 
 to spend upon their adornment. So lady after lady came, 
 with high ideals in their bosoms and decent fripperies about 
 their persons, and paid the tribute of a little pang while 
 they shook hands with their hostess. 
 
 Her place was near the door of the dining-room. Here 
 she greeted her guests and shunted them on towards the 
 table that held the coffee and tea and food, and it was 
 planned that at a proper moment they should all go up- 
 stairs to the drawing-room where the meeting would be 
 held. They numbered over thirty, of whom a good propor- 
 tion hailed from Mayfair and the better parts of London. 
 They were calmer than might have been supposed. They 
 had learned that it is better not to get too visibly excited 
 about great causes, especially before meetings have actually 
 begun, and that the best sort of manner is that which is 
 cool, resolute, and not noisy. This was specially noticeable 
 in Dr. Ruth Warden and Miss Provost, who were patterns 
 of serenity. Some, probably from the suburbs, were a 
 trifle feverish about the eyes; but they soon caught the 
 tone of the majority, with the excellent quickness of women, 
 and all their talk over their tea cups was as calm as could 
 be. As for excited chatter about the grave question to be 
 handled upstairs, there was not a trace of it. 
 
 Naturally enough one or two of them had idiosyncrasies. 
 As a rule these were the more prominent members, such 
 as Dr. Warden, who wore a particular sort of boot that 
 allowed free play for the circulation of the blood. Lady 
 Mac Master, the professor's wife, was dressed in a material 
 said to be impervious to the ultra-violet rays, by which 
 means she designed to protect her body against certain 
 chemical changes affecting the balance of the mind. But 
 most of the others disapproved of this, since it seemed 
 eccentric. Dr. Warden herself considered even vegetarian- 
 ism to be a fad. All this is stated because it is desirable to
 
 272 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 be fair, in view of the unjust charges brought against the 
 women's movement. Nothing could be further from the 
 truth than to say that the guests of Lady' Rannard were 
 excitable or eccentric. They had taken the greatest pains 
 to be just the reverse. That was the mistake Jock made 
 in his criticism of them. He thought they were silly, idle, 
 women who wanted the fun of a fuss. On the contrary, 
 they were studiously quiet and collected, and were quite 
 determined to get this flogging matter settled once for all 
 on feministic HTM*?. It was grim earnest. 
 
 Marian Wilton, whose contribution to great causes seldom 
 went beyond a caustic criticism, was standing by the table 
 that held the food. She was supposed to encourage the 
 guests to eat and drink. But the work was not onerous, 
 and lor some time she and Wilfred and Eddie exchanged 
 flippant remarks with the grave demeanour of persons who 
 have not been introduced for more than a few minutes. 
 Presently, however, she saw a face that she remembered. 
 It was the face of Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor, who was to 
 preside at the meeting. Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor came up to 
 her. 
 
 "Miss Deane!" she exclaimed. "What a long time 
 BOB we met!" 
 
 It was, for Marian had been twice married since she shed 
 the name of Deane. But she was the last person to correct 
 such casual mistakes. - 
 
 "It was the Children's Country Holiday," she said, 
 pleasantly enough. 
 
 "Yes, you were the St. Gabriel's branch. How we 
 fought! I gave up the work years ago." 
 
 "So did I," Marian replied, laughing. 
 
 "How are your father and mother?" 
 
 "Oh, thank you, very well," she said. "The arrival of 
 a third curate has relieved the pressure." 
 
 "And are you interested in the corporal punishment
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 273 
 
 question? I expect, with all your parish experience, you 
 must have some strong instances." 
 
 " No," said Marian. " I am staying in this house, that 's 
 all." 
 
 After a few more such remarks Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor began 
 to look as if she had some one else to talk to. But an idea 
 occurred to her. 
 
 " Do you see that little woman over there in olive green?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do go and talk to her. She is Mrs. Hope; she comes 
 from Maryhill and knows no one. And she has worked so 
 hard for this. She would be pleased if you talked to her. 
 May I introduce you?" 
 
 Marian was willing; indeed, she was rather amused. 
 She followed Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor. 
 
 "Mrs. Hope," said the latter, "I want to introduce my 
 old friend, Miss Deane. She is a friend of Lady Rannard's." 
 
 "Ah," thought Marian as she shook bands, "if you knew 
 the names I 've heard Bobby call you!" "How good of 
 you to come all the way from Maryhill," she said, resolved 
 to be particularly nice. 
 
 "Oh, I think we ought all to make a great eSort to do 
 what we can for this cause," Mrs. Hope began, and for 
 several minutes Marian had none but that labour of listen- 
 ing at which she was adept. 
 
 The room filled, and among the last to come were Ange^ 
 Verritt and three of her Fabian undergraduates from Oxford. 
 She soon left them in the lurch while she hurried about 
 telling every one how brilliantly clever they were. The 
 end of them was that Eddie Durwold found them crouching 
 in a corner, felt sorry for them, and brought them each a 
 bun and a cup of weak tea. 
 
 At the time which Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor judged to be right 
 it was intimated to all that the proceedings were about to
 
 274 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 begin in the drawing-room upstairs, where they were invited 
 to repair. Those who were near the door began slowly to 
 move out into the hall. Ethel led them up the staircase. 
 Everything was now becoming very solemn. 
 
 No one need suppose that Marian's talk with Mrs. Hope 
 had opened her eyes to anything that was now about to 
 happen, for it had been mostly about God and the wonderful 
 way in which Mrs. Hope had been made instrumental in 
 discovering the terrible scandal that Marian was assumed 
 to know all about ; nor did she trouble to confess her ignor- 
 ance. She was among the last to go upstairs. Eddie 
 walked beside her, and they were able to giggle quietly 
 together without being observed. 
 
 The drawing-room was cleverly arranged so that all the 
 chairs and sofas looked in one direction without being placed 
 in formal rows. Marian sat in a straight-backed chair at 
 the end of the room, not wishing to be conspicuous at a 
 meeting she despised. She gazed, over a sea of hats all rigid 
 in expectation, at Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor in the seat of authority 
 at the other end of the room. A little platform had been 
 put there, nine inches high, covered with a Turkey rug 
 that matched the carpet. On this, behind a small table 
 and a glass of water, against a background of hot-house 
 plants and ferns, sat Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor, large, handsome, 
 capable, and dressed in a pronouncedly tailor-made costume 
 of grey. She had not been so majestic in demeanour or 
 in attire when Marian had known her in connection with 
 the Children's Country Holidays. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, rising, "before we open our business 
 Lady Rannard would allow me to ask one lady who is 
 present to sit with me on the platform. She is a lady to 
 whom we owe a great deal and a lady who we hope will be 
 a member of our commission of inquiry, Mrs. Hope." 
 
 It was a proud moment. Lady Rannard, from her place 
 against the wall, naturally smiled her assent, and Mrs. Hope
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 275 
 
 arose from a modest seat on a stool in the forefront. Jock 
 put a chair on the platform for her use, and gave her his 
 hand as she mounted the nine honourable inches above the 
 level of the floor. She blushed, and looked prettily pleased 
 yet free from vulgar exultation. She could not help feeling 
 that this small step above the floor was symbolising a step 
 much higher and greater and more important in her power 
 to exert influence for good. 
 
 "Thank you very much, Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor," she said, 
 before sitting down, "I really did not wish to be on the 
 platform, but of course I can quite see we ought all to feel 
 how very important the discoveries were, but I think I 
 ought to say that I feel we ought to be most grateful of all 
 to the Duchess of Brackenbury, who was so very kind about 
 arranging this meeting. We all owe her a very great deal 
 indeed. I do feel I ought to say that before I sit down, and 
 so I am very glad I have said it." 
 
 She sat. There had been no clapping when she stepped 
 on to the platform, partly because people were curious to 
 see her, and partly because of the solemnity and importance 
 of the occasion. But the prettiness and modesty and 
 pleasantness of Mrs. Hope touched the good nature of the 
 audience, and now, as she took her seat, there was some 
 muffled clapping of gloved hands and a murmur of Hear 
 Hear. And, to use her own phraseology, we ought all to 
 be glad that she received this slight tribute. 
 . "It will help matters if I make a preliminary announce- 
 ment," said Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor. "Our subject is really 
 two-fold. There is the question of corporal punishment as 
 a whole, and also the question of the particular scandalous 
 case that we propose to ventilate and deal with and which 
 we propose to send a commission of enquiry to investigate 
 on the spot. It think it will be best if we take the particular 
 case first. But to begin with, I wish to say a few words 
 upon the broad aspects of the subject. It is, without any
 
 276 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 doubt, essentially a woman's question. (Applause.) What 
 I say to you to-day is that we are going to settle it. Whether 
 we obtain the suffrage (Applause) or whether we do not, 
 we will push this question until we have an Act of Parlia- 
 ment to settle it. I am perfectly certain we shall win. 
 We shall win because the spirit of the times is with us. We 
 who are gathered in this room of Lady Rannard's represent 
 the cause of the refinement of life, the cause of progress and 
 humanity and pity and tenderness and spirituality. So I 
 say it is essentially a woman's question. (Applause.) 
 We shall not yield. We shall abolish this brutalising and 
 degrading form of punishment which is already practically 
 extinct in every progressive country but our own. I say 
 we shall not yield. We shall uphold our banner and fight 
 while there is breath in our bodies. (Loud applause.) 
 Faint we may be, but still we shall pursue, with valour and 
 courage. We shall not bear the sword in vain. I know that 
 the reactionaries will tell us that many good and enlightened 
 men were brought up under this form of punishment in the 
 past, but I want to say that that is utterly beside the point. 
 The world advances, and we must advance with it. (Ap- 
 plause.) Abuses must be rooted out, and the rooting out 
 of abuses is obviously a woman's question. And now I am 
 going to deal with the particular case we have heard of. 
 Ladies, I shall almost shock you when I say that I am posi- 
 tively glad that that case has occurred. The blood and 
 cries of those little martyrs will light a candle that will 
 never be blown out. (Subdued applause.) Of course we 
 must be perfectly dispassionate, and I do not wish to dwell 
 on the horrible details. But I say that they were as truly 
 martyrs in the cause of refinement and spirituality as any 
 that we read of in the dark ages. Let us honour them. 
 (Applause) Before I read you the papers I have here I 
 should like to say that Mrs. Hope, who made the dis- 
 covery, had for years been one of the most able and active
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 277 
 
 investigators we have amongst us, and the whole case 
 has been thoroughly examined by some of the most able 
 and brilliant women in the world. And now, in order that 
 you may know the kind of man it is we have to deal with, 
 I will read you some account of the career of this man 
 whom I am not afraid to call an inhuman brute, this 
 torturer of little children, who might have continued to 
 perpetrate his cruelties for years and years but for the 
 courageous and brave and fearless intervention of Mrs 
 Hope." 
 
 Thus far in safety. Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor now paused and 
 hunted for something in a satin bag coloured blue to match 
 the feather in her hat. The audience waited. That the 
 same speech may have different effects on different minds 
 must be due to the divine spark in our nature, for the 
 criticism of beasts is generally unanimous on any point. 
 Here there was divergence. Those in whom the divine 
 spark glowed brightest were deeply moved by the speech. 
 Some indeed saw that neither blood nor cries will light a 
 candle, and that Latimer was referring to the blazing 
 fagots and his own burning body. But that was a small 
 point. The speech as a whole seemed very able and 
 conclusive, courageous in its challenge, and quite worthy of 
 one of the noblest causes that man or woman could have 
 undertaken to serve. Others, however, were not pleased. 
 Ethel Rannard sat fixedly gazing at the rings on one of 
 her fingers, twisting them round with a sure conviction 
 that there was something grotesque about the whole affair. 
 Her husband was consumed from first to last by an in- 
 wardly raging impatience. Wilfred sat gazing at his boot, 
 occasionally stroking his upper lip, and troubled with 
 recurring spasms of mirth. As for Marian at the back, she 
 was like an atheistic governess at family prayers, her hands 
 in her lap, her face expressionless, her gaze upon the speaker, 
 and her mind inquiring lazily why some women at forty and
 
 278 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 fifty have not shed the nonsense she had banished at nine- 
 teen. That was how it appeared to her. 
 
 And now there came a telling pause of expectation. Out 
 of her reticule Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor brought a scent bottle, 
 a lace pocket-handkerchief, and a gold mounted fountain 
 pen. She laid these on the table. Then, with just per- 
 ceptible relief, she found what she wanted, a folded piece 
 of note paper. She put down the bag, opened out the 
 piece of note paper, and flattened it on the table so as to 
 make it more easy to read. There was a hush of awe and 
 suspense as she lifted it towards her eyes. 
 
 At this point it should be said that no one had enjoyed 
 the proceedings more thoroughly than Eddie Durwold. 
 Modestly seated on a stool by the fireplace he had found 
 everything quite amusing from the first. Corporal pun- 
 ishment was an institution to which he owed his escape 
 from worse calamities, and he knew more about it than 
 any other person present. So, behind a face of tolerable 
 gravity, he was amused to hear the glib opinions of Mrs. 
 Fyfe-Proctor on the subject. He was amused also to find 
 himself in the same room with Mrs. Hope and Miss Baker. 
 He had only to look round him to see many other ladies 
 whom a closer acquaintance would probably show to be 
 quite as funny from his point of view. He had never yet 
 realised how funny his favourite sex could be. New vistas 
 of comedy were opening before his young eyes; down one 
 vista was Miss Challoner's determined jaw; Dr. Warden's 
 boots down another, Lady MacMaster's intellectual brow 
 down a third, and everywhere a ludicrous solemnity. Yet. 
 up to now, he had not the least suspicion of the heights to 
 which comedy was rising. He had not realised that all he 
 beheld, the defiant challenge to flogging, the unspeakable 
 outrage to be exposed, the mighty campaign to be con- 
 ducted, the solemnity, the enthusiasm, the righteous ardour, 
 the holy wrath, were his own creations, the fruits of his own
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 279 
 
 small joke. He had not realised that the tree on which 
 these fluttering ladies perched was sprung from the seed he 
 had sown in an all too fertile soil. 
 
 The truth was revealed in a flash, in the first sentence 
 with which Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor resumed her speech. 
 
 "Sir Robert Wilton," she began, "who now amuses him- 
 self with the screams of little children, is the same young 
 gentleman who in 1905 deceived and ruined an innocent 
 girl while he was an undergraduate at Oxford." 
 
 It need hardly be said that the effect on some who 
 heard these words was to take their breath away. Such 
 is the vagueness with which many women talk, about some 
 one who has done something somewhere, that quite a good 
 proportion of those present, even of the enthusiasts, had 
 not known who was the brutal employer, or whom he 
 had flogged, or why, or when, or how. They left such 
 points to their leaders. Ethel Rannard herself had never 
 thought of asking Angela for details of that kind. Jock 
 and Wilfred were too scornful towards the whole affair. 
 And thus it happened that the startling announcement 
 about Bobby was made in the presence of his wife and three 
 of his fondest kinsfolk without their being warned by even 
 the faintest shadow of suspicion. Their heads rose simul- 
 taneously, as though touched by the same electric current, 
 and their faces assumed exactly the same expression of 
 blank amazement. 
 
 Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor, who of course did not notice this, 
 proceeded to give an account of Bobby's career at Eton and 
 at Oxford as it was written on the tablets of Miss Baker's 
 imagination. She spoke of his having corrupted his fellow 
 creatures at each place, and drew his picture as a most 
 revolting sort of reprobate. She passed on to brand him as 
 a tyrannical squire at Coulscombe, and the story of Bessie 
 Wake was not forgotten. From her references to his 
 parliamentary candidature it appeared that the political
 
 280 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 sympathies of Mrs. Fyfe- Proctor were, alas, Conservative. 
 She deplored the disgrace of her party in such a man as 
 Bobby. All that she said had the rhetorical purpose of 
 magnifying the horror of the affair, for it was worse that 
 little children should be tortured by a bad man than by a 
 good one. 
 
 Now that Eddie understood the position the shock nearly 
 killed him. It was weeks since he had even thought of the 
 tale he had told Langdon-Kerridon to repeat to Mrs. 
 Hope at tea, and he awoke to find that he had victimised 
 the legions of the women of England. Had Langdon- 
 Kerridon been present, nothing could have prevented them 
 from rolling on the floor together in the extremity of their 
 joy. As it was, Eddie gasped, went pale, and controlled 
 himself. Three or four times he withstood the volume of 
 his amusement breaking like the waves of the sea upon 
 him, and then there was a reaction in which he was posi- 
 tively awed by the magnitude of his achievement. But 
 amusement returned, for the funniest thing of all was that 
 even after he realised the joke the meeting went on as 
 solemn and important as before. He heard the terrible 
 account of Bobby's crimes, and the murmurs of horror from 
 the audience. He heard it explained that Bobby had not 
 merely a cruel disposition but a passion for cruelty in the 
 nature of a carnal lust. England would ring with it. 
 Questions in Parliament would be followed by a campaign 
 throughout the country. Legislation would be introduced. 
 Overwhelming public feeling would carry the Flogging Bill 
 to triumph. But first of all a women's commission was to 
 visit the monster in his own den at four o'clock on Saturday, 
 for which visit an appointment had been already made, and 
 Eddie judged that they would then give him a piece of their 
 mind. Now Eddie himself had the kind of bones that hard 
 words do not break, nor did he suppose that they would 
 break Bobby's. The fouler the accusations, the more he
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 281 
 
 ,was amused. The larger the publicity threatened, the more 
 enormous was the comedy. He had not a misgiving until 
 he chanced to turn his head towards the back of the room 
 and saw the face of Marian Wilton wearing an expression 
 that showed him a new aspect of what he had done. Even 
 while he was looking at her, perceiving a tragedy in his 
 comedy, she rose, rather unsteadily, and left the room by 
 the door near which she had been sitting. 
 
 Now he thought of it, he could understand why the joke 
 was not pleasing her as much as him. The aspect of affairs 
 changed completely. Disrespectful as were his feelings 
 towards the assembled women of England he had some 
 regard for one like Marian who had been his hostess on 
 several occasions, and so it inconveniently happened that 
 just as he realised that his joke would end in his neck being 
 wrung by Bobby he also realised that he would have to 
 own up at once. He looked for Jock, and saw that he had 
 crossed over and was whispering to Ethel. Eddie went 
 across the room and joined them. In the space of about 
 twenty seconds, with his usual calmness, he had made Jock 
 understand the origin of Mrs. Hope's sensational discoveries. 
 
 "You invented the whole thing?" Jock asked him. 
 
 " I 'm afraid I did, " he said, "or, at least, I exaggerated. " 
 
 Jock made no comment, but after a moment, told him to 
 go to the landing outside the room. He whispered to Ethel 
 who, with him, followed Eddie out of the room. Wilfred 
 came too. Outside, at the top of the staircase, Jock 
 frigidly told Eddie to repeat his statement. He obeyed, 
 not thinking it worth while at present to add his apologies. 
 Ethel then said that she must go at once to Marian. She 
 supposed rightly that Marian was in her bedroom, and 
 went upstairs, leaving the others on the landing with the 
 thin hum of Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor's voice just audible through 
 the drawing-room door. Eddie was pale, in dire disgrace 
 with Jock, but cheered by a smile from Wilfred to whom
 
 282 . THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 alone it occurred that the comic side still existed. With 
 bated breath he spoke of the scene that would occur in the 
 drawing-room when the women of England were told that 
 they had all walked into a trap set by a schoolboy for poor 
 little Mrs. Hope of Maryh 11. But Jock told Wilfred to go 
 back and hear what the meeting was doing. 
 
 After five minutes Ethel came downstairs looking as 
 though her "experiences had been distressing. 
 
 "Oh, Jock, she is going to make it so tragic," she said. 
 "She says we won't say anything now but let them go to 
 Denbury and have their inquiry. And I know it would be 
 so much better to stop it now without any fuss. " 
 
 "Didn't you tell her what Durwold says?" Jock asked. 
 
 "Yes, but she doesn't care, she says they shall have their 
 inquiry." 
 
 "What does she mean?" 
 
 "She means to make them suffer for it, don't you see; 
 she 's too angry for words. She doesn't pay attention 
 when I talk, so do please go and tell her not to. Persuade 
 her to let us stop it all now." 
 
 Jock ran upstairs upon an errand of which he little knew 
 the difficulty. As for Eddie, it dawned upon him that the 
 trap he had set might be held open by Marian till the 
 victims were far more firmly fixed in it. Marian and he 
 might become collaborators strangely enough. He waited 
 with Ethel, who, being incapable of unkindness, had no 
 choice but to be nice to him. Meanwhile, in the drawing- 
 room Mrs. Fyfe-Proctor gave place to a speaker yet more 
 resolute than herself. They chose the members of the 
 commission that was to go to Denbury and beard the mon- 
 ster and get written statements from his victims. They 
 arranged to meet again on the following Tuesday to hear 
 the commission's report. Having set up this gibbet for 
 Bobby, they formed themselves into the W. E. L. M., or 
 Women's Emergency League of Mercy, while Bobby's
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 283 
 
 wife upstairs was firmly declining to show any mercy to 
 them. 
 
 " The fact is, " said Jock, as he joined Ethel on the landing, 
 "that these women have put their feet in it this time. 
 They've gone on the rampage once too often. This time 
 they have done it." 
 
 90 
 
 Before the ladies left Cavendish Square their chairman 
 warned them to keep their great cause secret until after the 
 commission had reported. She never spoke a wiser word. 
 However, in some strange way, the information leaked out. 
 
 Among those who heard of it was Mr. Hopkinson, the 
 Unionist member for South Hertfordshire, who had once 
 interested himself in the Denbury strike. He was promi- 
 nent on the committee of the True Progress Club, a very 
 exclusive body, Unionist in politics, and strictly preserved 
 for persons who were or had been members of parliament 
 or candidates. 
 
 Though the club liked its members to be clever and smart 
 and up to date it was so broad-minded that it had elected 
 a certain number of the most ordinary sort of people. It 
 had elected Bobby. That happened long ago, when Bobby 
 knew even less about politics than he knew at the time of 
 this story, and it was partly due to some one's mistake in 
 thinking that he was clever because he had been at a certain 
 Oxford college. Since that date, Mr. Hopkinson and 
 others, looking over the list of the club, had often wanted 
 to get rid of him. They did not think he brought the club 
 much credit. This feeling had grown strongly since the 
 Denbury affair began. It was bad enough when Bobby 
 had seemed likely to be a scandalous sort of^ employer, 
 but it became much worse when he blundered into virtue 
 in exactly the way most sure to annoy the Socialists, 
 discrimination between the good fellows and the bad fellows
 
 284 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 at Denbury might be right in theory, but in practical 
 politics it would be unpopular and not at all progressive. 
 And it was the kind of thing that might attract some 
 attention. So the next time Mr. Hopkinson and his 
 committee were looking over the list of the club they 
 stopped at Bobby's name and wished all the more that they 
 could get rid of him and clear themselves of all shadow of 
 complicity. 
 
 But the world is busy, and Bobby was so unimportant 
 that they forgot him. When, however, Mr. Hopkinson got 
 wind of the approaching flogging scandal, the matter 
 became more urgent. It was not that Mr. Hopkinson 
 believed the scandals to be based on fact. On the contrary, 
 he was sure they were a fine mare's nest, and he was able to 
 judge shrewdly because he was on the committee of a 
 Unionist League for Woman Suffrage and knew all about 
 progressive ladies. But still, the very contradiction of the 
 charges would bring Bobby and Denbury into prominence 
 and expose his very foolish and injudicious policy towards 
 his dependents in that town. 
 
 By a stroke of good fortune he met a political friend who 
 was going to spend Easter at a house in Gloucestershire 
 not twenty miles from Denbury in order to devote some 
 study to the typical agricultural labourer. This friend, a 
 Mr. Pawsley, kindly promised to call on Bobby and ask 
 him in the nicest way to send his resignation to the True 
 Progress Club. Mr. Hopkinson wanted everything to be 
 done nicely, not offensively or inconsiderately. Mr. 
 Pawsley therefore wrote Bobby a pleasant note asking if he 
 might have a chat with him in Denbury. The answer came 
 by return of post, making an appointment at the White 
 Hart for four o'clock on Saturday. But the note was not 
 written or signed by Bobby. It was signed "C. Gauden." 
 Mr. Pawsley supposed C. Gauden to be a secretary, which 
 was a guess not far from the truth.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 285 
 
 There were others, also, who heard about the flogging 
 scandal, for it followed a course like a genealogical tree, 
 spreading more widely as it went further. It came to the 
 ears of convinced humanitarians, who were ready to let 
 ruin overtake all the world and its soul rather than permit 
 pain of the physical variety. It came to the ears of earnest 
 Liberal politicians, who felt bound to mention it in their 
 speeches not supposing that Marian would have them sued 
 for damages. It came to the ears of ladies whose one wish 
 was to put everything to rights, who felt unanimously 
 that something should be done without any delay what- 
 ever. It came to the ears of people of refinement, who 
 thought that a full exposure was required. It came to the 
 ears of journalists, who saw how terribly and painfully it 
 would shock the public conscience, but waited, neverthe- 
 less, for a while. And it reached some peppery old 
 colonels, and some fashionable women with cool heads, and 
 some cynical young men, and some ordinary people who 
 did not set up for being anything in particular, all of whom 
 in their various manners said, "Pooh-pooh! The thing is 
 ridiculous!" 
 
 The world is such a nice place, fortunately, that most of 
 those who heard the story were sure that there must be 
 some mistake about it, somewhere. But there were a no- 
 ticeable number who took it with no misgivings. Marian, 
 as she sat planning vengeance in the coolness of her 
 malice, would have been glad to know that those who sided 
 against Bobby were mostly persons who had both money 
 and reputation to lose in the courts. But if the courts 
 were put aside, and if Bobby's good name were alone 
 considered, it would have seemed lamentable that his 
 detractors were of all people the most earnest, the best- 
 intentioned, and the most advanced,
 
 286 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 92 
 
 One of these was a Mr. Colquhotra, who heard the news 
 for the simple reason that his sister had been at the meeting. 
 He was on the Cotswolds conducting a reading party of 
 religious but powerful young men from the Oxford college 
 of which he was the chaplain, and he told them what he 
 thought about it. 
 
 "Perhaps you don't remember this Master Wilton," he 
 said, "but I do. Oxford said good-bye to him before your 
 time. I can remember the young gentleman very clearly, 
 and that 's one of the advantages of getting on in years. 
 And I can tell you fellows, too, I remember the days when 
 it wouldn't have been left to a pack of women to show him 
 what they think of him. If you lads had the guts of boiled 
 rabbits, you 'd bike over to what 's its name and have him 
 tarred and feathered. If any one gave a lead, I dare say the 
 local Johnnies wouldn't be sorry to join in." 
 
 As the reading party took a holiday on Saturday, it 
 seemed that some enterprise of this description might 
 indeed repay the trouble involved. 
 
 93 
 
 Last but not least there was Miss Baker. She well knew 
 how prone was Mrs. Hope to make mistakes. Nor did she 
 wish to be led into a piece of foolishness. But she judged 
 the question on its merits, with the private information 
 that she had, balancing the improbability of Bobby being 
 inhumane against the probability of his being more drastic 
 than the public likes. Was she to lose the golden opportunity 
 held out by the second alternative? Not she; if the tales 
 were false, the blame was Mrs. Hope's, and she would shrug 
 her shoulders. But if they had truth up to the required 
 percentage, she would not be long in outstripping Mrs.
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 287 
 
 Fyfe-Proctor in the use that she would make of them. 
 Life is a lottery, thought Miss Baker, and she joined the 
 Commission of Inquiry. 
 
 94 
 
 The morning of the day that was to bring so many influen- 
 tial foes on Bobby saw him lying in bed at his house, No. 
 27, Church Street, Denbury, considering a question very 
 deeply. He had slept well, as he did on all occasions 
 without any exception whatsoever, but among the letters 
 that Dick Trevor brought him with his tea and his bath 
 in the morning there was one that provoked his most 
 earnest thought. It was the only one he had read, because 
 it was the only one that bore the handwriting of a friend. 
 The rest had been tossed aside and would later be extracted 
 from the bedclothes and handed by Dick to Father Gauden. 
 
 The letter that Bobby read was from Jock. Just as a 
 man will go on looking at the hands of his watch, if the time 
 it tells surprises him, so Bobby went on looking at Jock's 
 concise statement of a single fact. With his head on his 
 hand and his elbow on his pillow and in his eyes a gravity 
 that was absurd considering the nature of the news, he let 
 it sink into his mind that UnderbelTs factory was not going 
 to keep its doors closed for ever. The manufacture of 
 pottery was to start again. Denbury, it appeared, was not 
 to be a financial loss to him and Marian, after all, but was to 
 be the source of a continuing and appreciable income. This 
 was the news. 
 
 It was clear that the influence of Jock's friends in busi- 
 ness had had something to do with the matter, and Bobby's 
 first thought was to compare the excellence of Jock with 
 the defects of all sorts of other people whom he could call 
 to mind if he liked, and to take pleasure in the fact that help 
 had not come from a stranger but from a fellow who had
 
 288 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 got into rows with him at school and was a cousin and 
 brother-in-law of Marian's. That was just as it should be, 
 making gratitude delightful, but the seriousness of the 
 matter, the thought that made Bobby look so seraphically 
 grave that he could have won prizes at a show of choir 
 boys, was that Denbury was to be no passing incident as he 
 had supposed, but was to continue in his life to the end. 
 To him it was perfectly clear that he would now have to 
 build a house near the town, live here for several months in 
 the year, and bring up his second son as a manufacturer of 
 pots and pans. 
 
 His problem was to say whether he liked the news or 
 not. He liked the money, for he was human. But he did 
 not like Denbury. Yet he knew that his dislike of Den- 
 bury was largely a dislike of the poky house he had lived 
 in, which had irritated him perpetually and been the very 
 centre of his small martyrdom in the late months. He 
 craved for rooms of the area of those at Orchard Wilton. 
 And, similarly, he disliked the people because he craved for 
 the people of Coulscombe whose virtues and vices he knew 
 and understood and liked. Yet there was a doubt. He 
 was coming to think that the younger people at Denbury, 
 and some of the elder who had been in the army, or had had 
 certain experiences, were not- so different from his Couls- 
 combe boys after all. He could not be sure, for he would 
 look at them and they would look at him, and no message 
 passed to say if it was peace or war. Whichever it was, 
 they were to be his now, after Jock's letter, while he lived. 
 He had a strong desire to confide in some one. He wanted 
 the opinion of some one who would understand his position. 
 He would not, if he could, undo what he had done in Den- 
 bury up to the present, because he had been doing the things 
 he liked. He had been doing what called for courage and 
 defiance. But he could not picture the prolongation or 
 perpetuation of an affair so adventurous and spasmodic as
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 289 
 
 this had been. He could not picture it as he could picture 
 his old age at Coulscombe. 
 
 He thought of Father Gauden, certainly the first to whom 
 he would tell the news. But from that friend he would not 
 hear the judgment he wanted, for the simple reason that 
 Father Gauden always treated him as a better and nobler 
 man than he knew himself to be. "This news, " he would 
 say, "gives you just the chance you want for bringing 
 Tory principles from the country to the town. You have a 
 magnificent life before you. " That was all very well, but 
 Bobby liked other things besides being a hero. He liked, 
 for example, hunting and shooting and entertaining nice 
 people at Coulscombe. And when he took the r61e of the 
 beneficent leader of men he liked it to be among people who 
 were sturdy and pleasant and steady in the eye, of whom he 
 could suppose that in some imagined battle they would 
 fight for him. 
 
 95 
 
 The morning of that day did not add to his liking for 
 Denbury or sweeten the prospect of a lifelong connection 
 with it. As a rule his time had been spent lately on horse- 
 back between the places where his men were working, but 
 this day, because he was to have a long holiday after 
 Easter Monday, and had stayed this week-end in Denbury 
 for the purpose of clearing things up, there was a terrible 
 bout of paper work and accounts. He was assisted by 
 Father Gauden for a time, and afterwards by the Trevors, 
 but no help could make the work pleasant to him. Like 
 many of the country people of the generation before his own 
 he was almost sick when he had to deal with such figures 
 as he could not carry in his head. Father Gauden, also, 
 took the news about the factory just as he had foreseen, and 
 offered him the unwelcome congratulations he had expected.
 
 290 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 
 
 After htncheon he should have. p;one to see the Denbury 
 boys at football. Eddie Durwold had promised to come and 
 be umpire, and to stay with him, and go on to Coulscombe 
 after Monday. He went to the station to meet the train in 
 which Eddie should have travelled. He thought affection- 
 ately, " Eddie is a little devil; he will tell me I should be glad 
 to get the money; he '11 do me a damn lot of good." But 
 the train arrived, and Eddie was not in it. 
 
 " Then, " said Bobby, " I will shirk the football and go and 
 see Williams." 
 
 He walked up to the White Hart and saddled Talgai, 
 the fresher of the two horses he kept there. As he trotted 
 out of Denbury he found himself considerably relieved, 
 although a dismal rain begain to fall. The virtuous family 
 of Lord Williams would not refresh him quite as much as 
 Eddie, in whom he enjoyed the impish spirit, but they 
 would talk sensibly and say if he should take the day's 
 news as a blessing or a curse. They would talk no heroics. 
 If the rain continued, he might get a game of billiards. He 
 might also be pressed to stay and have tea, and be per- 
 suaded to cut the annoying appointments which Father 
 Gauden had made for him at four o'clock. 
 
 Lady Williams, an avowed victim of Bobby's personal 
 attractions, petted him as usual. But afterwards, in the 
 smoking room, Lord Williams disappointed him very much. 
 
 "Of course, my dear fellow, " he said, "if this means that 
 you will be a neighbour, you know very well that we shan't 
 exactly grumble. And as for you, I can only congratulate 
 you with all my heart." 
 
 "Yes," said Bobby, "I suppose it means my having a 
 house here, and bringing my wife, and then it would be 
 perfect hell if I hadn't a feeling you 'd be nice to us. We 
 shall be making crockery, but we shall be pretty grateful for 
 any friends. " 
 
 "My dear Wilton!" said Lord Williams.
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 291 
 
 "You've been angelic," Bobby declared. 
 
 This turn of sentiment was a bad prelude to what Lord 
 Williams proposed to say, but when they had smoked in 
 silence for five seconds he made his plunge. 
 
 "God knows," he said, "I Ve no right to criticise, but I 
 can't help wondering if you wouldn't be wiser to have a 
 manager here and stick to your own home. You know we 
 should like to have you, but I 've my doubts. You '11 
 have a lot of disappointment, a devilish lot of disappoint- 
 ment, Wilton. You get on well enough with the boys, I 
 know, and the decent sort of men, but that f s where I 
 criticise you and Gauden the world doesn't consist of 
 the decent sort. No, it doesn't at all. Now see what 's 
 been happening, and mark me, I 'm not the only one that 
 has noticed it. As soon as some fellow shirks and grumbles 
 and shows the ordinary rottenness of town breeding, up you 
 haul him to judgment. If he 's a lad, he gets a cursing from 
 you or a licking from your men, and naturally he bucks up 
 because boys like that sort of thing, and they 're young 
 enough to learn. But if he 's a free and independent 
 rotter of full age, out he goes, and there 's weeping and 
 gnashing of teeth. Now that won't work in a factory, it 
 won't work at all. It 's not only that I feel you '11 end by 
 being devilish unpopular, but I'm afraid your whole 
 scheme's wrng, you know. From what I read I take it 
 the thing the world 's after is a way of making everybody 
 happy, rotters and good boys together. That 's the social 
 question. Now that 's why your plan won't work. You 
 ignore the rotters. . And the rotters have the votes and they 
 won't stand it. It 's votes and not character that rule 
 to-day, and you '11 come a cropper, your way, I 'm afraid 
 you will, a bad one. That 's my criticism. All the same, 
 my dear fellow, if you stick to your own notions, you can 
 count on me for what I 'm worth here. It 's an attempt to 
 solve the social question, even if it 's a wrong one, and
 
 292 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Heaven knows we ought to be grateful to any fellow who 
 tries. Every one will watch you with a lot of interest, I 'm 
 sure they will, all over the country. Even if you end by 
 being lynched, you '11 certainly make a name for yourself. 
 Well, there 's my advice for what it 's worth." 
 
 96 
 
 Bobby, while he listened to this kindly spoken warning, 
 was watching the steam that rose from his boots and leggings 
 as they dried before the fire. There was not much to show 
 how he was affected, except that the colour deepened on his 
 cheeks. A very close observer might have noticed that he 
 was throwing up little embankments to keep his feelings 
 from escaping, shifting slightly in his chair, sucking his lips, 
 doubling and redoubling his determined attention to his 
 outstretched legs. When it was over, when Lord Williams 
 had finished, he said that of course there was plenty to be 
 argued on each side of the question, and that he would 
 naturally do nothing without a lot of thought. This he 
 seemed willing to say as many times as Lord Williams liked, 
 and in as many different ways as he could think of, but he 
 would say no more. So Lord Williams presently asked him 
 to play billiards, and he played without any of those vigor- 
 ous comments he was wont to pass upon his own strokes. 
 He would not stay to have tea, but left the house soon after 
 four o'clock satisfactorily late for his appointments. 
 
 Though it was raining, and though he was late, he walked 
 his horse, perversely pleased to cause the maximum incon- 
 venience to every one, including Talgai and himself. 
 
 Bobby had a curious belief, which few will share, that it 
 is not gentlemanly to be conspicuous. Dukes, bishops, 
 cabinet ministers, and such people, he knew to have a posi- 
 tive duty in the way of public prominence, but he was con- 
 vinced that persons like himself were dishonoured if they
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 293 
 
 attracted much attention. It was a principle against which 
 he sometimes offended, generally under the influence of an 
 attack of pugnacity; but he could not endure prominence 
 for any length of time except at Coulscombe where his 
 prominence was natural. And he, of all people in the world, 
 was to be watched with sympathetic interest by persons in all 
 parts of England while he tried to solve the Social 
 Question. 
 
 Words cannot describe how the idea annoyed him, or how 
 unfair it seemed. That he should be prig enough to attempt 
 such a thing! To make himself, as Lord Williams said, a 
 name! As if he wanted a name! To have the admiring 
 gaze of serious multitudes turned on his virtuous endeavours 
 to reform the State and accomplish the public weal! To 
 excite the pitying amusement of all nice ordinary people, 
 and jolly fellows, and sensible women! And all because 
 he wanted to stick to the ideas in which he had been brought 
 up, and to apply them to his wife's work people! Wise 
 indeed, as it seemed, were his doubts that morning as to 
 whether the good news about the factory was really good 
 news or bad. One thing, at any rate, was certain. He 
 would not submit to the fate that Lord Williams antici- 
 pated. He would leave Denbury, never to return. He 
 would do something for those few Denbury men and boys 
 who had been true to him, but he would do it very privately. 
 For the town as a whole he would do no more, and the fac- 
 tory should be sold. He would go home and stay at Couls- 
 combe where he could behave like a gentleman without 
 "making a name." 
 
 So he rode on, through the drizzle, over the dreary hill, a 
 deeply offended young man, until he modestly remembered 
 that he was perhaps less sinned against than sinning. He 
 had brought it all upon himself. From the moment when 
 he set out to war against Miss Baker, he should have known 
 that it would end like this in politics, economics, and
 
 294 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 vulgarity. He admitted this much, and became no longer 
 angry but merely depressed. 
 
 Thereupon he reached a sort of nadir of gloom, throwing 
 away all his faith in everything, as a bankrupt in a temper 
 throws away his watch and chain, for he remembered that 
 it was by this very road, and under the same dull skies, that 
 he had entered Denbury fifteen weeks ago with Michael and 
 Kinglove, Dick and Tom, Dennet and Willie, and young 
 Durwold, actually thinking that there was to be a fight. 
 With his present experience of what Denbury and town life 
 were really like he could now ..pronounce himself, not 
 without pleasure, to have been, on that former occasion, 
 the most 
 
 He considered, chose, and actually spoke aloud to Talgai 
 the epithets that were to qualify the final word "fool." 
 A masterpiece it was, yet he never reached the end of the 
 list. 
 
 He was checked, as completely and effectually as if Tal- 
 gai had pitched him over head and ears, by hearing, at 
 first faintly as a sound that merely resembles something 
 else, then more clearly as a sound that may really be the 
 thing itself, then surely as a sound that can be nothing 
 else, the distant roar of the hooting and booing of a crowd 
 in the town of Denbury below him. 
 
 97 
 
 He pulled up, that he might listen better. It was not the 
 first time that he had heard booing in Denbury. But there 
 was a difference. What he had heard on past occasions 
 was the hooting of small gangs of roughs. The present 
 sounds, arriving in such volume from such a distance, almost 
 a mile away, were evidence of something more serious. 
 They could only mean that Denbury had at last resolved 
 itself into a mob of respectable proportions.
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 295 
 
 "Now what in the world has happened?" he thought, 
 "and whose blood can they possibly want unless it 's mine?" 
 
 Considering the mood he had been in, and the horrid 
 things Lord Williams had sa ; d, it was almost impossible to 
 believe that anything could have happened so supremely 
 satisfactory as a concerted attack by the townspeople upon 
 himself, whether they meant to hang him from a lamp-post, 
 or, as was very much more likely, to put him under the 
 pump. To have a row at last, before he left the town, to 
 have things out, to bring things back from the Social 
 Question to the simple plane on which he understood 
 them, to have the challenge of democracy put fairly and 
 squarely from Denbury to him, under the circumstances, 
 was too sweet and comforting a thought to entertain. He 
 could see no reason why it should happen. He could think 
 of nothing that could have brought it about, till, suddenly, 
 with the utmost excitement, he remembered what would 
 well account for it. They had heard of the revival of the 
 business. They had heard that the factory was to re-open, 
 and that he would probably be among them now as a 
 permanency. This was their welcome! This was their 
 challenge! 
 
 From the crown of his head to the tips of his toes every 
 corpuscle got the news and broke into a scamper of excite- 
 ment. He waited just an instant to judge the situation. 
 The crowd, he thought, was probably in the square. They 
 would suppose him to be in the White Hart, where he ought 
 to have been half an hour ago. He could enter the White 
 Hart by the back way into the yard, unless it were blocked, 
 which was a very unlikely thing for a Denbury crowd to 
 think of doing. All was well, therefore. There was no need 
 to raise or solve more problems. "Oh, Talgai, be quick," 
 he pleaded. He dug his heels into Talgai's flanks with a 
 message of desperate urgency, and held his breath as 
 Talgai went off.
 
 296 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Nothing could have justified his feelings but the know- 
 ledge that he had a whiff of grape-shot for that angry 
 crowd, which he certainly had not, yet his frame of mind 
 was that of one who has. Excitement carried him quite 
 out of himself. Talgai, at a wild gallop on the badly 
 metalled road, must have thought him suddenly mad. 
 They tore down the long easy hill past Father Gauden's 
 convent and past the five or six villas that are Denbury's 
 attempt at a residential suburb, and, as is pathetic to state, 
 Bobby's heart was nearer to the joy of the angels than it 
 had been at any of the more virtuous moments of this 
 story. Though the sound of Talgai's hoofs interfered with 
 the noise in the town, the latter grew louder and more 
 real. It made Bobby very nearly unconscious, a fact 
 which is almost dreadful that in a crisis all one's nicest 
 qualities become perfectly mechanical. He had sense 
 enough to put the matter more or less like this that if 
 his democratic friends in Denbury supposed him to be in 
 the White Hart, in the White Hart he would be. All else 
 was a blur. 
 
 He met no one< This was natural, as the excitement in 
 the square would draw all the people thither. Where the 
 road branches he took the way that would lead him, not to 
 the square, but to the back of the White Hart, and into the 
 yard through a gateway straight ahead of him, through 
 which, if the gates were open, he could pass without slacken- 
 ing his wild pace. The hooting, now easy to distinguish as 
 coming from the square, a dull and booming sound more 
 suggestive of a grim purpose than of immediate violence, 
 still caused him to fear, however hard he rode, that he might 
 arrive for some reason too late. As it grew louder with the 
 diminishing distance, excitement and impatience drove him 
 more furiously. He met no obstacle, not a cart or a person. 
 The gates of the yard came in sight. They stood open. 
 Thankful for this, he was making fof the yard without
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 297 
 
 slackening his pace when he was reminded that the world 
 
 contained other people besides himself and the crowd. 
 
 Robin Dennet stood in the gateway, smiling and beckoning 
 
 with his hand. Though he might have ignored his nearest 
 
 kinsfolk, the sight of a Coulscombe face had an effect on the 
 
 selfishness of his mood, for he guessed rightly that Dennet 
 
 had been keeping the gate clear for him, which was very 
 
 proper of Dennet. 
 
 . "Good boy!" he said, as he passed him. 
 
 " It 's all right, sir, " cried Dennet, " I '11 shut the gates 
 
 first." 
 
 Talgai, who might have been glad of an explanation, 
 stopped as soon as was possible, and walked towards the 
 stable. 
 
 "Come on, sir, please," cried Dennet, running after him. 
 " Let 's get into the house, sir. They may have heard you 
 coming. They might get in. We 're all ready inside, sir. 
 Sir John Rannard is there with a motor at the door. Tom 's 
 looking out of a top window to see if you come into the 
 square, but I '11 call him down, sir, and we '11 be able to get 
 to the motor and go through them. " 
 
 "Bless my soul, we don't want a motor," said Bobby. 
 He was fully restored to consciousness, now, and aware that 
 he must behave himself* 
 
 "Where's Dick?" he asked. 
 
 "Inside, sir." 
 
 "And Sir John Rannard? Has he come down from Lon- 
 don? Why, that 's five of us! Oh, that 's capital. How 
 long have they been out there?" 
 
 "Quarter of an hour, sir." 
 
 "They think I 'm inside?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Why haven't they broken In?" 
 
 " They 're waiting for you to go out to the motor, sir. " 
 
 11 Did Mr. Durwold come? "
 
 298 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Is he all right?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. And he '11 fight sir, too." 
 
 "Good. My word! That 's six of us. Is Matt Blood 
 about?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Never mind! Six of us! Oh, what a pity we haven't 
 got some of the others." 
 
 They shut the stable door on Talgai, unceremoniously, 
 without seeing to his comforts, and hurried to the back 
 door of the house. It was a fact that to be six was more 
 fun than to be one. Bobby did not see the unrelieved red 
 he had seen before, but he had the pleasure of knowing that 
 he would be in the best company he could have chosen out 
 of all the world when he invited the democrats of Denbury 
 to show him exactly how much they dared try to do to him. 
 
 So they entered the hotel by the kitchen passage and 
 passed through the swing doors to the hall. 
 
 98 
 
 It was a more dramatic scene than Bobby had expected. 
 He had expected a little knot of friends, but he found a 
 large audience assembled. In the background, so to speak, 
 and seeming more terrible in here than it had seemed in the 
 open air, was the ceaseless Boo-oo-oo-oo of the mob outside. 
 The nine-foot oak door of the hotel, leading to the square, 
 was shut and barred. It was a symbol of beleaguerment, 
 with the enemy just the other side of it. All round, against 
 the walls, were people standing with scared faces; men 
 near the bar with their drinks in their hands, maidservants 
 in a cluster at the foot of the staircase, and, at other points, 
 accidental victims of the cataclysm, commercial travellers, 
 a tourist or two, and some tradespeople of the town. In 
 the place of prominence in the midst was a group whose faces
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 299 
 
 Bobby began to recognise as he took in the nature of what 
 he saw, Jock, Wilfred, Father Gauden, and Eddie, whose 
 presence was no surprise, and others who made him wonder 
 indeed. For he saw his solicitor, Mr. Baldwin, and Miss 
 Baker, and Mrs. Hope. All heads were turned towards him. 
 
 The joy of battle was distinctly chilled. His pugnacity 
 began to be severely hampered by self-consciousness. He 
 advanced a few paces, and then stood still, and looked 
 about him, very much on his dignity yet not able to keep 
 from his unvarying gesture when perplexed, for he began 
 to tap his shin with his whip. Wilfred Rannard came up 
 to him, rather emotionally, and put his arm round his neck 
 saying, "Come along, Bobby, we '11 have the fun of our 
 lives. " But Bobby stood still, obstinately shy. 
 
 For a moment no one appeared to have anything to do 
 except to stare at him in silence, while the formidable roar 
 of the crowd continued as usual. Then Jock took command 
 of the performance, while the onlookers began to press 
 nearer. 
 
 "I 'm glad you 've got in safely," he said, speaking with 
 unconcealed passion, "and before anything else happens 
 I should like to tell you that the crowd outside is waiting 
 to pull you to pieces, if they can get at you, because those 
 women those women " he pointed at Miss Baker and 
 Mrs. Hope and two others whom Bobby did not know 
 " have accused you of torturing children ! They have been 
 forced to admit that every word they have said is a lie, but 
 they 've done the mischief, and they '11 be responsible for 
 what happens." 
 
 "And I say," said Miss Baker, dark with passion, "that 
 there 'd have been no trouble if you hadn't set this trap 
 to humiliate us, and I tell you again as I 've told you fifty 
 times open that door and leave the crowd to me! Do 
 you think I want to have that boy murdered? Do you 
 think I can't manage that crowd?"
 
 3oo THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 " Sir Robert, " said a young man in a tweed coat and grey 
 flannel trousers, before any one else could speak, "I and my 
 friends have been partly responsible for this, for we didn't 
 know the story was a lie and we came over to set the crowd 
 upon you. We heard the story from Mr. Colquhoun of 
 Oxford, and we spread it, we did, I confess, but we '11 
 stand by you now, and we 're awfully sorry, oh, most 
 awfully sorry." 
 
 "Stand against that mob, you fool?" cried Miss Baker. 
 *' I tell you not a soul in the world can stop that mob except 
 me. Who taught them? Who made them? Who put 
 that noise in their throats? And they hate him justly, 
 justly, justly, " she added addressing the whole assemblage, 
 her voice breaking in a sob, "but I '11 save him if you '11 
 give me half a chance." 
 
 The theatrical effect can be imagined. Between the 
 roar of the mob outside and the passions of the garrison 
 within, the onlookers were completely spellbound, and, as 
 for the bright suggestions that people make on such occa- 
 sions, nobody dared even think of one. 
 
 The organ of hearing which was nearest to Bobby's 
 mouth was the right ear of Wilfred, who still clung to him. 
 
 "Go and open the door," he muttered, as though he 
 were saying "for goodness' sake put a stop to this scene. " 
 
 "Look here," said Jock, taking hold of another part of 
 his person, "any minute they '11 break in. My car's out- 
 side; they 've smashed the glass, I suppose, but it 's pro- 
 bably all right otherwise. The only thing is to open the 
 door and make a rush and get into the car and drive through 
 them. Now for God's sake be sensible. You fellows must 
 go and start the wheel, do you see, one to turn and the 
 rest to protect, and we '11 get in and go off. It '11 all be 
 so quick they won't have a chance. Bobby, do you 
 see?" 
 
 "I don't want to go off in your car or any one else's,"
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 301 
 
 said Bobby. "Why the devil can't you clear these people 
 away?" 
 
 The voice of outraged common sense began to reply 
 "For Goodness' Sake " 
 
 Bobby turned and saw Dick Trevor as close upon his 
 right hand as Wilfred on his left. 
 
 4 'Open that door!" he said. 
 
 He began to advance. 
 
 "Perfect lunacy!" Jock grumbled, "it is really." 
 
 "Oh, damn," cried Wilfred, "let Bobby have his way. 
 Let Bobby have his way ! Come along! " 
 
 Other voices took the cue. " Shall I open it, Mr. Bobby? " 
 "Oh, let's meet 'em!" "Out of the way! Out of the 
 way!" "Stick together!" 
 
 "Stop, as you value your lives!" cried Miss Baker. 
 "Oh, you fools, why don't you let me deal with them?" 
 
 " It was my fault, " wailed Eddie, choosing this singular 
 moment for his confession. Poor Eddie had only the con- 
 solation of resolving that if any one was damaged, he would 
 be damaged first. They were advancing towards the door 
 in close order as though already among the crowd. "This 
 is chess," Father Gauden observed coolly, "and Wilton is 
 the king, so please all be careful of him." The spectators, 
 the commercial travellers, and tradesmen and tourists, 
 gathered up behind. As for Bobby, he did not feel shy any 
 more. He had become accustomed to this scene, with the 
 friends and the women and the numbers of strangers, and 
 the big barred door in front, and the democracy behind it, 
 and he had remembered that he had a standard to maintain 
 even among so many people. So he advanced towards the 
 door and shook off the arms of those about him, and did not 
 care how well Miss Baker could deal with crowds, nor con- 
 sider Mrs. Hope who made a rush at h i 'm, nor observe the 
 commotion among the interested onlookers, nor take any 
 pleasure when Wilfred cheered him on, nor when Tom and
 
 302 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 Robin came panting from the top of the house, just in time, 
 but only repeated to Dick the one order he could possibly 
 give, the only thing he could possibly do, if ever again 
 he was to be pleased with things, if ever he was to despise 
 the People with its big P, if ever he was to go back 
 among his own folk at Coulscombe, he could only repeat 
 his order "Open the door!" 
 
 Dick shot back the bolt. The door swung in towards 
 them. The infuriated roar was multiplied a hundred fold, 
 and there appeared, squeezed through the aperture against 
 all the fists that were ready for him, the unexpected figure 
 of the stout and sweating landlord of the White Hart. 
 
 His news, too, was unexpected. 
 
 "God above us!" he cried, "why couldn't you open the 
 door before? Sir Robert, Sir Robert, mercy's sake, go 
 out to them! It 's Blood and the lads has done it. It 's 
 not you they 're after, it 's them four young men on cycles 
 that came tCJ set on you!" . 
 
 99 
 
 What can be more annoying than wanting your tea and 
 trying to boil a kettle on a fire that will not burn up for the 
 simple reason that the authorities have economised on the 
 quality of their coal? Jock held a copy of the Colswold 
 Leader across the grate. Eddie, on his knees, was at work 
 with a pair of bellows. Wilfred, standing near, helped them 
 with some sorrowful but forceful objurgations. To ring 
 the bell and ask for tea from the kitchen was out of the 
 question, for the inhabitants of the White Hart were beyond 
 control, and, in fact, not to be found. There was nothing 
 for it but to look after oneself. 
 
 "Is the tea ready in the teapot when the kettle boils?" 
 Eddie asked. 
 
 " Yes, " said Jock. " I say, I suppose Bobby is all right? "
 
 THE BUSINESS OP A GENTLEMAN 303 
 
 "He 's all right," said Wilfred, "unless they break him. 
 You mustn't judge by the yelling. When I went out to 
 look, he was being marched round the square on the special 
 shoulders of all the boys whose behinds he has had tanned 
 from the beginning until now, and the crowd is doing the 
 rest. It 's very undignified, but there was nothing to be 
 done, so I came back. He 's perfectly safe if they don't 
 break him. It 's very awful, because he '11 never be digni- 
 fied again, but it 's not really dangerous," 
 
 " We ought to telegraph to Marian," said Jock. 
 
 41 Dick 's doing it, " said Wilfred. " I wrote it out. It 's 
 a telegram as long as a baby novel. It will allay all possible 
 anxiety." 
 
 "How long will they go on like that?" 
 
 "Probably till midnight." 
 
 "I say that signed apology!" 
 
 "That's all right too," he said. "Miss Baker is not 
 feeling well, but Baldwin has got Mrs. Hope at the door 
 to hand the apology to him when he comes in. And I 'm 
 sure I don't know if she 's mad or merely drunk but she 's 
 as keen as anything now to make him president of a new 
 league that she has started in the last five minutes with a 
 name a yard long ending in " Social Discipline. " 
 
 " Oh ! Stop ! Quick ! ' ' cried Eddie. " It 's boiling over 
 and putting the fire out." 
 
 100 
 
 Bobby joined them, at last, a little ruffled by events but 
 possibly more pleased than he admitted. He was pleased, 
 at any rate, when they gave him a cup of tea. He listened 
 carefully to a full and truthful account of the campaign 
 against his cruelty to children, including its origin at 
 Maryhill, and when it was finished, he took hold of Eddie's 
 throat. Thus, holding the worst of his slanderers in his
 
 304 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN 
 
 power, he did two things. He extorted a promise that 
 Eddie would come with him to Coulscombe on Monday, 
 whatever punishment he gave him now. Then he hit him 
 between the eyes, three times, just hard enough to hurt. 
 
 But it was not until they were in bed that night in his 
 house in Church Street, after a fairly cheery evening, that 
 he told the full tale of the damage Eddie's act had wrought. 
 Such a confession could only be made in the dark. It could 
 only be made when sleepiness would prevent much comment. 
 "I 'd meant to leave my Denbury boys in the lurch, and 
 let them rip," he said, "but after to-day I shall have to 
 stick to them ; oh, Eddie, I shall have to stick to them as 
 long as I live." 
 
 THE END 
 
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 to all persons who like a novel which is full of thought 
 and detail and brims over with optimism." Daily Mail. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 THE SECRET GARDEN 
 
 by Mrs. HODGSON BURNETT 6/- 
 
 Author of "The Shuttle," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," etc. 
 
 Large Cr. 8vo, with coloured Illustrations by CHARLES ROBINSON. 
 
 " The treatment by the authoress is as skilled in technique 
 and vivid in human interest as the reader would expect 
 from her. . . The illustrations by Mr. Charles Robinson 
 are the work of an artist rarely gifted." Daily Telegraph. 
 
 HE WHO PASSED 
 
 To M. L. G. (Anon.) 6/- 
 
 " As a story, it is one of the most enthralling I have read 
 for a long time . . . Six seven o'clock struck half- 
 past-seven and yet this extraordinary narrative of a 
 woman's life held me absolutely enthralled ... I forgot 
 the weather ; I forgot my own grievances ; I forgot every- 
 thing, in fact, under the spell of this wonderful book. 
 .... In fact the whole book bears the stamp of reality 
 from coyer to cover. There is hardly a false or strained 
 note in it. It is the ruthless study of a woman's life. . . 
 If it is not the novel of the season, the season is not likely 
 to give us anything much better." The Taller. 
 
 Ready shortly, by the same author : "The Life Mask." 
 
 LESS THAN THE DUST 
 
 by MARY AGNES HAMILTON 6/- 
 
 "There is something delightfully fresh in the method of 
 treatment, something that seems to mark the passing of 
 another milestone in the work of the literary woman. 
 Literary is the right word, for Miss Hamilton's style bears 
 the stamp of a natural purity of diction, while her analysis 
 of emotion and character is keen without being over- 
 protracted." 'Daily Telegraph. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 KING ERRANT 
 
 by FLORA ANNIE STEEL 6/- 
 
 Author of "On the Face of the Waters," etc. 
 "Mrs. Steel has made for herself a high reputation by 
 the excellence of her Indian novels ; in the vividness of 
 the Oriental picture which it presents her ' Ring Errant' 
 stands on quite as high a level as her other books. 
 
 "Historically accurate and sufficiently absorbing, and 
 the results of Mrs. Steel's careful study of his character is 
 that Baber stands out from the mists of nearly four cen- 
 turies as a very real and attractive person." Times. 
 
 Author of 
 
 A PRINCE OF DREAMERS MISS STUART'S LEGACY 
 THE FLOWER OF FORGIVE- ON THE FACE OF THE 
 
 NESS WATERS 
 
 FROM THE FIVE RIVERS THE POTTER'S THUMB 
 
 THE HOSTS OF THE LORD RED ROWANS 
 IN THE GUARDIANSHIP OF A SOVEREIGN REMEDY 
 GOD VOICES IN THE NIGHT 
 
 IN THE PERMANENT WAY and other stories. 
 
 ESSENCE OF HONEYMOON 
 
 by H. PERRY ROBINSON 6/- 
 
 " Mr. Perry Robinson has never written a more fascinating 
 and delightful little story than ' Essence of Honeymoon '. 
 . . . Mr. Perry Robinson says exactly the right thing. 
 . . . An inimitable piece of sporting fun, admirably 
 carried out, and we can recommend no better literature 
 for all young people about to be married, or even after 
 they have taken that sobering step, than Mr. Perry 
 Robinson's delightful pages." The Field. 
 
 A PRISON WITHOUT A WALL 
 
 by RALPH STRAUS 6/- 
 
 Author of " The Scandalous Mr. Waldo." 
 
 " This beautiful, whimsical, tragic biography. We are lost 
 in admiration of Mr. Straus' skill to portray the quint- 
 essential don. His pictures of combination room etiquette 
 are literally to the life. But be knows also a wider world, 
 and his touch is sure in drawing the eccentric great lady, 
 the old-school politician, the passionate mondainc, and 
 the fashionable charlatan. . . This perfectly told story." 
 
 Daily Mail. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 JOHN CHRISTOPHER : 
 
 I. Dawn and Morning. II. Storm and Stress. 
 
 III. John Christopher in Paris 
 
 IV. The Journey's End 
 
 by ROMAIN HOLLAND each 6/- 
 
 Translated by GILBERT C ANN AN. Author of "Little Brother," etc. 
 
 "To most readers he will be a revelation, a new interest 
 in their lives. Take the book up where you will, and 
 you feel interested at once. You can read it and re-read 
 it. It never wearies nor grows irritating." 
 
 The Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " His English exercises so easy an effect that the reader 
 has never for an instant the irritating sense of missing 
 beauties through the inadequacies of a borrowed languagt; 
 we have also compared it in many cases with the original 
 and found it remarkably accurate. Readers may then be 
 assured that they will lose but little of Mr. Holland's 
 beauty and wisdom, even though they are unable to read 
 him in the original, and Mr. Cannan is to be warmly 
 congratulated." The Standard. 
 
 " A noble piece of work, which must, without any doubt 
 whatever, ultimately receive the praise and attention 
 which it so undoubtedly merits. . . There is hardly a 
 single book more illustrative, more informing and more 
 inspiring . . . than M. Romain Holland's creative 
 work, 'John Christopher'." Extract from descriptive 
 review in The Daily Telegraph. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W-G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO . .? 
 
 Author of " Come and Find Me," etc. 
 
 "She has, indeed, in this fine novel, splendidly fulfilled 
 the high purpose that inspired her to draw attention to a 
 social danger and existing evil, no less horrible than 
 real."-Pa// Mali Gazette. 
 
 " Never, not even when Charles Reade, making robust 
 romance from Blue books, was denouncing our prison and 
 madhouse systems, has such determined and forceful use 
 been made of fiction for the purpose of undoing a grevious 
 social evil." The Daily Chronicle. 
 
 MOLYNEUX OF MAYFAIR 
 by DUNCAN SCHWANN 
 
 Author of "The Book of a Bachelor, "etc. 
 
 "This the third of Mr. Schwann's hovels, is by a very 
 long way his best. Mr. Schwann has beyond question 
 written a book that may be termed light and frivolous, if 
 you wish, but that nevertheless, as a picture of a certain 
 section of modern London Society, has its more important 
 side to it. In deftness, interest, and human. nature it 
 shows a great advance on ' The Book of a Bachelor/" 
 
 Standard. 
 
 " The book is in fact, to be read for its light-hearted pictures 
 of modern Paris, Paris seen with eyes of someone who 
 knows it intimately and loves it. Mr. Schwann has more 
 than a little of Thackeray's absorbing interest in minor 
 characters, minor events, and minor problems. The book 
 proves that Mr. Schwann, as a student of life, has the 
 right touch and the right humour." The Standard. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 ZULEIKA DOBSON 
 
 by MAX BEERBOHM 6/- 
 
 Author .of "A Christmas Garland," etc. 
 
 "In a word, he has achieved a masterpiece. He has 
 written a book in which wit and invention never flag: 
 a book, the writing of which he has enjoyed so tremen- 
 dously that the reader enjoys it with him, as it were, 
 personally, a book that is all of a piece, never halts, never 
 drops ; a book that is a sheer delight from cover to cover." 
 
 Alfred Sutton in The Daily Mail. 
 
 THE DEVOURERS 
 
 by ANNIE VIVANTI CHARTRES 6/- 
 
 " The book is delightfully written. . . . Mrs. Chartres 
 has humour, she has style, she has pathos." The Standard. 
 
 " It is a great feat for any author to succeed in interesting 
 her readers in three successive generations of heroines 
 within the covers of a single novel without diminution of 
 sympathy ; yet that feat has been accomplished in ' The 
 Devourers ' . . . it is an irresistible story and full of 
 sympathetic charm." The (Averting Standard. 
 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 by UPTON SINCLAIR 6/- 
 
 Author of "The Jungle," "King Midas," etc. 
 
 "Mr. Upton Sinclair has written around such a great 
 subject with such marvellous intuition and skill, and has 
 presented so many problems which are engaging general 
 attention, that all feminists and theorists upon social 
 subjects will be eager to read his latest book. 
 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON. W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 PASSION FRUIT 
 
 by E. G. VIVIAN 6/- 
 
 " The interest all through depends mainly upon the male 
 characters, who are drawn with unusual vigour aud 
 certainty. . . . The book as a whole is marked by a breadth 
 of handling which sets it apart from the average novel." 
 
 Morning Post. 
 
 "'Passion Fruit 'is the work of^'a past-master in story 
 telling." Sheffield Independent. 
 
 Author of "Young Life," etc. 
 
 A novel of happier vein than has sometimes been the case 
 with Miss Herbertson. Her lighter heart is as infectious 
 as her gravity was impressive. 
 
 THE DECLENSION OF 
 HENRY D'ALBIAG 
 
 by V. GOLDIE 6/- 
 
 Author of "Nigel Thomson," and "Majorie Stevens." 
 
 " It is by far the best and the liveliest of the suffragist 
 stories we have come across, though by the way, the 
 particular propaganda is by no means the chief object of 
 the book. Indeed, propaganda of any kind is in its pages 
 always subordinate to the author's abundant and vivacious 
 sense of humour." Manchester Guardian. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C. 
 10
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 THE NOVELS OF HALL GAINE 
 
 (of which over 3 million copies have been sold). 
 
 " These volumes are in every way a pleasure to read. Of 
 living authors, Mr. Hall Caine must certainly sway as 
 multitudinous a following as any living man. A novel from 
 his pen has become indeed for England and America 
 something of an international event." Times. 
 
 Author of 
 
 THE BONDMAN THE ETERNAL CITY 
 
 GAPT'N DAVEYS HONEY- THE MANXMAN 
 
 MOON THE PRODIGAL SON 
 
 MY STORY THE SCAPEGOAT 
 
 THE WHITE PROPHET THE CHRISTIAN 
 
 A PORTENTOUS HISTORY 
 
 by ALFRED TENNYSON 6/- 
 
 ' ' With considerable skill we are shown how ignorant and 
 conventional prejudice of all the normal inhabitants of 
 the village are roused against the poor, good giant, only 
 because he is greater than they are. Mr. Tennyson gives 
 a vivid and unpleasant picture of prejudice and instinctive 
 cruelty. In Mr. Tennyson we have a new novelist with 
 something real and weighty to say." Westminster Qazette. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF 
 CAPTAIN KETTLE 
 
 by G. J. GUTGLIFFE HYNE 6/- 
 
 Author of " CaptainJKettle," etc. 
 
 "When one has once opened ' The Marriage of Kettle' 
 it is impossible to put it down unfinished. Mr. Cutcliffe 
 Hyne has such a vivid pen and seems so intimately 
 acquainted with the sea and seafaring life, and introduces 
 us to so many humorous and realistic characters, that we 
 feel as if we had actually sailed with the great Kettle on 
 his adventurous voyages, and had shared his hairbreadth 
 escapes." Evening Standard and St. James's Qazette. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET LONDON, W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 TALES OF THE UNEASY 
 
 by VIOLET HUNT 6/- 
 
 Author of "The Wife of Altaunont." 
 
 " Miss Violet Hunt is eminently skilful, albeit a relentless 
 ' raconteuse ', the light of her inspiration burns with a hard 
 gemlike flame. Miss Hunt has gained greatly in craftsman* 
 ship during the last few years : her style is excellent, her 
 grip of subjects sure, and her insight exceptionally clear 
 and sane." The Athenaeum. 
 
 ESTHER 
 
 by AGNES E. JACOMB 6/- 
 
 "The book is well written and the characters are well 
 drawn." P fl // Mall Gazette. 
 
 "Miss Jacomb has written in 'Esther' a very interesting 
 novel; its situations are original, and the characters are 
 sufficiently individual to make a convincing whole. ..." 
 
 Morning Post. 
 
 THE GETTING OF WISDOM 
 
 by HENRY HANDEL RICHARDSON 6/- 
 
 Author of " Maurice Guest." 
 
 "An extraordinarily intimate and sympathetic study of a 
 little girl and of the influence school-life has upon her 
 gives unusual charm and interest to this story." 
 
 Daily Mail. 
 
 "'Stalky for Girls' might very well be the sub-title of Mr. 
 Richardson's story. What ' Stalky & Co.' did for the 
 boy, 'The Getting of Wisdom' tries to do for the girl. 
 It is a bright, vivid piece of character writing." 
 
 Saturday RetiietO. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET. LONDON, W.G. 
 
 12
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 BURNING DAYLIGHT 
 
 by JACK LONDON Q/_ 
 
 Author of "The Gall of the Wild," " Martin Eden," eto. 
 
 " I have long regarded the stories of Mr. Jack London as 
 a welcome relief from the dulness of most contemporary 
 fiction, and his latest, ' Burning Daylight,' did not dis- 
 appoint me in this respect. No one who has read the 
 author's previous works will need to be told with what 
 wonderful skill the atmosphere of this grim and unfriendly 
 land is conveyed. There is one chapter, especially, 
 which tells how, for a bet, Daylight raced two thousand 
 miles over an unbroken trail of ice in sixty days that seems 
 to me absolutely the best piece of descriptive writing of 
 its kind that ever I read." Punch. 
 
 THE WHITE PEACOCK 
 
 by D. H. LAWRENCE 6/- 
 
 "A book of real distinction, both of style and thought. 
 Many of the descriptive passages have an almost lyrical 
 charm, and the characterisation is, generally speaking, 
 deft and life-like. ' The White Peacock ' is a book not 
 only worth reading but worth reckoning with, for we are 
 inclined to think that its author has come to stay." 
 
 Morning Post. 
 
 LO VE LIKE THE SEA . s 
 
 by J. E. PATTERSON 6/- 
 
 Author of "Tillers of the Soil," etc. 
 
 " He tells his story to the sound of wind and waves, and 
 if now and again his ardour for and knowledge of the sea 
 leads him aside from the purpose of his scheme, the 
 digressions are so admirably done that the book would 
 lose from the point of view of literary interest were they 
 omitted. . . . The three principal characters are well 
 drawn (there are minor ones also excellently delineated)." 
 
 The Globe. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G.
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 ADNAM'S ORCHARD 
 
 by SARAH GRAND 6/- 
 
 Author of 
 
 THE HEAVENLY TWINS THE BETH BOOK 
 
 IDEALA OUR MANIFOLD NATURE 
 
 etc., etc. 
 
 "Admirers of Mrs. Grand will be glad to find in her new 
 book ' Adnam's Orchard ' the same vivacity and the same 
 provocative spirit that gave its wide currency to her 
 ' Heavenly Twins.' Both qualities sustain and inspire 
 her to the last page of the six hundred and thirty which 
 make up her latest novel." Morning Post. 
 
 THE REWARD OF VIRTUE 
 
 by AMBER REEVES 6/- 
 
 "There is cleverness enough and to spare, but it is . . . 
 a spontaneous cleverness, innate, not laboriously acquired. 
 . . . The dialogue ... is so natural, so unaffected, 
 that it is quite possible to read it without noticing the 
 high artistic quality of it. ... For a first novel Miss 
 Reeves's is a remarkable achievement : it would be a 
 distinct achievement even were it not a first novel." 
 
 Daily Chronicle. 
 
 THE COST OF IT 
 
 by ELEANOR MORDAUNT 6/ 
 
 Author of "The Garden of Contentment." 
 
 "Packed full of character and real life. . . The character 
 of the heroine is admirably drawn upon quite uncon- 
 ventional lines .... the situation is worked out with 
 remarkable vigour and intensity. This is a fine, power- 
 ful and impressive novel, triumphing over inadequacies 
 of literary training by sheer force of sincerity and of 
 glowing human sentiment. Daily Telegraph. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G. 
 
 M
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 A RUNAWAY RING 
 
 by Mrs. HENRY E. DUDENEY 6/- 
 
 Author of "Maids' Money," "The Orchard Thief," " ALarfe Room," 
 
 "Her previous work has been good, but in 'A Runaway 
 Ring she has surpassed her best previous efforts, and it 
 is no easy matter to do her sufficient honour. To make a 
 romance from life's 'fedious afternoon* without being 
 simply sentimental is a task which scarcely any accom- 
 plish, and so, when the thing is done, it can only be 
 judged on its own merits and without comparison." 
 
 The Standard. 
 
 THE ADJUSTMENT 
 
 by MARGUERITE BRYANT 6/- 
 
 Author of " Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker," etc. 
 "'The Adjustment' . . . is a notable novel." 
 
 Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "It is an admirable book, of an original and impressive 
 nature, the authoress well understands the portrayal of 
 human passions, whether love or hate, and makes her 
 characters singularly attractive. . . . Many excellent 
 situations add to the general interest. . . . We advise all 
 who enjoy a thoroughly good novel to add 'The Adjust- 
 ment' to their library list." The Globe. 
 
 THE HIPPODROME 
 
 by RACHEL HAYWARD 6/- 
 
 Illustrated by CLARA WATERS. 
 
 A brightly coloured story, the scene of which is laid in 
 Barcelona. A young Irish girl who is dependent on her- 
 self for a means of subsistence becomes a " star" turn at 
 a circus. While in the back-waters of that existence she 
 falls in with certain gentlemen of international impor- 
 tance. She becomes their dupe and slave and passes 
 through many adventures. But there is a way of escape 
 and she takes it. Decidedly a book of swift movement 
 and keen excitement. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.G. 
 
 15
 
 MR. WILLIAM HEINEMANN'S NEW FICTION 
 
 THE NOVELS OF LEO TOLSTOY 
 
 Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT 
 
 ANNA KARENIN 2/6 ne< 
 
 WAR AND PEACE 3/6 nei 
 
 " Mrs. Garnett's translations from the Russian are always 
 distinguished by most careful accuracy and a fine literary 
 flavour. In this new rendering of Tolstoy she has sur- 
 passed herself." The Bookman. 
 
 " Mrs. Garnett's translation has all the ease and vigour 
 which Matthew Arnold found in French versions ot 
 Russian novels and missed in English. She is indeed 
 o successful that, but for the names, one might easily 
 forget he was reading a foreign author." 
 
 The Contemporary Review. 
 
 THE NOVELS OF DOSTOEVSKY 
 
 Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT 
 
 "By the genius of Dostoevsky you are always in the 
 presence of living, passionate characters. They are not 
 puppets, they are not acting to keep the plot in motion. 
 They are men and women I should say you can hear 
 them breathe irresistibly moving to their appointed 
 ends." Evening &cws. 
 
 I. THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV 
 
 3/6 net 
 
 " No other writer perhaps has given to materials so ugly, 
 not merely strength and life, but grave pathos and tragic 
 beauty." Times. 
 
 II. THE IDIOT 
 
 Ready Shortly : 
 
 Now for the first time translated in full from the Russian by 
 CONSTANCE GARNETT, translator of the Novels of 
 TURGENEV and TOLSTOY. 
 
 21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C. 
 16
 
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