S MI 
 
 I 
 
 W. SOMERSET M&UGHft 
 
 AND 
 DAVID GRAY 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIPdtNIA 
 
SMITH 
 
"Good Lord," he exclaimed, "I didn't know you had such hair." 
 
SMITH 
 
 A Novel Based on the Play 
 By W. Somerset Maugham 
 
 BY 
 
 DAVID GRAY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 1911 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1911 
 BY DUFF1ELD AND COMPANY 
 
SmV 
 
 (Enntettia 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 Tom Freeman Comes Home ..... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 Rose and Her Friends ...... 9 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A Sister's Welcome ....... 31 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Freeman Declares His Quest ..... 53 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 The Personal "Smith" is Detected .... 71 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 Freeman Essays Conversation . . . . 87 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 The Brothers-in-Law Differ ..... 107 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 Emily Discloses Her Intentions . . . .129 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 The Trap is Sprung ..... . .145 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 How a Rubber at Bridge was Interrupted . . 161 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 Emily Shows Herself in a New Light ... 185 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 Freeman is a Second Time Rejected . . . .205 
 
 014 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 Smith and Freeman Continue Discussion . . . #35 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 Emily Makes New Plans 249 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 The Storm Breaks in Credinton Court . . . 271 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Mr. Peppercorn Makes an Announcement . . 283 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Tom Freeman Tries Again ..... 297 
 
iCtsl of Jlllusltattnn0 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Good Lord," he exclaimed, "I didn't know you had 
 
 such hair" Frontispiece 
 
 "Smith received this information in silence" . . 94 
 "Oh, no, Ma'am," said Smith; please go at once" . 1T9 
 "I'm afraid you'll strain yourself, sir," she said politely ISO 
 
TOM FREEMAN COMES HOME 
 
SMITH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 TOM FREEMAN COMES HOME 
 
 THE ship came to anchor in the night. 
 With the first light he was standing by the 
 rail gazing at the white cliffs. A barefooted 
 sailor came by with a swab and bucket. 
 "There isn't any mistake about it, is there?" 
 he asked. "It's England?" 
 
 "Mistake?" echoed the sailor contemptu- 
 ously. " 'Ow could there be a mistake?" 
 He passed on along the deck and the 
 bronzed, broad-shouldered man in tweeds 
 smiled, turned to the rail again and the grey, 
 misty prospect of Southhampton harbour. 
 
 After breakfast, which no one ate, and 
 interminable hours of waiting, the tender 
 finally came off and the sun-browned man 
 stationed by a pile of luggage marked T. F. 
 
 1 
 
2 SMITH 
 
 waited impatiently for the disbarking. As 
 they neared the shore a little, fitful breeze 
 off the downs brought smells of wet earth 
 and growing things, of England in April, 
 and he filled his lungs rapturously. 
 
 In the train shed the porters were running 
 to and fro. The London train was at last 
 about to start. The man that Freeman had 
 sat next to at table all through the voyage 
 from the Cape, brushed by. Freeman held 
 out his hand. "Well," he said, "we're 
 home." 
 
 "We've come a long road," said the other 
 man, "but now we're home." 
 
 "Is there any place like England?" said 
 Freeman. Then he turned and got into the 
 railway carriage. 
 
 As they burst into the country the hedge- 
 rows were white with blossom, the meadows 
 were tender green, the roses on the thatched 
 cottage were coming into bloom and Free- 
 man sat by the window of the speeding train 
 and devoured it all with hungry eyes. Early 
 in the afternoon a shower of warm rain 
 
FREEMAN COMES HOME 3 
 
 broke and passed. The sun came out, the 
 larks fluttered up from the meadows, and 
 through the roar of the train he seemed 
 to hear their twinkling little songs against 
 the country stillness and peace with the 
 subtle inner ear of the heart. It seemed 
 worth the lonely years on the Rhodesian 
 veldt to find it all unchanged, so green, so 
 satisfying to sun-weary eyes, so truly home. 
 As they drew near to London, as the brick- 
 built towns became closer together and they 
 entered the smoky pall of the city, he found 
 that he loved that, too. It, too, was part of 
 home. He caught the name of a station 
 as they flashed by and it told him that 
 they were coining into Waterloo. Again 
 he collected his things, as he had done a 
 half dozen times in the last half hour, and 
 set himself to endure the remaining min- 
 utes. But his composure was outward only, 
 for the best of it all was just ahead. There 
 in the great station, only half a mile away, 
 Rose, his sister, was waiting for him; Rose, 
 and very probably her husband, whom he 
 
4 SMITH 
 
 had never seen. He wondered what the 
 unknown brother-in-law would look like. 
 He wondered how the years had dealt with 
 Rose. But after all, that mattered very 
 little. Out of all the world they were 
 the persons that belonged to him. It was 
 them chiefly that made the difference be- 
 tween Rhodesia and England. They were 
 the heart of that curious, intangible, precious 
 thing that we call home, the centre that con- 
 tinuously draws us back across lands and 
 seas to what is ours. It flashed across him 
 half humorously that he was growing un- 
 conscionably sentimental, but he did not 
 care. And then the train stopped. 
 
 A porter took his luggage and he hurried 
 toward the crowd that was waiting to greet 
 the arriving passengers. A pretty woman 
 waved her hand and he waved back. Then 
 he saw that it was not Rose and that she was 
 waving to someone else. "She must be far- 
 ther back in the crowd," he thought, and he 
 pressed on, but as the crowd melted he saw 
 that, for the moment, he had missed her. 
 
FREEMAN COMES HOME 5 
 
 He walked forward and back, he searched 
 the station with his eyes, but it was apparent 
 that she was not there. For a moment his 
 heart sank. Could anything have hap- 
 pened? was she sick? However, he was not 
 the man to be the prey of forebodings. He 
 decided that she must have been late in start- 
 ing and he waited longer. Then it sug- 
 gested itself that perhaps she was down with 
 a headache or a cold and had sent Herbert, 
 her husband. He began to look about for 
 bald-headed men about forty-five, with the 
 appearance of being prosperous barristers, 
 but there was no one to answer the descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 "Anyhow," he muttered, "what difference 
 does it make! They probably didn't get 
 my wire." He turned to the porter. "We 
 won't wait," he said; and the porter asked 
 him if he would have a taxi. 
 
 "Taxi?" he repeated. These things had 
 come in the eight years that he had been out 
 of the world. "No," he answered savagely, 
 "put me into a growler." As the door of 
 
6 SMITH 
 
 the old four-wheeler closed with a snap he 
 breathed the musty smell of the damp up- 
 holstery and smiled again and they began 
 to thread their way toward Kensington and 
 the adventure that had brought him over ten 
 thousand miles of sea. 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 
 
 IT was ten minutes to five when Freeman's 
 train reached Waterloo station. At ten 
 minutes to five in Mrs. Dallas-Baker's draw- 
 ing-room at Credinton Court, Kensington, 
 there were four people playing bridge, three 
 women and a young man. They played on 
 until presently a little French clock on the 
 mantelshelf began to strike. The young 
 man and Mrs. Dallas-Baker both looked up. 
 
 "I say, Rose," said he, "what about tea?" 
 
 "Ring the bell," said Mrs. Dallas-Baker. 
 
 Mr. Algernon Peppercorn arose, rang 
 the bell and presently a parlour maid ap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Bring the tea," said Mrs. Dallas-Baker. 
 She played a card and then looking up 
 called to the maid: "Is Mr. Freeman's room 
 ready?" 
 
 As she spoke the name "Freeman" the 
 9 
 
10 SMITH 
 
 woman who was playing at her left looked 
 quickly up, caught her eye and looked down 
 at her cards again. It was Emily Chapman. 
 She was a woman a little past thirty, who 
 had evidently been handsome, as a girl. But 
 her beauty had faded and it was somewhat 
 obvious that art had been called upon to take 
 its place. She had the look of a woman 
 who had been through hard places without 
 having reaped any spiritual advantages from 
 her experience. 
 
 The other woman, Mrs. Otto Rosenberg, 
 a pretty but fading blonde, missed the inter- 
 change of glances between Rose and Emily. 
 "Who on earth is Mr. Freeman?" she asked 
 curiously. 
 
 "Tom," explained Mr. Peppercorn, "her 
 brother, her long-lost brother." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg looked at Rose for con- 
 firmation, and Rose nodded. "Yes," she 
 said, "he's coming back to-day." She 
 glanced again at Emily, and Emily again 
 dropped her eyes. 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 11 
 
 "We can't play bridge, if you talk all the 
 time, can we?" said Emily sharply. 
 
 "But aren't you awfully excited?" said 
 Mrs. Rosenberg, still talking to Rose. 
 
 "Do I look it?" answered Rose laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg looked at her doubtfully. 
 "Well," she said, "I suppose we had better 
 stop and settle up." 
 
 "Why?" demanded Rose. "Can't we go 
 on after tea?" 
 
 "But you will want to get rid of us," Mrs. 
 Rosenberg answered. 
 
 "Get rid of you?" Rose repeated in a tone 
 of perplexity. 
 
 "But isn't your brother expected soon?" 
 Mrs. Rosenberg explained. 
 
 "I think so," answered Rose. "Didn't he 
 wire, Algy, that he was coming about five ?" 
 
 "His wire said that he was arriving at 
 Waterloo at four-fifty," Mr. Peppercorn 
 replied. 
 
 He got up, went to the writing table and 
 
12 SMITH 
 
 picked up a telegram. "Yes," he went on, 
 "I was quite correct in my statement. It is 
 four-fifty." 
 
 "But it's past that time now," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg to Rose. "Didn't you intend to 
 meet him?" 
 
 Rose laughed drily. "Good heavens, no !" 
 she answered. "Why on earth should I 
 stand about a draughty station for half an 
 hour?" 
 
 "But you haven't seen him for ten years," 
 said Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 
 "Eight, to be precise," Rose answered; 
 "but even if it were ten, what is half an hour 
 more or less?" 
 
 "When Otto goes to Paris on business for 
 a week," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "I always 
 meet him at the station." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn observed her with polite 
 surprise. "Really?" he remarked. "But 
 doesn't it bore you?" 
 
 "Yes, but Otto seems to think I ought to," 
 she answered. 
 
 Miss Chapman, who had risen from the 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 13 
 
 table, turned idly to the fire. "Germans 
 are so sentimental," she said, yawning. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't call him a German/' 
 said Mrs. Rosenberg. "He's been natural- 
 ised ten years." 
 
 "Well," said Rose, also leaving the table, 
 "as regards meeting people, it's just a mat- 
 ter of common sense. I'm sure Tom would 
 hate me to go to meet him just as much as 
 I should hate going. What good would it 
 do either of us?" No one refuted her, and 
 she went on. "I think, Algy, that you're 
 going rather to like him. He's really rather 
 funny, sometimes." 
 
 "I dare say I shall like him," Mr. Pep- 
 percorn replied vaguely. "If he doesn't 
 bore me. I forget, what has he been doing 
 out there?" 
 
 "Oh, all sorts of things," Rose explained. 
 "I know very little about him, you know. 
 He has written to me once or twice a year, 
 but you see I'm always so busy I never seem 
 to have time to write. I do try to send him 
 a picture post card for Christmas, but that's 
 
14 SMITH 
 
 a great bore. I believe of late he's been 
 farming in Rhodesia. " 
 
 As Rose talked on she kept an eye on 
 Emily and noted that she was growing 
 uneasy as the minutes passed. 
 
 "That sounds a cheerful occupation," ob- 
 served Mr. Peppercorn, "but I'm quite as 
 well pleased not to be indulging in it. Odd 
 sort of chap that likes to farm." 
 
 Before he finished, Emily had begun to 
 move restlessly about the room as if search- 
 ing for something that was not there. 
 "Haven't you got a mirror glass in here?" 
 she asked at last; "I want to arrange my 
 hat." 
 
 "No," said Rose. "We had < one, but 
 Algy insisted on our taking it out. I forget 
 why. Why was it, Algy?" 
 
 "Because," said Mr. Peppercorn authori- 
 tatively, "I hate looking-glasses in drawing- 
 rooms. It's so beastly suburban." 
 
 The ladies looked at him submissively and 
 then Emily Chapman turned to Rose. "Do 
 you mind if I go to your room?" she asked. 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 15 
 
 "It harasses me to think that my hat is on 
 crooked." 
 
 "It's quite straight, dear," said Rose, send- 
 ing her a teasing look, "but go by all means 
 if you're anxious about it. You know the 
 way, don't you?" 
 
 "Thank you," said Emily, and she left 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn, standing with his back 
 to the fire, teacup in hand, silently watched 
 her departure. When he was certain the 
 door had closed behind her, he looked about 
 him and remarked, "I think she's rather 
 overdone it, to-day, don't you?" 
 
 "I hope to goodness," said Rose, "that 
 she's not going to put any more on. Her 
 eyes are too dreadful, now." 
 
 "It's a pity," said Mrs. Rosenberg; "why 
 should she make up so?" 
 
 Rose smiled knowingly. "She began it," 
 she answered, "after her last engagement 
 was broken off as an outward and visible 
 sign of a broken heart." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg laughed and Mr. Pep- 
 
16 SMITH 
 
 percorn smiled approvingly. "I feel," he 
 observed, "that the psychological moment is 
 arriving when her hair will turn scarlet." 
 
 "That's left for her next matrimonial 
 mishap," said Rose. 
 
 "She has been dreadfully unlucky, poor 
 thing," observed Mrs. Rosenberg cheerfully. 
 
 "Very," said Rose; "but the odd thing, of 
 course, is her being here to-day. You 
 know," she added in response to the general 
 look of inquiry, "that she was engaged to 
 Tom, don't you?" 
 
 "No," exclaimed Mrs. Rosenberg. Mr. 
 Peppercorn also deigned to manifest sur- 
 prise and placed his teacup on the mantel- 
 piece behind him. Then with both hands 
 free to put in his trousers pockets he ad- 
 dressed himself to listen. 
 
 "I think," continued Rose, "that Tom was 
 her first, or nearly that. She gave me such 
 an odd look when I first mentioned his name 
 that you would have thought she still cared 
 for him. Perhaps she is thinking that he'll 
 do, after all." 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 17 
 
 "Did she break it off?" asked Mrs. Rosen- 
 berg. 
 
 "Yes," said Rose, "but I've never laid it 
 up against her. It was the time when Tom 
 was hammered on the stock exchange and 
 when she found that he was flat broke she 
 very wisely sent him about his business." 
 
 "Modern love," observed Mr. Peppercorn 
 thoughtfully, "has a very delicate constitu- 
 tion. It can hardly be expected to withstand 
 a shock like that." 
 
 "Well, she has had bad luck," continued 
 Rose sympathetically. "After Tom had cut 
 for South Africa, she consoled herself by 
 getting engaged to a man in the army and 
 then what do you think happened?" 
 
 "I don't think I ever heard," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg. 
 
 "After they had been engaged for ever 
 and ever, two or three years, at least, the 
 poor fellow was killed somehow or other. 
 Can you imagine a worse bore for her?" 
 She paused a moment to offer more tea to 
 her guests. "And I believe," she continued, 
 
18 SMITH 
 
 "the worst of it was that he was quite well 
 off. Wasn't it a pity, and of course he never 
 had made a will, so he left her noth- 
 ing." 
 
 "And was it after that she began to 
 rouge?" inquired Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "Oh no," said Rose; "she only powdered 
 after that." She stopped a moment in 
 thought, while her audience waited atten- 
 tively. "She didn't rouge," Rose went on, 
 "until after the Einstein match was broken 
 off. That was hard luck, you know." 
 
 "A little more cake for Algy," said Mr. 
 Peppercorn, "and then continue, please, with 
 the details of this deplorable affair. I 
 don't remember ever to have heard them and 
 one should show some interest in the lives 
 of one's friends." 
 
 "Well," said Rose, "it was positively a 
 tragedy. Just before the marriage he was 
 made the co-respondent in a divorce case and 
 when it was all over he went to Emily and 
 said that as he'd ruined the woman, you see, 
 and as she'd lost her position and heaven 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 19 
 
 knows what, he felt it his duty to marry 
 her." 
 
 "I say that was a bit rough on Emily!" 
 exclaimed Mr. Peppercorn with his mouth 
 full of cake. 
 
 "I think it was very rough," said Rose, 
 "for she's thirty-two, if she's a day. My im- 
 pression is that she'd accept a chimney 
 sweep if he asked her." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you probably know," 
 said Mrs. Rosenberg. "She is a great friend 
 of yours, isn't she?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Rose, "I'm devoted to 
 her. I've never let the manner in which she 
 treated Tom influence me in the least, and 
 I've always defended her whenever people 
 have talked, as I am sorry to say they some- 
 times have done. Of course," Rose contin- 
 ued, "there are some things which people 
 say, which one simply can't deny. We all 
 know she hasn't a farthing, yet look at the 
 way she dresses." 
 
 "Personally," observed Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "I think she plays bridge a bit too well." 
 
20 SMITH 
 
 Rose nodded. "I only ask her," she said, 
 "when I can't get anybody to make a fourth. 
 I know that she always wins, and I find it 
 quite hard enough to pay for my own frocks 
 without helping to pay for hers." 
 
 "She really dresses very nicely," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg, not without a touch of envy in 
 her tone. 
 
 "She does," said Rose, "and I often won- 
 der if it's only on bridge that she does it." 
 
 "At all events," said Mr. Peppercorn, "let 
 us believe the worst about her. I think I 
 hear her coming down the passage." They 
 were silent for a moment listening and then 
 the door opened and Miss Chapman came in 
 again. She glanced shrewdly around the 
 room and smiled. "Well," she said, "have 
 you been tearing my character to pieces?" 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn looked at her admiringly 
 and went to the tea-tray with his empty cup. 
 "Darling," he said, "we haven't left you a 
 shred, but I have generously left you nearly 
 half of the plum cake and you may have 
 some tea." 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 21 
 
 "I felt that I must choose between my hat 
 and my character when I went out," said 
 Miss Chapman, helping herself to the prof- 
 fered cake. 
 
 "And," said Rose cheerfully, "you wisely 
 chose the more important." She broke off 
 as the door opened again. "Ah, here comes 
 my lord and master," she observed, "instead 
 of brother Tom." She nodded to a stout, 
 smooth-shaven man, about forty-five, who 
 stood in the doorway. 
 
 Herbert Dallas-Baker was a very bald, 
 easy-going, pompous and rather common- 
 place type of barrister, extremely well 
 satisfied to be a K. C. "How d'you 
 do?" he said pleasantly enough and shook 
 hands with Mrs. Rosenberg and Emily. 
 To Mr. Peppercorn he merely said, 
 "Hulloa, Algy," whereupon Mr. Peppercorn 
 very simply turned his back and went to the 
 window and closed it. On his return to the 
 fireplace he acknowledged the salutation by 
 saying, "Hulloa!" 
 
 "You've just come in time for tea," ob- 
 
22 SMITH 
 
 served Rose. "Rather early for you, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "There was nothing doing in Chambers," 
 said Dallas-Baker, "so I thought I'd drop in 
 and see if there was any bridge." 
 
 "You must take my place," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg; "I must be going." 
 
 "Not at all," said Rose firmly. "We shall 
 cut out." 
 
 "I suppose," said Mr. Dallas-Baker, after 
 being supplied with tea, "that your brother 
 hasn't turned up yet." 
 
 "No," said Rose, "I dare say his train is 
 late or something. Algy said he ought to 
 have arrived at Waterloo at ten minutes be- 
 fore five." 
 
 "Oh, I dare say he'll get here," said 
 Dallas - Baker hopefully. "It's rather 
 funny," he went on to Mrs. Rosenberg, "I've 
 never seen him, you know. I didn't meet 
 Rose till after he had gone out to the Cape." 
 
 "Well, I've half a mind to think you'll like 
 him," said Rose. "He's one of those restful 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 23 
 
 people who take nothing seriously. He has 
 no morals and no conscience." 
 
 "He sounds perfectly delightful!" ob- 
 served Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 
 "And on the other hand," Rose contin- 
 ued, "he has a very neat gift for repartee 
 and a really keen sense of humour." 
 
 "Which is much more useful in a wicked 
 world," observed Mr. Peppercorn pro- 
 foundly. As he uttered this oracle he went 
 to the card table and began a game of soli- 
 taire. 
 
 "Still, he may have changed in eight 
 years," suggested Miss Chapman, who had 
 been listening in silence. 
 
 Rose shook her head and gave Emily a 
 quizzical look. "No," she said, "I'm sure 
 that he will be the same flippant, careless, 
 delicious creature that he always was. 
 Rather like Algy, don't you think?" 
 
 Miss Chapman looked at Mr. Peppercorn. 
 "No," she said decidedly and with a slight 
 curling of the nostril, "not in the least." 
 
24 SMITH 
 
 "I thank you," said Mr. Peppercorn 
 gently, as he dealt the cards. 
 
 "Well, of course, I dare say I have for- 
 gotten him," said Rose tolerantly. "So 
 many things happen in eight years to blot 
 out old impressions. Except for the senti- 
 ment of it, we're really quite strangers, 
 aren't we? And sentiment, after all, is such 
 rot." 
 
 Dallas-Baker evidently was not interested 
 in these speculative questions, for he turned 
 to Mr. Peppercorn. "What have you been 
 doing to-day, Algy?" he inquired. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn waited until he had pon- 
 dered his next play and made it, then he 
 turned pleasantly to his host. "Oh, we've 
 had rather a busy day," he answered, 
 "haven't we, Rose?" 
 
 "We have, rather," assented Rose. 
 
 "To begin with," continued Mr. Pepper- 
 corn, "I rolled up about eleven and took 
 Rose to have a frock tried on." 
 
 "Herbert," said Rose to her husband, 
 "you can't imagine how invaluable Algy is 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 25 
 
 at the dressmaker's. He is so full of in- 
 genious ideas." 
 
 "If I may say it without vanity," observed 
 Mr. Peppercorn, for the moment suspending 
 his solitaire, "I do know a thing or two about 
 frocks. But why shouldn't I?" 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg laughed. "I wonder 
 what Otto would say," she observed, "if I 
 took a young man to help me try on a new 
 gown?" 
 
 Dallas-Baker glanced from Mrs. Rosen- 
 berg to his wife. "I suppose it would de- 
 pend upon the result," he observed quietly. 
 
 "I think Otto sounds rather suburban," 
 said Rose firmly. 
 
 "He's not exactly suburban," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg defensively. "He's Maida Vale." 
 
 "Be that as it may," said Algy, continuing 
 his chronicle of the day. "After the dress- 
 maker's we came back here and lunched and 
 we've played bridge ever since. Rather a 
 hard day, what?" 
 
 Dallas-Baker said nothing, but helped 
 himself to bread and butter. 
 
26 SMITH 
 
 "I do think London is very tiring!" said 
 Rose. 
 
 Miss Chapman went to the card table and 
 seated herself opposite Mr. Peppercorn. 
 "If we want another rubber before dinner," 
 she said, "we ought not to waste any more 
 time." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg rose as if about to go. 
 "I'm not going to play any more," she said 
 to Dallas-Baker. "I'm afraid I haven't 
 time for another rubber; you must take my 
 place." 
 
 "You're sure I'm not driving you away?" 
 he asked. "We wish you'd stop on." As 
 her tone seemed really to mean that she was 
 going, his polite insistence that she remain 
 was quite warm and genuine. 
 
 "No, I really can't play any more," she 
 replied. "I'll just wait a minute and see 
 what the hands are and then I'll fly." 
 
 "Come, then," said Miss Chapman, "let's 
 cut for partners." 
 
 The cards made Emilv and Dallas-Baker 
 
ROSE AND HER FRIENDS 27 
 
 play together, with Rose and Mr. Pepper- 
 corn against them. 
 
 "Are you weak and weak?" asked Dallas- 
 Baker of his partner. 
 
 "I am," said Emily. 
 
 "So am I," said Dallas-Baker. 
 
 "You don't mind light no trumpers, do 
 you?" Miss Chapman asked. 
 
 "No," he agreed again. 
 
 "It's the only way to make money," she 
 said decidedly. 
 
 "You put the fear of God into me, Miss 
 Chapman," said Mr. Peppercorn reverently; 
 and with this interesting and intellectual 
 prelude the rubber began. 
 
 Rose gathered up her hand, glanced 
 through it and smiled. There was a blush 
 of red cards, all the honours in hearts, cer- 
 tain outside aces and a long suit in clubs. 
 Suddenly a disturbing thought flashed upon 
 her. "I say," she remarked ruefully, "it 
 will be an awful bore if Tom comes before 
 we have finished the rubber." 
 
28 SMITH 
 
 "A merciful Providence," observed Mr. 
 Peppercorn hopefully, "is always good to 
 card players." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you now," said Rose 
 firmly, "nothing will induce me to stop in 
 the middle of a hand whether it is good or 
 bad." No one said anything. "I'm going 
 to make this hearts," she added. 
 
 "Probably," said Dallas-Baker smiling, 
 "she's got 'em all." 
 
 "I hope so," said Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "Shall I play to hearts, partner?" asked 
 Miss Chapman. 
 
 "Please do," said Dallas-Baker. Miss 
 Chapman led her card, Mr. Peppercorn laid 
 down his hand as dummy and then the door 
 opened and the maid announced, "Mr. Free- 
 man!" 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A SISTER'S WELCOME 
 
 As the newcomer was announced, the bridge 
 players turned and saw the sun-tanned, 
 broad-shouldered young man that had left 
 the train half an hour before at Waterloo, 
 standing in the doorway with his hat and 
 coat on, and a travelling rug over his arm. 
 He looked about him for a moment in per- 
 plexity, searching for his sister. Then he 
 burst in with a hearty, rather boyish laugh 
 and a boy's enthusiasm and eagerness of 
 manner. "Rose! Rose! Rose!" he called. 
 
 Rose gathered up her cards with a gesture 
 of vexation and turned to him. "Tactless 
 creature!" she said. "You might have 
 waited till I was dummy!" 
 
 Tom Freeman stopped and looked at her 
 in amazement. 
 
 "Don't you understand," she went on, 
 "that I had just begun the hand? It will 
 31 
 
32 SMITH 
 
 only take a few minutes. You do under- 
 stand, don't you?" She turned back to 
 the table and leaned over to inspect the 
 dummy's cards that Mr. Peppercorn had 
 laid down. "Let me see what you've given 
 me," she said. 
 
 Freeman stood in dumbfounded silence at 
 her side still wearing his hat and coat, when 
 suddenly the low, pleasant voice of the maid 
 sounded in his ear. "Shall I take your coat 
 and things, sir?" she asked. 
 
 "If you wouldn't mind," he answered. 
 
 She helped him off with the coat and took 
 it and the rug and then his hat, all so quietly 
 and swiftly that he turned and glanced after 
 her. As she turned back in the passageway 
 to close the door, he noticed that she was 
 very good to look at. Even with her straw- 
 coloured hair done tightly under her maid's 
 cap, he could see that it was quite extraor- 
 dinary hair, and her fresh English pink-and- 
 white skin and the violet of her eyes and her 
 strong, young, flat-backed figure wore no 
 disguise. There were no pictures like that 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 33 
 
 in Rhodesia and he had not got used to them 
 in England, so he felt excused for staring 
 at her. It was only for a moment, however, 
 that his glance strayed after her, and then 
 he turned to his sister again. He smiled 
 grimly at the party at the table, who were 
 watching in more or less embarrassed silence, 
 bent down, took the cards gently from her 
 hand and laid them on the table. Then he 
 lifted her out of her chair and drew her up 
 to him to kiss her. "Rose," he said, "I 
 haven't seen you for eight years; do you 
 realise it?" 
 
 "Don't be idiotic on that account," she 
 cried. "Do let me go on, don't you see I've 
 got to play out the hand!" 
 
 "Come, give me a kiss," he commanded. 
 She put her hands stubbornly before her 
 face. 
 
 "Not till you behave," she replied. "I 
 had no idea," she explained apologetically to 
 the others, "that my brother was going to 
 make a scene." 
 
 Dallas-Baker rose and moved about the 
 
34 SMITH 
 
 card table toward his brother-in-law and 
 Emily Chapman noticing it laid down her 
 cards. "We'd better give the game up," 
 she said, "don't you think so?" 
 
 "I suppose we'll have to," exclaimed Rose 
 gracelessly. "You're willing enough/' she 
 went on, "because you probably had a rotten 
 hand, but I had a very good one and I don't 
 see why Tom couldn't have waited five 
 minutes till I'd played it. We could 
 have been just as affectionate five minutes 
 later." 
 
 "Don't talk so much," said Freeman, 
 drawing her closer to him, "and give me a 
 kiss." 
 
 "You're like a bull in a china shop," she 
 answered, but she smiled at him rather 
 sulkily and kissed him. 
 
 "There, that's better," he said. "You 
 know I was frightened out of my wits when 
 I got to Waterloo. I was afraid you were 
 ill, or worse, when I didn't see you at the 
 station." 
 
 "But you didn't expect me to go all the 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 35 
 
 way to that awful station and meet you?" 
 Rose answered. 
 
 "I did, indeed, selfish little beast," he said 
 gaily. He looked at her affectionately and 
 kissed her again. "But it doesn't matter," 
 he went on with a laugh, "I've got you now 
 and I'm not going to let you go. By 
 George, I am glad to see you again!" 
 
 "You are making everybody feel very un- 
 comfortable," said Rose unresignedly, "and 
 me perfectly absurd." 
 
 "Then I apologise," said Freeman, and 
 let her go. 
 
 Rose smoothed her ruffled plumage and 
 withdrew out of reach. "If I had known 
 that he was going to behave in this way," 
 she said to the company in general, "I should 
 have received him in strict privacy." 
 
 Freeman laughed and cast his eye ques- 
 tioningly from one to the other of the two 
 men, both of whom were strangers to him. 
 Then he turned to Peppercorn and held out 
 his hand. "I suppose you are my brother- 
 in-law," he said. 
 
36 SMITH 
 
 "I am delighted to shake hands with you," 
 replied Mr. Peppercorn, "but I haven't the 
 honour of the relationship that you sug- 
 gest." 
 
 "This is Herbert/' said Rose, and Dallas- 
 Baker came forward, chuckling at the mis- 
 take that Freeman had made. 
 
 "You might have sent me a photograph," 
 said Freeman with some embarrassment. 
 
 "I find," replied Dallas-Baker, "that when 
 one grows bald the camera has no great 
 attraction for one." 
 
 "I suppose that is so," Freeman assented. 
 As he released his brother-in-law's hand, his 
 eyes fell upon Emily Chapman, whom he 
 had not noticed before. 
 
 "You remember Emily," said Rose with 
 a slight smile. 
 
 Freeman's enthusiastic manner returned 
 at once. "By Jove, it is Emily!" he ex- 
 claimed, "and it is ripping to see you. You 
 haven't changed a bit!" He took both her 
 hands and shook them violently. 
 
 "It is nice of you to say so," said Emily. 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 37 
 
 "And this is Cynthia," Rose went on with 
 a look at Mrs. Rosenberg. "You remember 
 Cynthia Russell?" 
 
 For a moment he was at a loss. Then he 
 burst into one of his hearty, infectious laughs. 
 "But Cynthia was a kid when I left," he 
 cried. He held out his hand. "Good gra- 
 cious, how old I'm growing. Your bald- 
 ness, Herbert, is nothing to it!" 
 
 "I'm afraid it's how do you do, and good- 
 bye," said Mrs. Rosenberg. "I really must 
 be going. I think my husband used to know 
 you when you were on the stock exchange." 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you are mar- 
 ried!" Freeman exclaimed with gallant sur- 
 prise. "What is his name?" 
 
 "Otto Rosenberg," she answered. 
 
 "No," he said thoughtfully, "I don't think 
 I ever knew him. I used to know a fat old 
 German called Rosenberg, but he was old 
 enough to be your father." He looked up 
 and caught Rose's eye signalling disapproval, 
 and the next moment Mrs. Rosenberg 
 laughed. 
 
38 SMITH 
 
 "That is my husband," she said. 
 
 Freeman looked at her aghast. "Oh, I 
 beg your pardon," he said clumsily. "I am 
 so sorry." 
 
 "It doesn't matter at all," said Mrs. 
 Rosenberg amicably. "People do call him 
 a fat old German, but there is not a girl I 
 know who wouldn't have been glad to marry 
 him." 
 
 "As long as you are happy, that is the 
 chief thing, isn't it?" said Freeman, and he 
 gave her one of his hearty, good-natured 
 smiles. 
 
 She nodded. "Yes, indeed," she said. 
 
 "By the way/' observed Mr. Peppercorn, 
 as if he had forgotten something, "how is 
 your son and heir to-day? I had forgotten 
 to enquire." 
 
 "He was rather seedy this morning," re- 
 plied Mrs. Rosenberg, "and very cross, I 
 fear. But I don't really know, for I just 
 saw him for two minutes before I went 
 out." 
 
 Freeman listened interestedly. "Have 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 39 
 
 you really got a baby ?" he asked. "How old 
 is he?" 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg was looking at the watch 
 hanging from the jewelled pin on her blouse 
 when he spoke and she answered rather ab- 
 sently, "Six weeks. Good heavens!" she ex- 
 claimed. "I had no idea how late it was. 
 I have only just got time to get back and 
 dress for the opera. Otto's so funny, he 
 hates arriving late." 
 
 "But are you able to leave your baby all 
 day?" Freeman inquired. 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg looked from Rose to the 
 questioner in mild amazement. "He's got 
 a nurse," she said. 
 
 Freeman looked somewhat at a loss. "I 
 beg your pardon," he said and laughed drily. 
 ' 'In Rhodesia we're rather primitive in our 
 habits." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg laughed, too. "You're 
 forgiven," she said. "What absurd crea- 
 tures you must be in Africa! Good-bye, 
 dear," she called to Rose, "I have enjoyed 
 my afternoon." Rose returned her saluta- 
 
40 SMITH 
 
 tion. The two women kissed amicably and 
 Mrs. Rosenberg left the room. As soon as 
 she was well out of hearing, Rose turned to 
 her brother and burst into a fit of laughing. 
 "What ever made you say that to Cynthia?" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "Say what?" demanded Freeman. 
 
 "About leaving her baby," Rose replied. 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, "why shouldn't I? 
 I think women ought to look after their 
 babies if they're lucky enough to have them." 
 
 Rose was about to reply, but she checked 
 herself as the maid who had taken Freeman's 
 coat and hat entered the room and ap- 
 proached him. "Would you give me the 
 key of your box, sir?" she said in a low, 
 pleasant voice. "I've unpacked the dress- 
 ing-case." 
 
 "Thank you very much," he said. He 
 gave her the keys and followed her with his 
 eyes again as she turned and left the room. 
 "It's rather nice to have someone to do 
 things for you, when you've had to do every- 
 thing for yourself for the Lord knows how 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 41 
 
 long," he observed to Dallas-Baker. "You 
 people don't appreciate it. By the way," 
 he added, "what's the name of that parlour 
 maid, Rose?" 
 
 "Smith," was the reply. 
 
 "Smith?" Freeman repeated, "that all? 
 what goes first?" 
 
 Rose looked at him scornfully. "How 
 should I know?" she demanded. 
 
 "I don't know," he answered, "but I 
 should think you would, that's all." 
 
 "Isn't she something new?" asked Emily 
 Chapman. 
 
 "No," said Rose, "I've had her since last 
 
 summer." 
 
 "Really," said Emily in mild surprise. 
 "I somehow had never noticed her before. 
 But I never do know my friends' servants 
 apart. It's stupid of me!" 
 
 Freeman said nothing, but it seemed to 
 him that it was stupid. 
 
 "I got her in the country," Rose contin- 
 ued. "Her father has a farm near the house 
 we took for the long vacation. We used to 
 
42 SMITH 
 
 get our eggs and butter there. She wanted 
 a place, so I took her." 
 
 "Hadn't she been in service before?" 
 Emily asked idly. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Rose. "She's been in 
 some very good houses, but only in the coun- 
 try. She was anxious to come to London." 
 
 "She's the best maid we've had for a long 
 time," Dallas-Baker volunteered. 
 
 "She lias been rather a success," said Rose. 
 "She works like a horse and she's a very 
 good needlewoman." 
 
 "And her manners are so good," said 
 Dallas-Baker again. 
 
 "She's a handsome woman," said Freeman 
 quietly. 
 
 "A parlour maid," said Rose, correcting 
 him, "isn't 'a handsome woman'; she has a 
 'good appearance.' ' There was a laugh at 
 this and she went on. "That's really why 
 I engaged her. Algy hates me to have ugly 
 maids." 
 
 "Does anyone blame me?" asked Mr. Pep- 
 percorn. 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 43 
 
 Emily Chapman rose at this point. "I 
 think I am going to leave you to enjoy one 
 another's society," she said. "I feel sure 
 that you want to fall on one another's necks 
 and talk about long deceased relatives." 
 
 "No, we don't," said Rose earnestly. 
 "Please don't go." 
 
 "I must," said Miss Chapman decisively. 
 "I have had a very nice afternoon." 
 
 "I'm sorry our bridge was interrupted," 
 Rose observed stiffly. 
 
 "I'm not," said Miss Chapman with a 
 smile. She held out her hand to Freeman 
 simply and frankly. "Good-bye," she said. 
 
 "Good-bye," he answered. He took both 
 her hands and held them a moment. "I'm 
 so glad to have seen you again. I hope to 
 see a lot of you while I'm here." 
 
 She dropped her eyes, apparently some- 
 what embarrassed. "I'm surprised that 
 you haven't forgotten me," she said, colour- 
 ing. 
 
 "What nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I've 
 often wondered what had become of you, 
 
44 SMITH 
 
 Emily. It does one good to see old friends, 
 when one has been away as long as I 
 have." 
 
 She looked gratefully at him, withdrew 
 her hands and saying "good-bye" to the 
 room in general, opened the door and left. 
 
 Freeman watched her until she had gone 
 and then sat down. "Nice girl," he said to 
 his sister. "I'm sorry she hasn't married. 
 It would have been a good thing for her to 
 marry." 
 
 Rose lifted her eyebrows. "Didn't it 
 make you a little uncomfortable," she asked, 
 "to see her again?" 
 
 "And why?" demanded Freeman. 
 
 "You haven't forgotten that you were en- 
 gaged to her," said Rose bluntly. 
 
 "That's no reason why we shouldn't be 
 friends now, is it?" he retorted. 
 
 Rose laughed sneeringly. "No," she said. 
 "After all, she only threw you over because 
 you went broke." 
 
 "Well, I bear her no ill-will for that," 
 Freeman answered. "I dare say it was very 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 45 
 
 natural." There was a pause and Mr. Pep- 
 percorn, who had been sitting in silence, 
 playing solitaire at the card table, looked up 
 from his game with a judicial and patron- 
 ising manner. 
 
 "You appear to have a charming nature," 
 he said. 
 
 Freeman bit his lip. He was clearly 
 vexed, but he controlled himself. "By the 
 way," he said in a tone of pleasant enquiry, 
 "who are you, anyway?" 
 
 "I?" drawled Mr. Peppercorn. "Oh, no- 
 body; just Algy." 
 
 "That sufficiently explains itself," said 
 Freeman. "I was hoping for information." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn laughed amiably. "You 
 have a pleasant way of putting things, 
 haven't you?" he said. 
 
 "Now, look here," said Freeman. "I 
 don't want to seem disagreeable, but you 
 show no signs of making a move and I 
 haven't seen my sister for eight years. Don't 
 you think it would be a good idea if you 
 hooked it?" 
 
46 SMITH 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn looked up from his rows 
 of cards with an air of amused tolerance and 
 caught Rose's eye, as much as to say, "Do 
 explain to this creature." 
 
 Rose laughed. "Tom," she exclaimed, 
 "you must behave yourself. If you don't 
 yet love Algy, you can't neglect the forms 
 of good society." 
 
 "Damn good society," said Freeman, 
 calmly. "I didn't come from Rhodesia to 
 see Algy." 
 
 "That is fortunately true," said Mr. Pep- 
 percorn, "yet after what has passed it would 
 be difficult to make my departure look quite 
 natural, wouldn't it? So I think I'll have 
 to stay." 
 
 Dallas-Baker, who had been escorting 
 Miss Chapman to the door, returned just in 
 time to hear the end of Peppercorn's reply. 
 "Of course you're going to stay to dinner, 
 aren't you?" he said hospitably. 
 
 "Well, you see," replied Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "your brother-in-law seems to think that he 
 would like to enjoy the society of his family 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 47; 
 
 without ' he hesitated for the word and 
 Freeman supplied it for him 
 
 "An outsider," he said drily. 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed Rose, somewhat 
 sharply. "Of course you must stay as 
 usual." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn's indecision vanished at 
 this. He turned to Freeman. "Sorry to 
 annoy," he said cheerfully, "but this is a 
 command, isn't it? Besides, Rose's cook is 
 so much better than mother's, you oughtn't 
 to blame me." He turned to Dallas-Baker: 
 "I'll just go and telephone to mother and 
 tell her to send my clothes along. I can 
 change in your room, can't I, Herbert?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Herbert. The master 
 of the house then turned to Freeman, 
 shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and lit a 
 cigarette. "You must be very glad to be 
 home again," he said pleasantly. 
 
 "Glad!" exclaimed Freeman ecstatically, 
 "you don't know how often I've lain awake 
 at night out there and longed for the green 
 lanes and jolly grey skies of England." 
 
48 SMITH 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn, on his way to the tele- 
 phone, had reached the door at this point in 
 Freeman's rhapsody. He half opened it. 
 "Rose," he called back, "stop him! He's 
 just about to call it a tight little island!" and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Freeman bit his lip, but took no notice 
 of the interruption. "And when I landed," 
 he went on, "I could have hugged everyone 
 I saw, man, woman and child. The green 
 trees, the great fat fields, the little red brick 
 villas, all had come true again! I kept 
 saying to myself, 'It's England! Eng- 
 land!'" 
 
 "Moderate your transports, dear," said 
 Rose, looking up from the writing table, 
 where she had begun to compose a note. 
 "You are making yourself a little ridiculous, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 "What do I care!" he answered vehe- 
 mently and went on to his brother-in-law: 
 "At Waterloo the porter asked me if I'd 
 have a taxi. 'Not at any price,' I answered. 
 'Get me a growler.' And when I got in and 
 
A SISTER'S WELCOME 49 
 
 smelled its good old musty stink, I really 
 felt I was in London." 
 
 "You will find a great many changes since 
 you went away," observed Dallas-Baker 
 pompously. "Motor cabs, motor busses, 
 tubes. We've forged ahead since you left 
 
 us." 
 
 Freeman looked thoughtfully at the ceil- 
 ing. "I wonder," he said slowly. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Dallas-Baker with im- 
 pressive confidence. "You may take my 
 word for it. The progress of the past ten 
 years has been perfectly phenomenal." 
 
 "But is it all progress?" Freeman insisted. 
 
 Rose finished her note and pushed her 
 chair back from the writing table. "You 
 are getting prosy, Herbert," she remarked. 
 
 "Am I?" he replied. "Still," he contin- 
 ued to Freeman, "it's all progress and it has 
 resulted in the greatest city the world has 
 ever known, prose or no prose. And now," 
 he added, rising, "I'll go and see what wine 
 Smith has got out for dinner," and he left 
 the room. 
 
FREEMAN DECLARES HIS 
 QUEST 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 FREEMAN DECLARES HIS QUEST 
 
 WHEN Freeman and Rose were at last left 
 together, the brother turned to her. She 
 was still at the writing table. "I'm sorry," 
 he said, "that I was rather sniffy with your 
 friend, just now; but I did so want to be 
 alone with you! You can understand it, 
 can't you?" 
 
 "You've succeeded in putting your foot 
 into it very thoroughly since you arrived," 
 she replied, without looking up. 
 
 "Never mind," he said. "I daresay they'll 
 forgive me, and if they don't, I can't help it. 
 What I want now is to look at you and get 
 acquainted again. He went to the desk and 
 took her hand. She protested, insisting that 
 she wanted to finish her letter and drew her 
 hand away, but he seized her, picked her up 
 from her chair and took her in his arms. 
 She struggled to escape, but he held her 
 53 
 
54 SMITH 
 
 firmly. "Don't be idiotic!" she exclaimed 
 at last. 
 
 He looked her steadfastly in the eyes for 
 a moment, as if he were trying to read her 
 innermost thoughts. "Are you happy?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Of course I'm happy," she replied. 
 
 "I'm glad of that," he said with feeling. 
 "I've been so anxious about you." 
 
 "Why?" she demanded. She drew her- 
 self away again and he reluctantly released 
 her. 
 
 "Well," he said, "in the first place I knew 
 nothing about your husband, except that he 
 was a good deal older than you." 
 
 "That's inevitable," Rose answered, "un- 
 less you want to scrub along on twopence a 
 year. Men don't seem to earn enough to 
 keep a wife decently until they're about 
 forty." 
 
 Freeman sighed and smiled rather mourn- 
 fully. "Well," he said slowly, "I am so re- 
 lieved that it's all right." 
 
 Rose looked at him curiously. "What on 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 55 
 
 earth have you been fussing about?" she de- 
 manded. "What did you think was 
 wrong?" 
 
 "I was afraid," he answered gravely, 
 "that you might be awfully disappointed 
 at having no children." 
 
 She burst into a gay laugh. "You're a 
 perfect fool, Tom, dear!" she exclaimed. 
 "Herbert makes about fifteen hundred a 
 year and we have a very decent time on it. 
 We go to San Moritz and Paris and Marien- 
 bad, and we take a house in the country. 
 And if we're bored, we can always stand 
 ourselves a theatre and a little supper at 
 the Carlton. But we couldn't do that if we 
 had half a dozen children." 
 
 Freeman looked at her without speaking 
 for a moment. Then he said drily, "I see. 
 That never struck me before." 
 
 "And besides," Rose went on, "I want to 
 enjoy myself. For six months Cynthia 
 Rosenberg couldn't do anything. She led 
 a dog's life." She broke off as her husband 
 entered the room again. 
 
56 SMITH 
 
 "I thought we'd kill the fatted calf," he 
 said with his unctuous smile, "and celebrate 
 the prodigal's return." 
 
 "That sounds like champagne," suggested 
 Rose. 
 
 "Right," said Dallas-Baker. "I've got 
 just a little more Bellinger 1900. I 
 thought this would be an admirable oppor- 
 tunity to drink it." 
 
 "That's awfully good of you," said Free- 
 man. "It's a long while since anything with 
 the glory of a vintage label has come my 
 way." 
 
 "Well, you see now," said Rose with a 
 smile, "the logic of my philosophy. We 
 couldn't give you vintage Bellinger if we 
 had to provide for a pack of squalling 
 brats." 
 
 Freeman laughed good-humouredly. "I 
 would as soon drink beer," he said. 
 
 "I wouldn't," said Mr. Peppercorn, who 
 had returned noiselessly. "I consider beer 
 provincial and liverish, as well. My 
 mother," he continued, addressing the room 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 57 
 
 in general, "sends her love by the telephone 
 and my clothes by a messenger boy." 
 
 "She is a most well-trained parent," said 
 Rose. "Thank her for us for the love and 
 be grateful yourself for the clothes." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn bowed his acknowledg- 
 ments and taking a chair from the side of 
 the room with ostentatious gravity, placed 
 it directly in front of the one in which Free- 
 man had seated himself. Then he sat down, 
 crossed his legs and folded his hands. 
 "Now!" he murmured. 
 
 Freeman looked at him in half -amused 
 surprise. "What are you doing that for?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 "Just before you came," said Mr. Pepper- 
 corn, "Rose was assuring us that you had a 
 pretty wit. We have leisure now until it 
 is time to change for dinner. Pray scin- 
 tillate." 
 
 Freeman threw back his head and laughed 
 his boisterous laugh. "You're a foolish 
 youth," he said. "But if I was rude to you 
 just now, I beg your pardon." 
 
58 SMITH 
 
 "You were rude to me," replied Mr. Pep- 
 percorn mildly, "but by begging my pardon 
 you assume a pose of superiority which I 
 resent." 
 
 Freeman stopped laughing and looked at 
 him in amazement. "I'm afraid I don't 
 understand what you are talking about," he 
 said slowly. 
 
 "Then I beg your pardon," said Mr. Pep- 
 percorn. "In all future conversation I will 
 do my best to confine myself to words of 
 two syllables." 
 
 Freeman's look of amazement deepened 
 as the youth went on. Then he began to 
 smile somewhat mirthlessly. "I dimly per- 
 ceive," he said, "that you are trying to make 
 yourself disagreeable and I wonder why?" 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn took his cigarette case 
 from his breast pocket with a somewhat fem- 
 inine exaggeration in the way he used his 
 hands, opened it and offered it to his vis a 
 vis with profound ceremony. Freeman 
 took one. "I am coming to the conclusion," 
 he said thoughtfully, "that I don't like you." 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 59 
 
 "It distresses me infinitely," said Free- 
 man. "But may I enquire why?" 
 
 "As to that, I haven't quite made up my 
 mind," said Mr. Peppercorn. "I only know 
 that at present you don't quite meet with my 
 approval. You don't mind my telling you, 
 do you?" he added. He struck a match and 
 offered it politely. 
 
 "Not at all," said Freeman. He took the 
 match, lighted his cigarette, after which he 
 returned it with equal punctiliousness. "I 
 never mind what a man says to me," he con- 
 tinued, "when I know that I can knock him 
 down if I want to." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn turned to Rose, as if he 
 had been inspecting a zoological specimen 
 in a glass case and was about to report on 
 it. "You know, Rose," he said, "this 
 brother of yours is uncivilised. That is what 
 is the matter with him. He smells so 
 strongly of mother earth." 
 
 Rose laughed. "You're simply marvel- 
 lous at analysis, Algy," she said. 
 
 "And I suppose that your nostrils are 
 
60 SMITH 
 
 more accustomed to patchouli," said Free- 
 man good-naturedly. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Peppercorn. "A 
 repartee at last! But what a bad one! 
 You're lamentably of your period, sir!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Freeman. "I 
 don't understand." 
 
 "You positively reek of nineteen hundred 
 and one," said Mr. Peppercorn, shuddering 
 at the thought, "a dreadful chapter in our 
 common past which the civilised have left 
 behind them." 
 
 "Yes," said Rose, shaking her head, "you 
 are a great disappointment, Tom. I can 
 see already that you've changed in the most 
 extraordinary way." 
 
 "I ?" exclaimed Freeman indignantly. "I 
 changed? Is it really possible? If you 
 had asked me an hour ago, I should have 
 said that I was the same as ever I had been, 
 but now I am wondering. Perhaps you are 
 right. It is certain that somebody has 
 changed. Is it I or all of you?" 
 
 "Oh, my dear!" said Rose, with an air of 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 61 
 
 comic desperation, "please don't take a cas- 
 ual remark too seriously! What would be- 
 come of conversation, if every time one said 
 it was a fine day, one was answered with a 
 psychological reflection ?" She dropped into 
 an armchair by the fire and began idly 
 arranging the coals with the poker. 
 
 "I suppose," said Freeman gravely, "that 
 I really have changed. I remember that I 
 left England with a sinking heart. When 
 the slump came that broke me, I thought 
 that I had lost everything worth living for." 
 He paused and flicked the ashes of his ciga- 
 rette into the fire. No one spoke and he 
 went on: "I couldn't realise that life was 
 possible away from London, with the the- 
 atres and music halls. My idea of a holiday 
 in those days was the river and Maidenhead. 
 My idea of pleasure a supper at Romano's. 
 I hunted a bit, raced a bit, and I have no 
 doubt drank more than was good for me." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 interrupting him as he finished his sentence, 
 "aren't you making a speech?" 
 
62 SMITH 
 
 "I suppose," said Freeman, continuing on 
 without apparent regard for the interrup- 
 tion, and scrutinising the immaculate youth 
 soberly, "I suppose that in those days I must 
 have been very like you." 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" observed Mr. Pep- 
 percorn. 
 
 "I said," repeated Freeman, "that I sup- 
 pose that in those days I must have been 
 very like you. I see in you, Algy, the man 
 I think now that I must have been, and, to 
 be frank, I'm filled with a very lively feel- 
 ing of disgust." 
 
 "I don't believe that you were ever half 
 so agreeable as I am," observed Mr. Pep- 
 percorn. 
 
 "Yes," said Freeman vaguely, gazing at 
 Rose's operations with the poker, "I bless 
 that slump that ruined me. Except for 
 that, I might be making five thousand 
 pounds a year." 
 
 "And Emily Chapman would be driving 
 her own car," suggested Rose softly. 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 63 
 
 "Yes," he assented, "and I sitting beside 
 her, such a man as our Algy." 
 
 Dallas-Baker, who had been reading the 
 evening paper by the lamp, Suddenly looked 
 up. "But what on earth made you go out 
 to the Cape?" he asked. 
 
 "It was the obvious thing to do," replied 
 Freeman absently, "and I had done the ob- 
 vious all my life." 
 
 "If you had only kept on," suggested Mr. 
 Peppercorn, "you might have been a cabinet 
 minister by now. That's something we've 
 been spared." 
 
 Freeman smiled drily. "That makes me 
 think of what I was, too," he observed, "but 
 not long after I got out to the Cape it was 
 borne in upon me that a knack of saying 
 rather funny things was not as useful as a 
 good heavy fist, and within three months I 
 was thanking my stars that I had the fist." 
 
 "Why?"' said Rose. 
 
 "Because," Freeman went on, "when I 
 came to the end of my journey, I was glad 
 
64 SMITH 
 
 to get a job as luggage porter in a Joburg 
 hotel, and I got it because anyone could see 
 that I was a beefy sort of cove." 
 
 A shade crosed Rose's face. "But why 
 didn't you write?" she said gently. 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, "I thought that I 
 should like to come through on my own. 
 And I've done it. I've got a rattling fine 
 farm in Rhodesia and I've made a bit of 
 money. There is only one thing in the 
 world that I want now, and I've come all the 
 way to England to get it. You've won- 
 dered what brought me home, and I'm going 
 to tell you." 
 
 "And what is it?" Dallas-Baker asked. 
 
 "It's even money," suggested Mr. Pep- 
 percorn, "between an agricultural imple- 
 ment and a bagatelle board." 
 
 "It happens to be neither," said Freeman. 
 
 "Sold again," said Mr. Peppercorn. "I 
 am a bad guesser. We give up !" 
 
 "Well," said Rose, "tell us." 
 
 Freeman looked meditatively into the 
 coals. "For a good many years," he began, 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 65 
 
 "I had to work so devilish hard that I had no 
 time for thinking, but after a bit I began 
 to think a little. I used to look at dawn 
 on the edge of the veldt and think how jolly 
 life was ; and I used to look at the stars and 
 wonder what the devil life meant. But 
 after a time I got sick of that." 
 
 "And I'm sure not one of us would blame 
 you," volunteered Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "I got sick of all that," repeated Freeman, 
 heedless of the interruption, "and I grew 
 restless and dumpy. I couldn't make out 
 what the deuce was the matter with me for 
 a long while, but suddenly I hit it! I knew 
 what I wanted and I packed my trunk the 
 next day." 
 
 "Well," said Rose, "out with it! Sus- 
 pense is very trying." 
 
 "But my dear girl," Freeman replied, 
 "what should it be? I had discovered that 
 man is not made to live alone." 
 
 "You are after a wife?" said Rose. 
 
 "I have six clear weeks in which to find 
 one," said Freeman. 
 
66 SMITH 
 
 "Then you had better advertise at once," 
 said Mr. Peppercorn. "That will surely 
 save not only time but trouble." 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't mind that at a pinch," 
 said Freeman. "But I thought Rose might 
 be able to do something for me." 
 
 "I?" said Rose. "Do you want me to 
 find you a wife?" 
 
 "I do," said Freeman. 
 
 "Rose," said Mr. Peppercorn, "we'll start 
 a matrimonial agency. I've got thirteen in 
 mind already." He turned over the bridge 
 scoring tablet and began to write a column 
 of names on the back of it. "I'll arrange 
 them alphabetically." 
 
 "You must give us the exact list of your 
 requirements," said Rose, laughing. 
 
 "I haven't got many," Freeman answered. 
 "I only want my wife to be a decent, honest 
 sort of woman, not afraid of work. It's no 
 good her caring for society, because the only 
 society that she is likely to have for a long 
 time is mine." 
 
 Rose and Mr. Peppercorn looked at one 
 
FREEMAN'S QUEST 67 
 
 another. "I can't think of anyone," said 
 Rose, "who'd do for that place." 
 
 "I can't imagine one," said Mr. Pepper- 
 corn. 
 
 Just then the door opened and Smith, the 
 parlour maid, entered. "A messenger boy 
 has brought your bag, sir," she said to Mr. 
 Peppercorn. "There's eightpence to pay." 
 
 "Oh, Herbert," said Mr. Peppercorn to 
 Dallas-Baker, but without looking round, 
 "I don't seem to have any silver. Would 
 you mind giving Smith eightpence?" 
 
 Dallas-Baker produced the eightpence 
 from his trousers pocket. While Smith was 
 waiting for it, she crossed to where Freeman 
 was standing by the fire. "Here are your 
 keys, sir," she said in the low voice that had 
 such a charming quality and intonation. 
 
 "Thank you," said Freeman, and he took 
 them from the little silver tray. 
 
 Then Smith took the eightpence for the 
 messenger and departed as swiftly and 
 noiselessly as she had come. Freeman 
 watched her go, as he had watched her twice 
 
68 SMITH 
 
 before in the hour that he had spent in his 
 sister's house. She seemed to him a 
 strangely efficient and charming figure 
 against the background of Roses and Algies. 
 And parlour maid or no parlour maid, she 
 was a very beautiful woman. He noticed 
 that she even had long, slender, well-shaped 
 hands. His reflections on the shapeliness 
 of the parlour maid's hands were, however, 
 interrupted by his sister. 
 
 "So you want a wife?" Rose said mus- 
 ingly. 
 
 "That's what I have told you," he an- 
 swered simply. 
 
 She was silent for a moment. Then she 
 asked with a faint smile: "Do you believe 
 that broken engagements can be mended?" 
 
 He made no answer, but Mr. Peppercorn, 
 lighting a fresh cigarette, took it upon him- 
 self to reply. "In this wonderful age," he 
 said, "they can mend anything. It's first 
 a question of having the cash to pay for it." 
 
 Rose laughed. "Algy," she said, "you 
 are the greatest living philosopher." 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" IS 
 DETECTED 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE PERSONAL "SMITH" IS DETECTED 
 
 THE first three weeks of Tom Freeman's 
 wife-hunting vacation passed uneventfully 
 and without application to the business in 
 hand. He went to the playhouses and the 
 restaurants, he met old friends and picked 
 up some of the threads of his old life, but 
 he seemed to see it all with new eyes, eyes 
 that saw his beloved England with the broad 
 perspective gained from eight years in South 
 Africa, and the old life failed to satisfy him. 
 Curiously enough, there were even times 
 when he actually felt the shadow of home- 
 sickness for the Rhodesian veldt and its sin- 
 cere, simple, elemental existence passing 
 over him. He knew in his heart that if he 
 were to remain in London it could not be in 
 the currents that he had left eight years 
 before, in which he found the Dallas-Bakers 
 and his friends still floundering on his re- 
 71 
 
72 SMITH 
 
 turn. In the midst of the pressure and arti- 
 ficiality of that life he actually felt himself 
 lonelier than on the thinly-peopled veldt, and 
 more than ever he felt the need, of which he 
 had spoken half playfully but with perfect 
 truthfulness to Rose and Algy on the even- 
 ing of his arrival, yet he had made no visible 
 progress toward satisfying it. To be sure, 
 Emily Chapman he had seen often, but then 
 only by chance. She seemed to drop in for 
 lunch and bridge, and Rose had her to dine 
 occasionally, but, as well as he could judge 
 of his own heart, its beating was as calm in 
 her presence as out of it. Moreover, his 
 judgment told him that Emily would never 
 do for Rhodesia. None of the girls in that 
 set seemed to have either the inclination or 
 capacity for taking life seriously. Often 
 when day-dreaming he tried to picture the 
 woman that he was looking for and he real- 
 ised with a smile that the strong, supple, 
 feminine figure, the pink-and-white skin in- 
 dicative of perfect health, the little head with 
 its mass of straw-coloured hair, the violet 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 73 
 
 eyes, the gravity, balance and native sweet- 
 ness of character which composed his god- 
 dess, were things which he borrowed from the 
 parlour maid, Smith. "Parlour maid, or no 
 parlour maid," he said to himself, "she is a 
 beautiful woman, and she is a good and use- 
 ful one. But one can't marry her because 
 she is a parlour maid. I wonder why?" 
 
 One showery May forenoon, Freeman 
 walked slowly back from Bond Street to the 
 flat in Crediton Court with the prospect of 
 lunching alone. Herbert usually lunched in 
 Hall and Rose was lunching out. She had 
 told him that she was lunching with Mrs. 
 Parsons-Pratt. Instead of ringing the bell, 
 he let himself in with a key. The latch 
 worked noiselessly and his step in the pas- 
 sage on the heavy rug made no sound. He 
 put away his hat and umbrella and hearing 
 voices coming from the dining-room, walked 
 rather aimlessly down the passage. A por- 
 tiere hung across the dining-room doorway 
 and as he reached it he stopped, for through 
 the space between the edge of the curtain 
 
74 SMITH 
 
 and the jamb of the doorway, he saw Smith 
 sitting by the window with a pile of mending 
 on a chair beside her, while a rather perky 
 young cockney, whom he recognised as 
 Fletcher, the porter of the flats, was clean- 
 ing the windows. He stood a moment peek- 
 ing through the slit, for Smith made a 
 pleasant picture as she sat there, sewing 
 with swift, graceful movements. He also 
 had a curiosity to play spy and try to 
 catch a glimpse of her when the presence of 
 any of the "master" class was unsuspected. 
 Smith was so thoroughly "trained" as a 
 servant that he never could get hold of any- 
 thing which indicated what her mental proc- 
 esses as a woman really were. 
 
 Fletcher washed and polished his window 
 and presently in a low and very sweet voice 
 Smith began to hum a few bars of the song, 
 "Oh, it's all right in the summer time." 
 
 As she stopped, Fletcher spoke his ap- 
 proval. "That's a nice 'un," he said. 
 
 She looked up at the clock. "You'll have 
 to get out of here in a minute," she observed 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 75 
 
 calmly. There was neither apology, regret 
 nor ill nature in her tone. It was a placid 
 statement of fact. 
 
 "I've just finished," the young porter 
 replied. "I've only got the polishin' to 
 do." 
 
 Smith looked up at him. "It's getting 
 near your dinner time," she said, "isn't it?" 
 
 Fletcher grinned amiably. "I've been 
 thinking I felt a vacuum this 'alf hour," he 
 rejoined. 
 
 "Is that your last window?" asked Smith. 
 
 "Yes, and jolly glad I am, too," replied 
 Fletcher. "I've been cleanin' windows since 
 eight o'clock this mornin'. Well," he went 
 on musingly, "it 'as it's reward. I like to 
 get 'em over. When I sits down to my 
 sausage and mash, I like to say to myself, 
 there, Albert, you've earned so much, any- 
 way. That is yours." 
 
 "I suppose it pays you pretty well clean- 
 ing windows," observed Smith without look- 
 ing up. She broke off a length of thread 
 and swiftly passed it into the needle's eye. 
 
76 SMITH 
 
 "Well, it depends what you call payin'," 
 answered Fletcher. 
 
 "How much do they give you?" she asked 
 again. 
 
 "Sixpence a window," he said, "large and 
 small." 
 
 "And what do you do with the money?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Put it in the savin's bank," he answered 
 proudly. "That's one thing people can't 
 say about me. They can't say I'm not 
 steady." He turned to the window with an 
 air of conscious virtue and fell to polishing it 
 vigorously. 
 
 Smith glanced up and Freeman saw what 
 he had never seen before in her, a light of 
 real, human mischief in her eyes. "And 
 there is another thing they can't say about 
 you," she observed -"they can't say that you 
 haven't got a good opinion of yourself." 
 
 Fletcher left off polishing and turned 
 towards her. "That's a nice thing to say to 
 a fellow," he growled sulkily. 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 77 
 
 "That's why I said it," rejoined Smith 
 sweetly. 
 
 The porter gave the glass a finishing rub, 
 pressed the window down and began to 
 gather up his cloths and pail. "I kep' this 
 room till last," he said enigmatically. 
 
 "Convenient for me just when lunch is 
 ready," said Smith with sarcasm. 
 
 "I suppose you don't know why, do you?" 
 asked Fletcher. 
 
 "I do not," said Smith, with supercilious 
 disingenuousness. 
 
 "Well," said Fletcher, "you give a guess 
 and I'll tell you if you are right." 
 
 "I've got something better to do, thank 
 you," she replied. 
 
 Fletcher set down his pail and ladder, 
 squared off and looked at her determinedly. 
 "Look 'ere," he began, "you ain't forgot 
 wot I asked you the other day?" 
 
 "I haven't had much chance," said Smith, 
 "as you've reminded me every time I've seen 
 you." 
 
78 SMITH 
 
 "Well," said Fletcher, "wot 'ave you got 
 against me?" 
 
 At this juncture it occurred to Freeman 
 that he was in the position of a man with 
 his ear at a keyhole, but he did not attempt 
 to withdraw. He had no very great deli- 
 cacy as regards Mr. Fletcher. As for 
 Smith, something in her manner told him 
 that he was not likely to witness anything 
 which it would embarrass her to have him see 
 and hear. Moreover, Smith, as revealed in 
 her human and feminine aspects, interested 
 him enormously. As a final consideration 
 for keeping him in his place, he realised that 
 should he attempt to withdraw before they 
 passed into the pantry on their way to the 
 back entrance, he w r ould run a serious chance 
 of being discovered, which would be un- 
 happy all around. So he held his ground. 
 
 Smith surveyed Fletcher after his ex- 
 tremely personal question had been shot at 
 her and replied calmly, "I haven't got any- 
 thing against you." 
 
 "I'm steady," the young man continued. 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 79 
 
 "But steadiness isn't everything in a man," 
 the girl replied. 
 
 "Now that's just like a woman," Fletcher 
 exclaimed indignantly. "If you're steady, 
 they want you wild ; if you're wild, they want 
 you steady!" 
 
 Freeman smiled inwardly and as a man 
 sympathised with Fletcher in his resentment 
 of the wrong which woman is continually 
 doing his sex. He wondered how Smith 
 would meet it. She looked up for a mo- 
 ment, tossed a mended sock into her basket 
 and took a fresh one from the pile. "I'm 
 sorry for that donkey," she said gravely. 
 
 Fletcher looked at her in open-mouthed 
 surprise, a surprise that Freeman shared 
 with him. "What donkey?" he demanded. 
 
 There was a gleam in Smith's eyes, but 
 not even the corners of her mouth twitched. 
 "The donkey whose hind leg you could talk 
 off," she answered. 
 
 Fletcher made a gesture of impatience. 
 "Now, look 'ere," he said, "for the third time 
 of asking. I've got twenty-five bob a week 
 
80 SMITH 
 
 and there's the window cleanin' and the 
 Christmas boxes and the tips." 
 
 "I tell you I'm thinking of it," said Smith. 
 "I can't do more than that." 
 
 "Wot's service?" Fletcher continued con- 
 temptuously, "work, work, work, and no 
 thanks for it!" 
 
 "But," she answered seriously, "it wouldn't 
 be all play, play, play, if I was married." 
 
 "Well, you'd be working for yourself," 
 Fletcher retorted. There was silence for a 
 moment, then he went on: "We could make 
 a nice little 'ome downstairs." 
 
 "I don't know that I want to live all my 
 life in a basement," Smith observed with a 
 return of feminine perversity in her manner. 
 
 "Well, where do you want to live?" de- 
 manded Fletcher. 
 
 "That," she said soberly, "is my business." 
 
 Fletcher looked at her in dismay. "Do 
 you mean you won't?" he asked bitterly. 
 
 "Bless the man!" exclaimed Smith petu- 
 lantly; "I don't mean anything. I don't 
 say yes and I don't say no. If you don't 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 81 
 
 like to leave it at that, you can take yourself 
 off, you and your steps and your dirty 
 water." 
 
 "All right! all right!" said Fletcher 
 conciliatingly ; "I won't hurry you." A 
 thought came to him and he went on: "You 
 wouldn't come to a music hall with me my 
 next evenin' off, would you?" 
 
 Smith smiled. "Perhaps I couldn't get 
 out," she said. 
 
 "Well, if you could?" said Fletcher. 
 
 "Well, I might if you pressed me," Smith 
 replied. "But mind, it wouldn't mean 
 'yea.' " 
 
 "It wouldn't mean no, either, would it?" 
 he rejoined. 
 
 "It would mean that I was making up 
 my mind," said Smith with decision. She 
 began to gather her mending together as 
 if to indicate that the interview was ended 
 and Fletcher started with his ladder and 
 pail for the pantry door; but half way he 
 stopped and turned back. 
 
 "You don't dislike me, do you?" he asked. 
 
82 SMITH 
 
 Smith looked up in wrathful surprise at 
 seeing him again. "You take those things 
 away and go and have your dinner," she 
 said. 
 
 Fletcher faltered. "There's no getting a 
 straight answer out o' you to anything" he 
 said complainingly. 
 
 "I don't dislike you more than I dislike 
 anybody else," said Smith bluntly. 
 
 Fletcher half smiled. "Well, that's bet- 
 ter than a poke in the eye with a blunt 
 stick," he said, "ain't it?" * 
 
 "I suppose it is," said Smith. 
 
 "Good mornin' to you," said Fletcher. 
 
 "Good morning," said Smith. 
 
 She had risen and was holding the pantry 
 door open for him while he edged through 
 with his unwieldy step-ladder and pail. 
 Freeman saw that she intended to go back 
 to her mending, so he took advantage of 
 the opportunity and slipped back through 
 the passage to the drawing-room, amused at 
 what he had witnessed and oddly enough as 
 much interested as amused. He had never 
 
THE PERSONAL "SMITH" 83 
 
 seen Smith, the woman, before, only Smith, 
 the parlour maid. And the woman im- 
 pressed him as much as the parlour maid. 
 Moreover, the scene further interested him 
 because Fletcher was engaged in the same 
 quest as himself, the search for a wife. Men- 
 tally, he wished him good luck, for he had 
 a fellow feeling for the energetic porter; 
 but he didn't wish him luck in getting Smith. 
 He had a curious feeling that Smith was 
 too good for a dozen Fletchers. 
 
t 
 
 FREEMAN ESSAYS CONVERSA 
 TION 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 FREEMAN ESSAYS CONVERSATION 
 
 As Freeman pondered over the comedy that 
 he had just witnessed, an impulse came to 
 him to go back and see if he could surprise 
 the central figure in it before the human 
 Smith could wholly withdraw into the offi- 
 cial. The approaching lunch hour gave him 
 a reasonable excuse for appearing in the 
 dining-room unsummoned. So he threw 
 away his cigarette and went as quietly as 
 possible down the passage. It was only as 
 he parted the curtains that she heard him. 
 She rose at once and began to gather her 
 work into the mending basket. 
 
 To his amusement, he felt curiously em- 
 barrassed and obviously much less at ease 
 than Smith. "Don't move," he said. 
 
 "I brought my work in here, sir," she be- 
 gan, "because the light is better. In these 
 87 
 
88 SMITH 
 
 flats you can't see to do anything at the 
 back." 
 
 He glanced at her and took in the situa- 
 tion with disappointment. The command- 
 ing, masterful, feminine Smith had vanished. 
 There was only the precise and finished par- 
 lour maid, who made him feel ill at ease in 
 spite of himself and without knowing why. 
 His impulse was to flee, but pride and curi- 
 osity held him. He determined to conquer 
 the awkwardness of the situation. After a 
 pause, he succeeded in framing a sentence. 
 "Those look suspiciously like some things 
 of mine" he said, and picked a pyjama 
 jacket off the pile. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Smith. 
 
 "Did my did Mrs. Dallas-Baker tell 
 you to mend them?" he asked. 
 
 "No, sir," she answered. He had a suspi- 
 cion that the human Smith wore the shadow 
 of a smile lurking behind the mask of the 
 parlour maid, but he had no way of proving 
 it. "They were in such a state, sir," she 
 continued, alluding to the pyjamas, "that 
 
A CONVERSATION 89 
 
 I thought I had better try and do something 
 with them." 
 
 The answer was so complete that again 
 Freeman was at a loss. The conversation 
 seemed to be as completely ended for him 
 as it had been for the wretched Fletcher. 
 But he made a fresh, desperate start. "Do 
 you often do work that you're not told to?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "When I see a thing that wants doing," 
 Smith replied, "I try to do it." 
 
 "That's not the way to get on in service," 
 he ventured. 
 
 She glanced at him from the corner of 
 her eye to reassure herself, then without 
 looking up answered, "I don't like to see 
 a gentleman go about in rags." 
 
 Freeman inspected the garment before 
 him and smiled. "I am afraid that some of 
 my things are in rather a beastly state," he 
 observed. 
 
 "Well, the truth is, sir," said Smith can- 
 didly, "it's just a waste of labour mending 
 them." She picked up a sock from the pile, 
 
90 SMITH 
 
 ran her hand into it and showed it to him, 
 a network of holes. "Look at that, sir," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 "I suppose I had better buy some more, 
 hadn't I?" said Freeman somewhat abashed. 
 "I hadn't realised how bad they were." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Smith, "I don't think it 
 would do you any harm." 
 
 "I'll make a memorandum of it," Free- 
 man said determinedly. "I'll get a half a 
 dozen pairs of socks this very day." 
 
 Smith looked up from her work on the 
 pyjamas and corrected him respectfully but 
 firmly: "If you'd excuse my saying it," she 
 said,* "I'd get a dozen while you're about it, 
 sir. It makes them last ever so much 
 longer." 
 
 Freeman laughed softly. "All right," he 
 assented, "I'll get a dozen pairs." 
 
 "And you want some pyjamas badly, sir," 
 she added. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "I'll get some 
 pyjamas. Anything else ?" 
 
 "Nothing that I think of now, sir," she 
 
A CONVERSATION 91 
 
 replied, "except ' she added, glancing at 
 the clock, "are you ready for your lunch, 
 sir? Mrs. Dallas-Baker is lunching out 
 with Mrs. Pemberton. She told me to tell 
 you, sir." 
 
 "She told me she was lunching with Mrs. 
 Parsons-Pratt," he remarked. "But that 
 is immaterial. I'm quite ready for my 
 lunch whenever the cook is." 
 
 "Very good, sir," she said. She gathered 
 her sewing materials with one of her swift, 
 efficient movements and disappeared into the 
 pantry, and Freeman seated himself at the 
 head of the table, where a single place had 
 been set. His effort to discover Smith, the 
 human and feminine being, had not been as 
 futile as he might have expected, thanks to 
 the accident of the socks and pyjamas, but 
 now that he was being served at lunch, he 
 foresaw that even such a mild bond of sym- 
 pathy as garments in need of mending would 
 be severed. And he was right. Smith re- 
 turned shortly with shirred eggs, toast in 
 a toast rack, then an entree and a hot plate, 
 
92 SMITH 
 
 all of which she placed accurately in their 
 proper places and in professional silence. 
 Twice he ventured a remark, harking back 
 to the socks, but it secured merely the 
 scantest "Yes, sir." Finally she asked him 
 if he would drink hock or claret and he said, 
 "Hock, please." While she was pouring it, 
 he began to consider the curious tyranny 
 which the relation of master and servant, as 
 upper class life understands it, imposes upon 
 both. There, for example, was Smith, 
 standing beside him silent, attendant upon 
 his wants. As long as he accepted her as a 
 ministering piece of machinery and could 
 ignore her presence, as one does the ticking 
 of the clock or the crackling in the fireplace, 
 they were both quite at their ease, he with 
 his thoughts and she with hers. However, 
 the moment that he began to regard her as 
 a personality and to wish to be considerate 
 of her as a woman, he would make them 
 both uncomfortable. He foresaw what 
 would probably happen, but nevertheless, in 
 a spirit of inquiry, he resolved to go ahead 
 
A CONVERSATION 93 
 
 and attempt to dismiss her from the room 
 on grounds of consideration. "Smith," he 
 said, "you needn't wait, if you don't want to. 
 Everything is here, and I can ring when 
 I'm ready." 
 
 "Thank you," said Smith, but she did not 
 move. 
 
 "Do you like to stand there and watch 
 me eat?" asked Freeman. 
 
 "I like to do things properly, sir," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Just as you like," he said shortly. 
 
 "If you'd rather I didn't wait, sir," she 
 began and then hesitated. 
 
 "I wish you to please yourself," said 
 Freeman. "Do I make myself clear?" 
 She made no answer, and after a pause he 
 added, "Will you give the cook my compli- 
 ments and tell her that these eggs are excel- 
 lent?" 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Smith. 
 
 There was another pause and Freeman 
 felt that his experiment was failing. The 
 ground that he had gained with the socks 
 
94 SMITH 
 
 and pyjamas was slipping away from him. 
 In desperation he went back to it. "I'm 
 very much obliged to you for looking after 
 my linen," he said. He knew that the effort 
 was poor, but it was the best that he could 
 think of. 
 
 Again Smith said, "Thank you, sir," and 
 nothing else. 
 
 "I've not had anyone to do that sort of 
 
 thing for me for a long time," he went on. 
 
 Smith received this information in silence 
 
 and offered him a second helping of the 
 
 entree. 
 
 "No, thank you," he said. He swallowed 
 a glass of hock and, looking up desperately, 
 remarked, "Jolly weather, isn't it?" 
 "Yes, sir," said Smith. 
 Freeman felt that it was something to have 
 won this concession from her, so he pressed 
 his advantage immediately. "It's rather 
 dull, eating alone, isn't it?" he observed. 
 
 "Some people mind it and some don't," 
 she replied, and offered him a cutlet. 
 
 "I suppose that is so," he said. "I mind 
 
'Smith received this information in silence." 
 
A CONVERSATION 95 
 
 it. You don't mind my making a few 
 attempts at conversation, do you?" 
 
 "Not if you wish it, sir," said Smith 
 politely. 
 
 "You see, you mustn't expect too much 
 of me," he went on apologetically. "I've 
 been away too long." 
 
 She had finished giving him his vege- 
 tables, refilled his wine-glass and had re- 
 treated to the end of the sideboard, where 
 she stood sedately, so to speak, "at atten- 
 tion." There was a long silence and Free- 
 man was conscious of utter defeat, when 
 suddenly Smith of her own accord spoke. 
 "Excuse me, sir," she said, and then broke 
 off hesitatingly. Freeman stopped eating 
 and looked up. "Excuse me, sir," she re- 
 peated, "is Rhodesia far?" 
 
 "It is rather," he said carelessly. His 
 attitude was that of the man who is luring 
 a shy child to him by an affectation of in- 
 difference. 
 
 "Farther than Australia?" Smith asked 
 again. 
 
96 SMITH 
 
 "I don't know," said Freeman. "Why?" 
 
 "I was thinking," said Smith. 
 
 Freeman had an inspiration. "Your 
 father is a farmer, isn't he?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Smith. 
 
 "And so am I, you know," said Freeman. 
 
 "I expect you farm a lot of land," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "Two thousand acres," he answered. 
 
 He watched the effect that acreage made 
 upon her. For the first time in his presence 
 her professional self-consciousness slipped 
 away and she spoke as the farmer's daugh- 
 ter. "That makes the difference," she said. 
 "They say you can't make farming pay 
 unless you do it on a big scale." 
 
 "Perhaps that is so," he answered. "Why 
 did you go into service," he went on, "in- 
 stead of helping your father?" 
 
 "Oh, we've all gone out, sir," she an- 
 swered. "There are too many mouths to 
 feed at home and father has enough to do 
 to make both ends meet." 
 
A CONVERSATION 97 
 
 "Do you like being a parlour maid?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "One has to do what one can, sir," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Why don't you go to Rhodesia?" he sug- 
 gested after a pause. "Able-bodied young 
 women are worth their weight in gold there." 
 
 "I was thinking of it," said Smith quietly. 
 
 Freeman looked up in surprise. "Think- 
 ing of going to Rhodesia?" he asked. 
 
 "No, sir," she answered naively and obvi- 
 ously at a loss to account for his surprise. 
 "I don't know anything about Rhodesia. 
 I've got a sister married in Sydney and she 
 says I can stay with her till I get something 
 to do. She was a cook and one of those 
 agencies got hold of her and took her out." 
 She suddenly broke off, realising that he 
 had finished his cutlet, and with a little mo- 
 tion of self-reproach offered him the dish 
 again. 
 
 "No, thank you," he said. "What were 
 you saying about your sister?" 
 
98 SMITH 
 
 She was still self-reproachful for her 
 breach of professional duty. "I forget, 
 sir," she said apologetically, "when I begin 
 talking." 
 
 "Oh, that doesn't matter," said Freeman; 
 "fire away!" 
 
 "I don't know what Mr. Thompson would 
 say," she replied doubtfully, "if he caught 
 me talking to a gentleman while I was wait- 
 ing at table." 
 
 "Who's Mr. Thompson?" demanded 
 Freeman. 
 
 "He was the butler in my first place, sir," 
 she replied, "and he trained me." 
 
 "Well," said Freeman smiling, "I think 
 there is every reason to believe that Mr. 
 Thompson isn't in the least likely to find 
 out. If that's a sweet you're bringing me," 
 he added, "I won't have it at any price. 
 Give me a little bit of cheese." 
 
 "Very good, sir," Smith assented and 
 brought him the cheese. 
 
 "Now," said he, "go on about your sister." 
 
 "I don't think the mistress would like to 
 
A CONVERSATION 99 
 
 have me talk to you," she replied in a tone 
 of doubt. 
 
 "Then I shan't eat any cheese," said 
 Freeman. 
 
 For the first time she smiled a shy, faint 
 smile and dropped her eyes. "Well," she 
 said, "my sister hadn't been in Sydney three 
 months before a gentleman asked her to 
 marry him. He was a cab proprietor, and 
 now she can ride in forty-three cabs, if she 
 likes." She paused to fill his glass again. 
 "I wrote and told her," she went on, "that 
 she's carriage folk now and no mistake." 
 
 Freeman laughed. "And has she got a 
 cab proprietor waiting for you?" he asked. 
 
 "They're not all cab proprietors in Syd- 
 ney," she answered with a tinge of regret in 
 her tone. 
 
 "No," said Freeman, "I suppose not. I 
 expect that there would be some congestion 
 of the traffic if they were." 
 
 "And they couldn't all make a living, 
 could they, sir?" suggested Smith quite in- 
 nocently. 
 
100 SMITH 
 
 Freeman nodded. "They would be re- 
 duced to driving one another about," he said. 
 
 After a pause, in which Smith seemed to 
 be mentally contemplating the male popu- 
 lation of Sydney driving one another about 
 in cabs, she looked at Freeman again. "My 
 sister says I'd marry in six months, if I 
 liked," she said simply. 
 
 "Have you taken a ticket yet?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm in no hurry, sir," she answered. 
 
 "But you ought to marry," said Freeman. 
 "That's what young women are made for." 
 
 Smith looked at him with the ghost of a 
 smile again. "I don't need to go to the 
 other side of the world to do that," she said. 
 
 "Hum," said Freeman. "That sounds as 
 if you had something in view not very far 
 from London." 
 
 "Well, sir, I may have, and I may not," 
 she answered respectfully but with unmis- 
 takable firmness. 
 
 Freeman looked at her questioningly. "I 
 suppose you wouldn't tell me who it is?" he 
 said. 
 
A CONVERSATION 101 
 
 She made no reply, suddenly noting that 
 he had stopped eating. "You've finished 
 your cheese, sir?" she asked. 
 
 "I'll have an apple," he said. "You 
 needn't bother about changing my plate." 
 She offered him the apples and he took one. 
 "Well?" he asked, "are you going to tell 
 me?" 
 
 "Here I am talking again, sir," said 
 Smith, self reproachfully. 
 
 "It helps my digestion," he answered. 
 "Please continue." 
 
 "Well, sir," she began, "there is a young 
 fellow who has asked me to have him, and of 
 course if I do, I shan't go to Sydney." 
 
 "Do you like him?" asked Freeman. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I like him," said Smith, "but I 
 don't know if I like him well enough to 
 marry him. He always makes me laugh at 
 the things he says." 
 
 "That's not a bad thing in a husband," 
 Freeman observed. 
 
 Smith considered the idea for a moment. 
 "But I don't know if I should laugh at 
 
102 SMITH 
 
 them if I heard them all day long," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Ah," said Freeman gravely, "that's al- 
 ways the danger of marrying a humourist." 
 
 Smith nodded. "And the worst is," she 
 went on, "that he gets so cross when I say 
 'chestnuts.' " 
 
 "That's exactly it," said Freeman; "hu- 
 mourists are very touchy. They look upon 
 it as a personal affront if you've heard their 
 jokes before." He took his cigarette case 
 from his pocket, opened it, and looked about 
 for matches. In a moment she had put 
 them beside him. 
 
 "If you're ready, I'll get your coffee, sir," 
 she said, and disappeared into the pantry. 
 
 Freeman filled his lungs with the pleasant 
 smoke and smiled. "Well," he thought to 
 himself, "she can be almost human even 
 with me." But what was uppermost in his 
 mind was not the thought that he had 
 achieved a triumph in making the profes- 
 sional and impersonal Smith a human being, 
 but that she was a human being of such un- 
 
A CONVERSATION 103 
 
 usual dignity and sweetness and character. 
 His meditations were presently broken in 
 upon, however, as he heard someone open- 
 ing the front door and entering the hallway. 
 He pushed back his chair, and called, "Is 
 that you, Rose?" Dallas-Baker's voice an- 
 swered him. 
 
THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 
 
 "HELLO," said Freeman as Dallas-Baker 
 came into the dining-room, "are you back?" 
 
 "Yes," said his brother-in-law. "The 
 case I was in came to a sudden end, and I 
 thought I'd come home." 
 
 "You'll have some coffee?" suggested 
 Freeman, for Smith had returned with the 
 coffee things, again the silent, perfect par- 
 lour maid." 
 
 "No," said Dallas-Baker; "IVe already 
 had mine. I lunched in Hall. I didn't ex- 
 pect to find anyone in." 
 
 "You knew Rose was lunching out?" ob- 
 served Freeman. 
 
 Dallas-Baker nodded and lit a cigarette. 
 
 "Who is this Mrs. Pemberton that she is 
 lunching with? I don't think I've met 
 her?" Freeman asked after a pause. 
 
 Dallas-Baker raised his eyebrows. "Mrs. 
 107 
 
108 SMITH 
 
 Pemberton?" he said. "Did she say she was 
 lunching with Mrs. Pemberton?" 
 
 "Well, there may be some mistake," said 
 Freeman. "She told me this morning that 
 she was lunching with somebody named 
 Parsons-Pratt, I think, but she left word 
 with Smith that it was Mrs. Pemberton." 
 
 Dallas-Baker laughed softly. "Bless 
 me," he said, "but how Rose does love her 
 little mysteries. Why, I stopped into the 
 Ritz not twenty minutes ago, and saw her 
 lunching with Algy." 
 
 "With Algy?" said Freeman, and his face 
 clouded. 
 
 "Certainly," said his brother-in-law. 
 "Why not? They didn't happen to see me, 
 but I saw them very distinctly at a table by 
 the window." 
 
 Freeman was silent for a moment, wait- 
 ing for Smith to leave the room with the 
 dishes she was taking from the serving table. 
 When she had gone he turned to his brother- 
 in-law. "Herbert," he said, "how do you 
 explain this? She gives the names of two 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 109 
 
 different women whom she says she is en- 
 gaged to lunch with and then goes to a 
 restaurant with Peppercorn." 
 
 "I don't explain it," said Dallas-Baker 
 calmly. "I accept it. It is possible, of 
 course," he added, "that she had intended 
 lunching with the women she named, or it 
 is possible that she did not care to tell you 
 she was lunching with Algy and got mixed 
 in her excuses." 
 
 "But you appear to be strangely indiffer- 
 ent," Freeman answered. 
 
 "I'm the model husband," said Dallas- 
 Baker; "I make a point of never interfer- 
 ing." 
 
 Freeman glanced over his shoulder to 
 make sure they were alone and then drew 
 his chair nearer to his brother-in-law. 
 "Herbert," he began, "I have been wanting 
 to have a talk with you for several days, but 
 have hesitated from a natural unwillingness 
 to be told to mind my own business. This 
 circumstance, however, forces me to speak 
 out." 
 
110 SMITH 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Dallas-Baker, 
 "what is it?" 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, "do you think it's 
 let's call it wise to let Rose go about so 
 much with this Peppercorn?" 
 
 Dallas-Baker looked at him in surprise. 
 "Why shouldn't she?" he demanded. 
 
 Freeman hesitated. Dallas-Baker's sur- 
 prise embarrassed him. "Well," he began, 
 "I've been here a fortnight. Not a day has 
 passed without that young man coming here 
 to at least one meal. I never come into the 
 flat without finding him sprawling about, 
 and when he's not here it's because he's out 
 with Rose." 
 
 "Rose likes him," said Dallas-Baker sim- 
 
 piy- 
 
 "That is a fact that could hardly escape 
 anyone's observation," said Freeman coldly. 
 
 "But I like him, too," said Dallas-Baker. 
 "He's just as much my friend as he is 
 Rose's." 
 
 "Ah, I see," said Freeman; "that increases 
 my difficulty in discussing the matter." 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 11U 
 
 "And she does him good," Dallas-Baker 
 went on. "It's the very best thing for a 
 young man to go about with a woman older 
 than himself." 
 
 "If I were in your place," said Freeman 
 gravely, "I should think the toe of my boot 
 would be a damned sight better for him than 
 the uninterrupted society of my wife." 
 
 Dallas-Baker looked at Freeman in sur- 
 prise. "But you don't suggest," he said, 
 "that I should " He stopped in annoyed 
 amazement. 
 
 "Kick him out?" said Freeman, finishing 
 the suggestion for him. "I do, indeed." 
 
 "But I've no reason to do anything of the 
 kind," said Dallas-Baker with some warmth. 
 "He's always been charming to me. Be- 
 sides, Rose wouldn't hear of it." 
 
 "Rose can be brought to see that she's 
 making a fool of herself," said Freeman. 
 
 "But I like him," said Dallas-Baker. 
 "I'm very much attached to him." 
 
 "Well, I suppose there is no accounting 
 for taste," said Freeman. 
 
112 SMITH 
 
 Dallas-Baker laid his half burned ciga- 
 rette on the ash tray. "Tom," he began, 
 "if you will forgive my saying so, I think 
 this is a matter in which you are not capable 
 of judging. You've been living in a primi- 
 tive state where men are tyrants and women 
 chattels. Your ideas are all very well in 
 Rhodesia, but this is London." 
 
 Freeman rose and pushed back his chair. 
 "My dear fellow," he said, "in London, 
 Bulawayo or Kamchatka there is only one 
 result of throwing a young man and a 
 young woman in one another's society all 
 day long." 
 
 Dallas-Baker also rose and pushed his 
 chair back with a movement of impatience. 
 "Nonsense," he said sharply. "We live in 
 a highly civilised community. We've got 
 ten thousand interests to occupy us. Algy 
 has never thought of Rose in that way." 
 
 "Then all I can say," said Freeman, "the 
 more fool he." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Dallas-Baker as- 
 toundedly. 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 113 
 
 "I mean what I say," replied Freeman 
 steadily. "Rose is a pretty woman. She 
 is well dressed and very jolly. If the 
 young man can be with her morning, noon 
 and night with all the advantages of a com- 
 placent husband who sits by and twiddles 
 his thumbs, and he doesn't make love to her, 
 he must be a contemptible ass." 
 
 "But you are contradicting yourself," 
 said Dallas-Baker warmly. "You're gross- 
 ly contradicting yourself." 
 
 "No, I'm not," said Freeman. "With 
 decent, normal people friendship between 
 the sexes is impossible. It either leads on 
 to love or it follows it." 
 
 "Either an hors d'ceuvre or a savoury, I 
 suppose," suggested Dallas-Baker ironic- 
 ally. 
 
 "If you like," said Freeman. "It's the 
 fact, state it as you please." 
 
 "Tom," said Dallas-Baker in a tone of 
 vexation which he had not shown before, 
 "Rose knows quite well how to take care of 
 herself. After all, I know her better than 
 
114 SMITH 
 
 you do, I suppose. She is my wife as well 
 as your sister." 
 
 Freeman nodded. "If she weren't," he 
 said drily, "you can bet your boots I 
 shouldn't be discussing her with you." 
 
 "But you don't understand," said Dallas- 
 Baker more conciliatingly. "She's not at 
 all the sort of woman to do anything silly. 
 She takes no interest in love and that kind 
 of nonsense." 
 
 "Surely," said Freeman savagely, "she 
 has her five senses like other women." 
 
 "Of course she has her five senses," Dal- 
 las-Baker answered, "but they are spiritual- 
 ised, they're ' he tried for the word he 
 wanted and broke off in exasperation 
 "You're so coarse!" he cried. 
 
 "That may be," said Freeman calmly. 
 "It is far better that they should be decent, 
 normal people and break every command- 
 ment in the decalogue than the monsters 
 you represent them. They must be beneath 
 apes." 
 
 "Come! come!" cried Dallas-Baker hotly. 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 115 
 
 "This is going too far! This is beyond a 
 joke. Beneath apes!" he repeated angrily. 
 "I don't know what you mean. It's mon- 
 strous. Upon my soul, you've got no right 
 to bring Rose into such a discussion!" 
 
 "It seems to me," said Freeman, "that 
 when a woman says she has engagements to 
 lunch with two different women and then 
 lunches alone with a man that she makes 
 herself a subject for discussion. You may 
 be sure that if her husband and brother don't 
 talk about her other people will." 
 
 "But don't you understand," said Dallas- 
 Baker impatiently, "that those foolish little 
 make believes are part of the game? They 
 do no harm. She knows you don't like 
 Algy, and very likely she said what she did 
 merely to save you the annoyance of know- 
 ing that she was lunching with him." 
 
 "That is a very interesting explanation," 
 said Freeman, "but if I were her husband, 
 it would not satisfy me, and I am not satis- 
 fied with it as her brother." He stopped as 
 he heard the front door. The next mo- 
 
116 SMITH 
 
 ment Rose and Algy came into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Rose. 
 "Your voices can be heard all over the build- 
 ing! What are you talking about in here 
 of all places? It's nearly three o'clock." 
 
 "Nothing at all," said Dallas-Baker. 
 "Nothing's the matter." He turned to 
 Freeman and added sulkily, "A joke is a 
 joke, but there are limits." Having deliv- 
 ered this parting shot, he swung round on 
 his heel and went out. 
 
 Rose cast a look of half amused wonder 
 about her and followed him. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn glanced from one to the 
 other of his disappearing hosts and then to 
 Freeman. "I can't help thinking," he ob- 
 served calmly, "that you've been trying to 
 make yourself amiable." 
 
 "Right," said Freeman, "and apparently 
 my efforts haven't met with the success they 
 no doubt deserved." 
 
 "I expect your touch is a little elephan- 
 tine," observed Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 117 
 
 Freeman smiled good-humouredly. "You 
 can't expect me to have such a facility for 
 small talk as you who make a business of 
 it." 
 
 "Art, not business, my dear fellow," cor- 
 rected Mr. Peppercorn. He dropped lan- 
 guidly into the chair by the fireplace and 
 sighed. 
 
 "I hope you find it a profitable one," said 
 Freeman. 
 
 "It is my only means of livelihood," re- 
 plied the youth, "and, as you see, I go to a 
 tolerable tailor." He got up impudently, 
 turned around to show the fit of his coat, 
 and dropped into the chair again. "Also," 
 he continued, "I am able to lunch at the 
 Ritz when the fancy seizes me." 
 
 "But then," said Freeman blandly, "un- 
 less I'm mistaken, you allow your compan- 
 ion to pay the bill." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn made neither denial nor 
 affirmation. He busied himself in selecting 
 a cigarette from his case. 
 
 "Haven't you been lunching at the Ritz 
 
118 SMITH 
 
 to-day with Rose?" Freeman went on with 
 deliberation. 
 
 "I have," said Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "And didn't she pay the bill?" asked Free- 
 man. 
 
 "She did," he replied. 
 
 Freeman looked at him contemptuously. 
 "I'm afraid you'll think me unreasonably 
 squeamish," he said, "but I shouldn't like to 
 have a meal stood me by a woman. It 
 would make me feel uncomfortably like one 
 of the alien gentlemen for whom the police 
 provide a ticket for the Continent and an 
 escort to Charing Cross." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn laughed, but not very 
 mirthfully. "You're too absurd," he said. 
 "Why on earth shouldn't Rose ask me to 
 lunch with her at a restaurant as much as 
 in her own house?" 
 
 "Can you tell me why she should ask you 
 to lunch with her at all?" said Freeman. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mr. Peppercorn, who 
 had quite recovered his usual composure. 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 119 
 
 "She finds me useful, entertaining and in- 
 structive." 
 
 "Really?" exclaimed Freeman, feeling 
 more amazement than he cared to show. "I 
 suppose you have been helping her try on 
 a frock this morning." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Peppercorn. "Not 
 frocks this morning. We bought half a 
 dozen pairs of stockings and then went on 
 to the National Gallery. Ever been there?" 
 
 "How old are you?" Freeman demanded 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Twenty-eight," said Mr. Peppercorn 
 promptly, "but I think I look less." 
 
 "You appear healthy enough and fairly 
 strong," Freeman continued musingly. 
 "Haven't you ever done any work?" 
 
 "I once was in a motor car business," Mr. 
 Peppercorn replied, "but it went to smash." 
 
 "And do you consider doing any thing- 
 else?" Freeman inquired with exaggerated 
 civility. 
 
 "I'm vaguely looking out for another 
 
120 SMITH 
 
 motor car business," Mr. Peppercorn re- 
 plied, "but have nothing immediately in 
 
 view." 
 
 "That seems to be the refuge of every 
 incompetent wastrel in the Kingdom," Free- 
 man observed with some bitterness. 
 
 "In Europe, my dear fellow," corrected 
 Mr. Peppercorn blandly. 
 
 Freeman looked at him and shook his 
 head. "I should have more patience with 
 you, Algy," he said, "if you were a fool pure 
 and simple, but you're not that." 
 
 "Ah, now you flatter me," Mr. Pepper- 
 corn answered. "I must be on my guard." 
 
 "Yes," Freeman went on, "you're shrewd 
 enough in your way. I daresay you 
 could make quite a decent living if you 
 tried." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 flicking the ashes of his cigarette toward the 
 fireplace, "we're taught to do our duty in 
 that state of life in which a merciful provi- 
 dence has placed us. The civilisation of the 
 present day has given rise to a variety of 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 121 
 
 professions; and I have adopted one which 
 is not nearly so well paid as it should be, 
 considering how essential it is to modern 
 society." 
 
 "And that is?" inquired Freeman atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "It is too new to have a definite name," 
 replied Mr. Peppercorn, "but those who fol- 
 low it are known either as poodle dogs or 
 tame cats." 
 
 "At least you have no false shame," said 
 Freeman. 
 
 "Why should I?" replied Mr. Pepper- 
 corn. "I am a benefactor of my species. 
 What do you suppose Rose and Herbert 
 would do without me? I shop with Rose 
 and take her to the play when Herbert has 
 briefs to read. On Sundays I play golf 
 with Herbert, and I play just well enough 
 for him to beat me on the last green. If 
 Rose is unwell, I play piquet with him in 
 the evening. In return they make life 
 pleasant for me. They take me away with 
 them in the vacations, and when a trades- 
 
122 SMITH 
 
 man duns me, neither Herbert nor Rose 
 minds lending me a tenner." 
 
 "But are you under the impression that 
 this sort of thing will go on forever?" said 
 Freeman. 
 
 "Not at all," replied Mr. Peppercorn. 
 "I find by experience that these jobs last 
 about two years. I was two years with the 
 Whitstables of course the peerage adds to 
 one's value afterwards, but it's not much 
 catch. Lady Whitstable He paused, 
 took the cigarette butt from the holder, blew 
 through the latter and replaced it in its case. 
 "Lady Whitstable," he went on, "wanted 
 the earth, but she wanted it at a great reduc- 
 tion. After I left her I was two years with 
 the Isaac Cohens. Give me the Cohens 
 every time. Charming people!" 
 
 "Generous, I suppose," said Freeman. 
 
 "Quite," said Mr. Peppercorn, "and really 
 not at all exacting." 
 
 "Well, and after two years?" said Free- 
 man. 
 
 "They get sick of me," Mr. Peppercorn 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 123 
 
 replied. "I can't keep them on good terms 
 with one another any more. And then they 
 turn and rend me/' He smiled broadly and 
 went on. "I know all the signs a month or 
 two beforehand, and I start looking out for 
 somebody else." 
 
 "And you are content to go on in that 
 way for the rest of your life?" demanded 
 Freeman. 
 
 "I'm not thinking of it," replied Mr. Pep- 
 percorn frankly. "A tame cat like an actor 
 should make his final bow before his public 
 gets tired of him. One of these days, 
 to-morrow or in ten years, I shall fall in 
 love with a nice girl with about two thou- 
 sand a year." 
 
 "But why should she marry you?" Free- 
 man asked sceptically. 
 
 "Because I'm amusing," he replied, "or 
 because I know nice people, or because I 
 ask her. That is the commonest reason for 
 which an heiress marries a pauper; and 
 we shall live very comfortably on her 
 money." 
 
124 SMITH 
 
 He stopped, and Freeman surveyed him 
 with a curious, wondering contempt. "A 
 parasite to the end," he said slowly, as if 
 thinking aloud. "I'd rather sweep a cross- 
 ing!" 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn regarded him with an 
 amiable pity. "That's where we differ," he 
 said. "I wouldn't." 
 
 "I'm afraid you will think me an awful 
 donkey," Freeman observed, after a pause, 
 "but I don't believe that you or anyone can 
 get any permanent satisfaction out of life 
 without working." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "that is too old-fashioned even for you. Be- 
 lieve me, regular employment is merely the 
 hashish of the unintellectual." 
 
 Just then Smith came into the dining- 
 room with a look of inquiry at the coffee 
 cups that were still at the end of the table. 
 "Clear them away," said Freeman. "We're 
 going." He rose and led the way down the 
 passage to the drawing-room, pondering on 
 
BROTHERS-IN-LAW DIFFER 125 
 
 the contrast which two such characters as 
 the efficient and wholesome-minded Smith 
 and the effete and idle Peppercorn seemed to 
 offer. 
 
EMILY DISCLOSES HER INTEN- 
 TIONS 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EMILY DISCLOSES HEE INTENTIONS 
 
 As Freeman and Algy came into the draw- 
 ing-room they saw Dallas-Baker leaving it, 
 and Rose standing by the fireplace, her face 
 flushed and distorted with anger. The mo- 
 ment she saw her brother, she turned on him. 
 "What have you been saying to Herbert?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 Freeman made no reply, but glanced at 
 Peppercorn. 
 
 "How dare you!" she went on. "It's in- 
 famous ! How dare you interfere with me 1" 
 
 Freeman turned to Algy. "Would you 
 like to make yourself scarce, young man?" 
 he said quietly. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn smiled, settled himself 
 in a comfortable chair, and began fum- 
 bling in his coat pockets for his cigarette 
 case. "Not particularly," he replied. "I 
 don't know of any spectacle more entertain- 
 129 
 
130 SMITH 
 
 ing than a quarrel between nearest and 
 dearest." 
 
 Freeman turned to his sister. "Will you 
 tell him to go?" he asked. 
 
 "No," said Rose shortly. 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, addressing Mr. 
 Peppercorn again, "it may surprise you, 
 but I'm quite old-fashioned. I wash my 
 dirty linen in private. You must clear 
 out." 
 
 Without pausing in his search for a 
 match, Mr. Peppercorn replied amiably, 
 "I'm sorry, but I don't intend to." 
 
 Freeman bit his lip. "If you don't," he 
 said in a very low voice that shook with 
 anger, "I swear I'll knock you down and put 
 you out." 
 
 "Then," said Mr. Peppercorn, looking 
 him steadily in the eye, "I'm afraid you 
 must knock me down. You are obviously 
 much stronger than I, but this is an occasion 
 when it is better to take a licking than 
 knuckle under." 
 
 Freeman took a step backward and sur- 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 131 
 
 veyed him in undisguised amazement. 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" he said. 
 
 Rose left the fireplace by which she had 
 been standing and touched Peppercorn on 
 the shoulder. "Please go, Algy," she said. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn rose immediately and 
 bowed low to her. "Certainly," he said in 
 his most gallant manner. In the doorway 
 he stopped and, looking back at Freeman, 
 smiled triumphantly. "I never thought for 
 a moment that you would hit me," he said. 
 "A scuffle in a room with a woman in it 
 one talks about that sort of thing, but it 
 doesn't come off." With that he bowed 
 himself out and closed the door. 
 
 When he was gone, Rose turned to her 
 brother. "Now," she said defiantly, "what 
 have you to say to me?" 
 
 Freeman hesitated a moment. Then he 
 held out his arms. "Look here, Rose," he 
 said tenderly. 
 
 She backed away from him with a shud- 
 der of abhorrence. "For goodness' sake, 
 don't touch me!" she exclaimed. 
 
132 SMITH 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, "sit down and let 
 us talk quietly." 
 
 "Oh, I know what you are going to do!" 
 she cried impatiently. "You are going to 
 sentimentalise. You can keep all that to 
 yourself." 
 
 He looked at her steadily and put his 
 hands on her shoulders. "We shall under- 
 stand one another better," he said, "if we 
 make use of a little sympathy; don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 With a twist of her body she threw off his 
 hands and backed away from him again. 
 "What has sympathy got to do with it?" she 
 demanded. "We ask you to come and stay 
 here. We tell you to treat the place like a 
 hotel." 
 
 "If I had wanted a hotel," he put in, "I 
 should have stayed at one." 
 
 "We make absolutely no claim upon 
 you," she went on, ignoring his remark, "and 
 now you can find nothing better to do than 
 to fill my husband with absurd suspicions 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 133 
 
 about Algy and me!" She broke off and, 
 going to the window, threw it open, as if 
 suffering for lack of air, and sat on the case- 
 ment sill, breathing excitedly. 
 
 "Steady, Rose! steady!" Freeman said 
 soothingly. "Don't forget that I spoke to 
 you about it first and you refused to listen 
 to me. I told you that I should go to 
 Herbert." 
 
 "One says those things, but doesn't do 
 them!" she cried impatiently and motioned 
 away his attempt to take her hand. 
 
 "I'm awfully fond of you, Rose," Free- 
 man began again. "What do you expect 
 me to do when I see you behaving in a way 
 that, that ' he stopped, embarrassed and 
 at a loss to express what was in his mind. 
 
 "Well, what?" she demanded, "out with 
 it." 
 
 "I'd rather not," he answered. "You are 
 my sister." 
 
 She faced him for a moment in silence, 
 and then began in a cold, measured voice: 
 
134 SMITH 
 
 "What right have you to preach to me? 
 You set yourself up on a ridiculous ped- 
 estal" 
 
 "Far from it," he interrupted, but she 
 paid no heed to him. 
 
 "Don't you think that I know that father 
 had to pay to get you out of a scrape with 
 a woman at Cambridge?" she continued. 
 "Don't you think I know what people said 
 about you and Queenie Bishop?" 
 
 "If I came rather a cropper," he answered 
 steadily, "that's no reason why you should 
 come one, too." 
 
 "But what is it that you've got to reproach 
 me with?" she demanded. 
 
 "Well," he said, "I think your behaviour 
 with Algy Peppercorn is awfully indiscreet." 
 
 "Bah!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "But you must know that there can be 
 only one explanation of it," he rejoined. 
 
 "What nonsense!" she said quietly. 
 "You're so theatrical! Do you mean to say 
 you think that there's anything really wrong 
 between Algy and me?" 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 135 
 
 Freeman looked at her perplexedly. 
 "My dear," he said, "how can you expect 
 me to answer that question?" 
 
 "No," she insisted, "I ask it quite seri- 
 ously; answer it." 
 
 "I hope with all my heart there isn't," he 
 replied. 
 
 "That won't do," she said firmly. "An- 
 swer me yes or no." 
 
 "Well," he said, "if you insist, my answer 
 is yes!' 
 
 Rose burst into a scream of harsh laugh- 
 ter and sank back into the armchair near 
 the fireplace. "Poor Algy!" she exclaimed. 
 "I can't imagine anything that would bore 
 him more than to make love to me." 
 
 He regarded her searchingly for a mo- 
 ment, wondering whether she was acting and 
 then a sense of relief stole over him. At 
 least he believed her. "Well," he said good- 
 humour edly, "at all events I've made you 
 laugh." 
 
 "Yes," she said. "You're really too ridic- 
 ulous." 
 
136 SMITH 
 
 "Perhaps I am," he said thoughtfully, 
 "but let us look calmly at the matter. If 
 Algy doesn't make love to you, how much 
 do you suppose he cares for you? He's only 
 on the make, like the rest of your friends. 
 If he came across a woman to-morrow, out 
 of whom he could do a little better than out 
 of you, he'd fling you aside like an old 
 glove." 
 
 Her hesitation showed him that she shared 
 in this view of Mr. Peppercorn. "Oh, 
 well!" she answered, "I shall get tired of him 
 long before he gets tired of me." 
 
 They were both silent for a time. Rose 
 had leaned forward and was looking into 
 the fire. He drew a chair next hers and sat 
 down in it. "Will you let me say some- 
 thing to you," he began, "something that I 
 have had on my heart almost ever since I 
 came here?" 
 
 She made no answer and he put his hand 
 out gently and took hers. "You know it's 
 a rotten life you're leading, and these people 
 you've got around you what a poor lot they 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 137 
 
 are! There's Cynthia " he paused, trying 
 to recall her name, and Rose prompted 
 him. 
 
 "Rosenberg," she said. 
 
 "That's it," he went on. "Well, she's 
 married a fat old German stockbroker for 
 his money, and when her baby's ill she has 
 the heart to leave it all day. She won't 
 nurse it, because it would interfere with her 
 amusements. Then there's Emily Chap- 
 man. She ought to have been married 
 years ago." 
 
 "It's not for want of trying that she 
 hasn't," Rose observed with a smile. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry for her," said Free- 
 man. "Her life consists merely of going 
 from one bridge party to another. And do 
 you think she gets any happiness out of 
 it? You have only got to look into her 
 eyes to see how restless and dissatisfied 
 she is." 
 
 "She didn't treat you so well," put in 
 Rose, "that you need waste any sympathy 
 on her/' 
 
138 SMITH 
 
 "I'm sure at heart she's a very decent 
 girl," said Freeman. "If she could find a 
 nice man " 
 
 "Why don't you marry her yourself?" 
 said Rose. "You are looking for a wife." 
 
 "What would she do on an African 
 farm?" he answered hopelessly. 
 
 "I can't exactly see her as a farmer's 
 wife," Rose assented. 
 
 "Still," said Freeman, "I'm not sure that 
 she doesn't worry along as well as the rest 
 of you. You are restless and dissatisfied, 
 too, Rose, dear." He lowered his voice a 
 little and went on very gently and seriously : 
 "Don't you think you'd be far happier if 
 you had children? It only means giving up 
 a few selfish pleasures." 
 
 "I dare say I'll horrify you," said Rose 
 bluntly, "but I prefer the selfish pleasures. 
 The truth is, I don't want a child. It would 
 bore me to death. I haven't the maternal 
 instinct and there's an end of it." 
 
 He rose from his chair and stood with 
 his back to the fire, looking down at her. 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 139 
 
 "Well," he said, "there can be nothing more 
 to say then, can there?" 
 
 "Nothing," she answered. "I'm glad 
 you appreciate it at last. We shall both be 
 happier." 
 
 He looked at his watch and replaced it 
 thoughtfully. "May I have the dining- 
 room for a little while?" he asked. "I have 
 some work to do and I should like to spread 
 my papers on the large table." 
 
 "Of course," she answered. "Ask Smith 
 to clear it." 
 
 He bent over her, kissed her on the fore- 
 head and went out. 
 
 When he was gone, she rose idly, went to 
 the window, closed it again and took a ciga- 
 rette from the silver box on the table. She 
 was lighting it, when the door opened and 
 Smith announced Miss Chapman. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Emily, "how are 
 you this delightful rainy afternoon?" 
 
 Rose finished lighting her cigarette, filled 
 her lungs with the smoke and then replied, 
 "I'm getting rather tired of Tom. I don't 
 
140 SMITH 
 
 think I can stand his disapproval of every- 
 thing I do much longer." 
 
 "Have you been having a row?" asked 
 Emily. 
 
 "He's been lecturing me about Algy," 
 Rose answered. "It's rather funny, isn't it, 
 from Tom?" 
 
 Emily walked restlessly to the window 
 and gazed out. "He's changed a good deal 
 in the last eight years," she said. 
 
 "He's become quite impossible," said 
 Rose. "I wish to goodness he'd find a wife 
 and take himself off." 
 
 She smoked in silence, while the little 
 clock on the mantelshelf ticked busily and 
 Emily Chapman gazed out the window into 
 the rain, seeing nothing. At last Emily 
 turned and came toward her. "Rose," she 
 said, "would you hate me, if I married him?" 
 
 "Hate you, my dear?" cried Rose lightly. 
 "You'd do me the greatest possible service." 
 
 "I suppose," said Emily, after a pause, 
 "that you've told him that I've been twice 
 engaged since he went away?" 
 
EMILY'S INTENTIONS 141 
 
 Rose smiled. "No, of course not," she 
 answered. "Why should I?" 
 
 "It would only have been natural," Emily 
 replied. "But it was good of you not to. 
 I know that you can queer the whole thing, 
 if you like," she went on. "That's why I 
 thought it would be better to speak to you 
 first. I dare say you saw that I was think- 
 ing of it." 
 
 "I doubted if you had come here every 
 day for a week merely to see me," said Rose. 
 
 Emily leaned down, put her hands on 
 Rose's shoulders, and looked into her face. 
 There was an anxious, appealing look in 
 her eyes. "You wouldn't do anything 
 shabby to me, Rose?" she said. 
 
 Rose smiled. "Of course not," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Because," Emily went on, "if you've got 
 anything against it, I won't even try." 
 
 "I haven't, honour bright," Rose replied. 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 Emily shrugged her shoulders. "He's 
 such a sentimentalist!" she said. "When a 
 
142 SMITH 
 
 man is feeling so awfully sorry for you and 
 wants you to get married " she stopped 
 and smiled. 
 
 Rose burst into a peal of laughter. 
 "Upon my word, you are clever!" she ex- 
 claimed. "Why don't you beard him at his 
 work in the dining-room this very after- 
 noon?" 
 
 "I am thinking of it," said Emily calmly. 
 "I have some business questions that I want 
 him to answer, if you don't mind?" she 
 added. 
 
 "You shan't be disturbed," said Rose 
 amiably. She got up from her chair and 
 smoothed back a lock of hair. 
 
 The two women faced one another for a 
 moment. "Good luck," said Rose, and 
 Emily went out into the passage and turned 
 to the right toward the dining-room. 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 
 
 EMILY CHAPMAN pushed open the dining- 
 room door noiselessly and looked in. Smith 
 was removing the cloth and Freeman, with a 
 bundle of what appeared to be advertising 
 pamphlets, was seating himself at the end 
 of the table. He looked up, as he heard 
 her, and smiled. 
 
 "Good gracious, how business-like you 
 look!" she exclaimed. "I'll fly!" She 
 made the pretence of retreating, and he rose 
 and drew up a chair for her. 
 
 "Please don't go," he said. "They're 
 only catalogues that I've got to look 
 through. I wanted a place to spread them 
 out, so that I could compare things. Thank 
 you, Smith," he said. "This is capital." 
 
 "Do you wish anything more, sir?" asked 
 Smith. 
 
 "No, thank you," he answered, and Smith 
 disappeared. 
 
 145 
 
146 SMITH 
 
 "What are these things about?" asked 
 Emily, referring to the catalogues. "Agri- 
 cultural implements?" 
 
 Freeman's eyes had followed Smith as 
 she went out through the pantry door, and 
 she was still in his mind. "A nice girl, 
 that," he said to Emily. "She's been talk- 
 ing to me." 
 
 "Rather forward, I should say," observed 
 Emily. 
 
 "I asked her to," he answered. "It ap- 
 pears she wants to emigrate." 
 
 "Really?" said Miss Chapman. 
 
 "And very wise, too," observed Freeman. 
 "In New South Wales she can get double 
 the wages she can here, and she'll marry as 
 soon as ever she wants to." 
 
 Emily's interest in Smith and her affairs 
 seemed to increase. "You think that's the 
 natural course for women, don't you?" she 
 said seriously. 
 
 "I think they're happier when they carry 
 out the purposes of nature," Freeman an- 
 swered. 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 147 
 
 Emily looked away and began turning 
 over the pages of one of the catalogues. "I 
 suppose you have been buying all sorts of 
 things," she said wearily. 
 
 "Not yet," he answered. "I ought to 
 have been at it and haven't. Now I must 
 hurry. My time is getting short." 
 
 "Why are you going so soon?" she asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to leave the farm to 
 its own devices longer than I can help," he 
 answered. "Besides, it's my life. I want 
 to get back to it." 
 
 "Are you happy out there?" she asked, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "I never ask myself," Freeman replied. 
 "I dare say," he added thoughtfully, "that 
 is happiness." 
 
 Emily dropped into the chair that he had 
 brought for her and was silent for a mo- 
 ment. Then, with a little break in her voice 
 and with an evident effort, she spoke: 
 "Lucky man!" she said. 
 
 Freeman looked at her pityingly and she 
 
148 SMITH 
 
 dropped her eyes. "You're not very happy, 
 I'm afraid," he ventured. 
 
 She threw the catalogue that she was hold- 
 ing on to the table with a despairing ges- 
 ture. "Wretched!" she murmured. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry," said Freeman ten- 
 derly. 
 
 Emily smiled woefully. "It's very nice 
 of you," she said. "But don't let's talk 
 about it. It can do no good and it only 
 makes things worse to talk about them." 
 
 "Come, now," said Freeman hopefully, 
 "there is generally a way out of every dif- 
 ficulty." 
 
 She stretched out her hand, placed it 
 lightly on his, and looked up gratefully 
 at him. "I know you'd do all you could," 
 she said, smiling with misty eyes, "but there's 
 nothing you can do. There's nothing any- 
 one can do." 
 
 "Won't you tell me what it is that is 
 troubling you?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, my dear friend," Emily replied, "it's 
 nothing except that the years are passing 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 149 
 
 one by one and that I'm wasting my life. 
 I'm useless in the world, a burden to myself 
 and to everyone connected with me." 
 
 "Oh, what nonsense!" he exclaimed im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "And I have brought it all on myself," 
 she went on, "every bit of it. I have only 
 myself to thank; but that doesn't make it 
 any the easier to bear, does it?" 
 
 "Oh, come," he said, and smiled encour- 
 agingly. "There will be a way out." 
 
 She shook her head, rose, and began to 
 walk slowly to and fro before the fire. 
 "What sort of an opinion of myself do you 
 think I can have?" she began in a low voice. 
 "I was willing enough to marry you when 
 you had money. I threw you over when 
 you lost it." 
 
 "Are you thinking of that?" he asked in 
 some surprise. 
 
 She nodded. "Can I ever forget it?" she 
 said. 
 
 "We were a pair of young fools in those 
 days," he said reassuringly. 
 
150 SMITH 
 
 "Still, I was old enough to know what I 
 was doing," she replied. "You must despise 
 me from the bottom of your heart." 
 
 "I do nothing of the sort," he answered 
 stoutly. "Put that idea out of your head 
 at once." 
 
 "You are very good and generous," she 
 said. "Much too good." 
 
 "Nonsense!" he muttered, and there fol- 
 lowed a silence, which Emily broke. 
 
 "Were you very much in love with me, 
 then?" she asked. 
 
 He dropped his eyes. "Yes," he an- 
 swered in a husky voice. 
 
 "How cruel and heartless I was!" she 
 exclaimed brokenly. "But how I've paid 
 for it ! Oh, if you only knew how unhappy 
 I am!" She turned her face away and be- 
 gan to sob. 
 
 Freeman rose and stood uncertainly. He 
 was very much moved. "Oh, my dear," he 
 said, "don't cry! I can't bear it." He 
 went to her, took her hand, and held it, while 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 151 
 
 her sobbing increased. "Please don't," he 
 said. 
 
 She drew her hand away and endeavoured 
 to get control of her voice. "Please go 
 away!" she begged. "I'm only making a 
 fool of myself. But, oh, I've been so bit- 
 terly punished!" She sank into the arm- 
 chair by the fire and hid her face in her 
 hands and began sobbing anew. 
 
 "For God's sake, don't cry!" he exclaimed. 
 He seized her by the shoulders, half in com- 
 mand, half imploring, and he felt her 
 tremble under his touch. 
 
 Presently she raised her face again and 
 began in a choked, uncertain voice: "It was 
 only after you went that ' she hesitated, 
 but went on, "that I knew how much I loved 
 you, and when I saw you again the other 
 day " She paused, as she saw Freeman 
 wince. "Yes," she said meekly, "and it was 
 nothing to you. I saw that you thought 
 me old and plain and horrible. But you 
 were just the same, and it all came back to 
 
152 SMITH 
 
 me. If you wanted revenge, you've got it." 
 She hid her face in her hands and sobbed 
 convulsively. 
 
 "God knows," he said, in a voice that was 
 hardly audible, "I never thought of any of 
 those things. I was sincerely glad to see 
 you, as I believed you were to see me, as 
 old friends." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" she said. "Do you 
 mean that you weren't glad that I had lost 
 my looks, that things had gone wrong with 
 me?" 
 
 "But what do you think me?" he ex- 
 claimed. "A monster?" 
 
 "You would only be human," she said, "if 
 you enjoyed it, after the way I had treated 
 you. But if you only knew the truth!" she 
 went on. "Even at the time it brought as 
 much suffering for me, as it did for you, 
 and more; for I was in the wrong. Oh, if 
 you only knew the misery of those years! 
 I was expecting you to write. Every time 
 the postman came, my heart was in my 
 throat. I thought that men never took 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 153 
 
 women at their word, that they always ex- 
 pected them to reconsider. I thought that 
 you would, but you never gave me another 
 chance." 
 
 Freeman, who had been listening in 
 pained attention, looked into the fire. "I 
 thought that you had forgotten all about 
 me," he said simply. 
 
 "But I couldn't write," she said, "after 
 the way I had acted. All I could do was to 
 wait. I made up my mind to wait." 
 
 "You don't mean to say," he exclaimed, 
 "that you've cared for me all this time?" 
 
 She looked at him steadily. "If I haven't 
 married, it's on your account, Tom," she 
 answered gravely. "I couldn't, that's all. 
 I've never cared for anyone but you. I 
 never shall." 
 
 He turned away to the window and gazed 
 aimlessly out into the drizzle that was fall- 
 ing through the grey air, and she followed 
 him with furtive, anxious eyes. As she saw 
 him turn towards her again, she bent her 
 head and hid her face in her hands. 
 
154 SMITH 
 
 "Emily," he demanded, "do you still care 
 for me?" 
 
 "Oh, don't!" she answered brokenly. 
 "How can you humiliate me?" 
 
 "There is very little love in the world," 
 he said slowly. "A man ought to be very 
 grateful, if a woman cares for him. Per- 
 haps fate had just that in mind when it 
 brought me back to England." He paused 
 and waited, but she did not look up. "Do 
 you understand what you are bringing on 
 yourself?" he went on. "I'm a farmer in a 
 new, untamed, unsettled country, and my 
 life there is a hard, lonely one, and must be 
 so for as many years as we can look ahead. 
 It is very different from anything that you 
 have known." 
 
 She raised her head and looked at him 
 despairingly. "If you knew how lonely I 
 am here!" she said. "There is not a soul in 
 the world that cares for me!" 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, after a pause, "I 
 have very little to offer you. If you will 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 155 
 
 marry me, I will try to make you a good 
 husband." 
 
 She said nothing for a time, and he re- 
 mained before her, gazing down at her face. 
 Presently she murmured his name in a 
 broken voice and held out her hands to him. 
 He was lifting her gently to her feet, when 
 she heard the door knob rattle and drew 
 away. A moment later Smith entered with 
 a visiting card on a salver. 
 
 "A gentleman to see you, sir," she said 
 to Freeman. 
 
 Freeman looked at the card. "It's the 
 agent for one of these firms of agricultural 
 implements," he said. "Tell him I'll see 
 him directly." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Smith, and went 
 out. 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, when they were 
 alone, "let's tell Rose and have a celebra- 
 tion." 
 
 "Please not now," she answered plead- 
 ingly- "Don't think it odd of me, but I 
 
156 SMITH 
 
 must have a little time. Everything is so 
 changed. I'm so happy. Perhaps Rose 
 wouldn't altogether sympathise with me, you 
 understand?" 
 
 "I think I do," he said gently. "You'll 
 tell me when?" 
 
 "Let's wait a week," she said hurriedly. 
 "I must be going, or Rose will suspect some- 
 thing." She turned and held both hands 
 out to him. "You are the most generous 
 man in the world," she said in a husky voice. 
 
 He took her hands, expecting to take her 
 in his arms, but something changed his pur- 
 pose one of those subtle, inexplicable cur- 
 rents of feeling that rule our lives at 
 moments of crisis. He bent low and raised 
 her fingers to his lips, and then released her. 
 
 She seemed not to resent his action, and 
 a moment later was gone. 
 
 The purpose of his visit was accomplished. 
 The woman that he had once wanted above 
 all the things of earth was his, yet a curious 
 sense of disappointment weighed on him, 
 "It is all for the best," he said to himself. 
 
THE TRAP IS SPRUNG 157 
 
 "It must be. It will come back to me. At 
 five and thirty," he argued with himself, "a 
 man doesn't respond to sentiment as at five 
 and twenty." Anyway, sentiment was not 
 what he was looking for. He needed a 
 wife, and he had found one. He ought to 
 be a very happy man. 
 
 Smith came into the room again, usher- 
 ing in the agricultural implements man and 
 passed close to him, as she crossed the room 
 to the pantry door. And as she passed, 
 something too thin and ineffable to be called 
 a fragrance seemed to come from her clean, 
 transparent skin, or from her mass of straw- 
 coloured hair, or from some inner loveliness. 
 Whatever it was, it sent a curious thrill 
 through Freeman, and he turned to his busi- 
 ness. 
 
HOW A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 
 WAS INTERRUPTED 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 HOW A RUBBER AT BRIDGE WAS INTERRUPTED 
 
 WHEN Emily left the dining-room, she had 
 gone softly down the passage and had let 
 herself out without speaking to Rose. As 
 a not unnatural consequence, Rose con- 
 cluded that something had "happened," but 
 exactly what, she could not satisfactorily 
 determine from Tom's actions. Rose really 
 cared very little whether Emily married 
 Tom or not. She had been honest in saying 
 that she bore Emily no resentment and 
 would keep her hands off, but she had a 
 keen human curiosity to know what the out- 
 come of the attack had been. For three 
 days Emily kept away from Credinton 
 Court. On the fourth, Rose called her on 
 the telephone and insisted that she come to 
 lunch and for bridge afterwards. Rose 
 knew that Tom had promised to come in 
 during the afternoon and she suspected that 
 161 
 
162 SMITH 
 
 her best chance of finding out what appar- 
 ently neither he nor Emily wished to talk 
 about lay in watching them when they were 
 together. Algy and Dallas-Baker were 
 both in for lunch, so that Rose had no 
 chance to speak to Emily alone. After 
 lunch, they fell to immediately at bridge. 
 
 On the rubber game Emily laid down her 
 cards when the hand was half played and 
 showed that she had the rest of the tricks. 
 
 "You must be very unlucky in love, 
 Emily," observed Rose pointedly. "I 
 never saw anyone hold such cards!" 
 
 Emily met her look without flinching. 
 "You ought to know," she said coolly. 
 
 "Well, luck always changes," Rose an- 
 swered, "no matter what it is." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn, who had been adding up 
 the score, announced that the rubber was 
 "thirty-five bob." 
 
 Dallas-Baker looked at his watch and 
 rose. "I'm afraid that I must be going," 
 he said. "Cynthia will be here directly to 
 take my place." 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 163 
 
 "She ought to be here now," said Rose. 
 Just then the telephone bell sounded shrilly 
 in the passage outside. "Oh, that dreadful 
 bell!" she exclaimed. "Go and see who it 
 is, Herbert." 
 
 "Very well," said Dallas-Baker, and he 
 went out. 
 
 "I hope it's not Cynthia," said Rose. "If 
 she puts us off at this hour, I shall never 
 forgive her." 
 
 Rose not only chafed at the idea of losing 
 her afternoon's amusement, but she counted 
 on Tom's presence during the card playing 
 as a basis for her observations and inferences 
 as to the results of Emily's campaign. 
 
 "But your husband would stay, if we 
 needed him?" suggested Emily. 
 
 "No," said Rose, "he's got to go out. 
 He's speaking at some silly political meet- 
 ing." 
 
 "Then it's lucky that we were able to get 
 hold of him to make our fourth until now," 
 Emily observed. 
 
 "It is," said Rose. "Still, he has been 
 
164 SMITH 
 
 coming home to lunch rather often of late." 
 
 "It looks to me," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "as if work was devilish slack at Lincoln's 
 Inn. We shall have to start economising, 
 Rose." 
 
 "It's dreadful, isn't it?" said Rose lightly. 
 "And I want a car so badly." 
 
 "We truly ought to have one," said Algy. 
 "I have heard of a jolly second-hand one 
 that would just suit us. It's only been used 
 three months." 
 
 "How much do they want for it?" Rose 
 asked, but before Mr. Peppercorn had time 
 to answer, Dallas-Baker came back. She 
 looked up at her husband irritably. "Who 
 was it?" she asked. 
 
 "Otto Rosenberg," he answered. 
 
 "How tiresome!" Rose exclaimed. "Isn't 
 Cynthia coming?" 
 
 "I don't know," he replied. "Rosenberg 
 wanted to know if Cynthia was here." 
 
 "I suppose," observed Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "that she's out on the tiles and the old man 
 is getting anxious." 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 165 
 
 Emily laughed. "What else could he 
 expect when he married her?" she said. 
 
 "He is getting to be an unendurable 
 bore," said Rose. "He rang up about one 
 o'clock and asked if she was lunching here, 
 and I told him no. Then he had the im- 
 pertinence to ask me if I knew where she 
 was lunching. It so happened that I did, 
 but I told him I hadn't the least idea." 
 
 "You shouldn't have said that, my dear," 
 said Dallas-Baker. 
 
 "And why not ?" Rose retorted. "Has he 
 any business trying to make me spy on his 
 wife?" 
 
 "What do you suppose he is fussing 
 about now?" Emily asked, after a pause. 
 
 "Oh, it's only that blessed baby," Rose 
 answered. "It's always ill." 
 
 "Well," said Dallas-Baker, "have your 
 own way, but I promised Rosenberg that 
 we'd tell Cynthia the moment she came." 
 
 "That was rather silly," said Rose. "She 
 can't do any good by going home, and a 
 message like that will only worry her. 
 
166 SMITH 
 
 Otto's an old woman and he flies back from 
 the city every time the child starts squall- 
 ing." 
 
 "Still I think we ought to tell her, Rose," 
 insisted Dallas-Baker. "Otto's very anx- 
 ious that she should go home at once." 
 
 "We'll tell her after we've had a rubber," 
 said Rose decidedly. "I don't see why our 
 afternoon should be wasted because a pecul- 
 iarly uninteresting baby isn't quite well." 
 
 "Hear! hear!" said Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "Well," said Dallas-Baker doubtfully, "I 
 dare say that will do. It can't make much 
 difference if she gets back an hour sooner or 
 later. But I don't like the idea of deceiv- 
 ing him." He turned to go, when the door 
 opened and Freeman came in, and Rose at 
 once fixed her eyes on Emily Chapman. 
 
 "Hello, everybody," he called jovially. 
 "At it again." He crossed the room to the 
 card table and shook hands with Miss Chap- 
 man. 
 
 "Not at the moment," Emily answered 
 lightly. "We're waiting for Cynthia Rosen- 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 167 
 
 berg." Her manner was natural and with- 
 out restraint or embarrassment. Rose could 
 make nothing of it. 
 
 "You see," said Dallas-Baker, by way of 
 explanation, "I've got to go before we could 
 finish another rubber." 
 
 "His country calls," said Mr. Pepper- 
 corn, "and he is going to tell the British 
 elector how to do his duty. Don't look at 
 me," he added, "as if you had never laid eyes 
 on me before. It's rude." 
 
 "I was wondering," said Freeman, "if I 
 had seen you before to-day. Did you have 
 breakfast here, to-day? I forget." 
 
 "No," drawled Mr. Peppercorn. "I 
 always breakfast in bed. Mother thinks it's 
 so much better for me. I came to luncheon." 
 
 "Then I've not seen you," said Freeman. 
 "In that case, I wish you good morning." 
 
 "It's too kind of you," said Mr. Pepper- 
 corn. 
 
 "And may I express the hope," continued 
 Freeman, "that you passed a good night?" 
 
 "I thank you again," said Mr. Pepper- 
 
168 SMITH 
 
 corn; "I slept the sleep of the pure at heart." 
 
 "The news," said Freeman with mock 
 gravity, "fills me with satisfaction." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn rose and bowed with cere- 
 mony. "If it were possible," he said, "to 
 embarrass me, your politeness would cover 
 me with confusion." 
 
 At this point the door opened and Smith 
 announced Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 
 Exclamations of joy received her and she 
 burst into the room and began to shake 
 hands. "I'm fearfully sorry to be so late," 
 she explained, "but I've had all sorts of 
 things to do, and I thought I should never 
 get away from lunch." 
 
 "We were beginning to be very cross 
 with you," said Rose. 
 
 "You'll forgive me," said Mrs. Rosenberg, 
 "when you know what I've been through." 
 
 "Tell us your woes!" said Mr. Pepper- 
 corn sympathetically. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "I spent 
 the entire morning at the dressmakers. Lit- 
 erally, I never got away until half -past one 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 169 
 
 o'clock, and then I had to rush to the Ritz 
 and lunch with Montie Kenyon. He, poor 
 dear, is very much exercised over his last 
 love affair and I had to listen to that until 
 I thought I should die ; then I made him go 
 along to look at a private view with me which 
 I had promised to turn up at, and then I had 
 to make half a dozen calls, and here I am. 
 I've never had such a rush in my life!" 
 
 "Rather an arduous day," observed Mr. 
 Peppercorn, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 "Do you think a rubber will rest you?" 
 asked Dallas-Baker uneasily. 
 
 "I know it will," Mrs. Rosenberg an- 
 swered quickly. "The only thing that kept 
 me going all day was the thought of a quiet 
 rubber or two here before dinner." 
 
 "Parliament should take it up," said Free- 
 man, who had been standing in the back- 
 ground. "There should really be an eight 
 hour day for the idle rich." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg turned and smiled at him. 
 "I didn't see you when I came in," she said. 
 "Do tell me how you are getting on." 
 
170 SMITH 
 
 "Getting on? I?" he said perplexedly. 
 
 She smiled at him and began taking 
 off her gloves. "Yes," she said. "Rose 
 told me you'd come to England to look for 
 a wife. I was thinking it would be such a 
 chance for me to get rid of some of my sis- 
 ters-in-law." 
 
 Rose shot a searching look at her brother 
 and then at Emily, but neither of their faces 
 gave her the information for which she was 
 seeking. 
 
 Freeman smiled back at Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 "Are they very attractive?" he asked. 
 
 "Very," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "and there 
 are three of them. As long as you are going 
 to South Africa or some such outlandish 
 place, it occurred to me that you might 
 marry them all." 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm a little late for such lib- 
 erty of conscience as that," he answered. 
 "Africa is no longer as liberal as it used 
 to be. But, tell me more about these 
 ladies." 
 
 "One," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "is called 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 171 
 
 Rachel, another Lydia, and the third Pom- 
 Pom." 
 
 "I think I should like Pom-Pom," said 
 Freeman. "Pom-Pom Freeman sounds 
 very well, don't you think so? Go on about 
 them," he added. "What do they do?" 
 
 "Well, principally," said Mrs. Rosenberg, 
 "they spend their time in picking holes in 
 me and pointing them out to Otto. They've 
 got the strongest sense of other people's 
 duty that I have ever come across." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn smiled approvingly, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 "That sounds rather like a warning," said 
 Freeman. "A sense of duty, like charity, 
 should begin at home." 
 
 "What have they been doing now?" Emily 
 asked. 
 
 "Nothing new," said Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 "The same old nag, nag. Their idea of a 
 jolly life is that I should spend the whole 
 day by baby's cradle, except for an hour in 
 the morning, when I must run out and do 
 the housekeeping. But," she went on, "I 
 
172 SMITH 
 
 tell Otto, what on earth have we got seven 
 servants for." She broke off suddenly and, 
 turning to Rose, added, "You should see our 
 new second footman, Rose, dear. He's six 
 foot four. I'm so proud of him!" 
 
 "My dear," said Rose shortly, "I wish you 
 would realise that one doesn't talk of one's 
 second footman unless one is in love with 
 him." 
 
 "Even then it is slightly indiscreet," sug- 
 gested Dallas-Baker, with an elephantine 
 effect at lightness. 
 
 "I'm not interested in the giant footman," 
 said Mr. Peppercorn, "but I wish that you 
 would tell me more about your sisters-in- 
 law." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "of course, 
 they're Jewesses, but they aren't so bad, 
 really, when you get to know- them, and 
 they've got thirty thousand pounds apiece." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn's face lighted up. 
 
 Emily smiled and looked at Freeman. 
 "That sounds rather a chance, Tom!" she 
 said. 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 173 
 
 "Doesn't it?" he replied, and again Rose 
 glanced from one to the other of them and 
 again she was unable to satisfy herself as to 
 what had passed between them. 
 
 "I know that I shouldn't care for Pom- 
 Pom," said Mr. Peppercorn. "It sounds 
 rather affected. Did you say that they all 
 had thirty thousand?" 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg nodded. 
 
 "Then," continued Mr. Peppercorn, "if 
 you will not think me bold, I shall put 
 Lydia's name upon my cuff, so that I may 
 memorise it at my leisure. I think it well 
 to file Lydia for reference. Who can tell?" 
 He produced a gold pencil and pretended 
 to make the memorandum on his wrist- 
 band. 
 
 Rose ran her hand over one of the packs 
 of cards that lay on the table. "Cut for 
 partners," she said. "If we want to play 
 bridge, we really ought not to waste any 
 more time." 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg drew a card and then, 
 glancing about, saw that there were five pos- 
 
174 SMITH 
 
 sible players. "But aren't you going to 
 play?" she asked of Dallas-Baker. 
 
 "No," he answered. "I have to go." He 
 took out his watch. "I must be off in ten 
 minutes. That's why they were waiting for 
 you. I shall just stop on to see you get 
 started." 
 
 "I, for one, Herbert," said Rose petu- 
 lantly, "shall be thankful when you go. It 
 does bore me to see you take your watch out 
 every other minute." 
 
 "It's quite true, Herbert," said Mr. Pep- 
 percorn amiably. "You've become distress- 
 ingly restless of late, and we only married 
 you because we liked your stolidity. Do 
 look up the law and see if one can have a 
 marriage annulled on the ground of false 
 pretences." 
 
 Dallas-Baker laughed heartily. "Upon 
 my soul!" he said, "I don't know what things 
 are coming to." He glanced at Freeman, 
 but Tom had gone to the writing table and 
 was seating himself to write a note. 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 175 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn drew his card and dis- 
 played it. 
 
 "You and I, Algy," said Emily, "and we 
 have the choice of seats." 
 
 "Take the ones with the armchairs," he 
 replied unblushingly, "and let's have the red 
 cards." 
 
 He had hardly begun to deal before the 
 telephone began to ring again in the hall- 
 way and Rose sat up angrily, as if its 
 ringing were a personal affront. "It's too 
 exasperating!" she exclaimed. "There's 
 that wretched telephone again!" 
 
 "Shan't I go?" asked her husband. 
 
 "Yes, do," she answered, "and afterwards 
 you might take the receiver off. I don't 
 want to be interrupted again." 
 
 "All right," he said and started for the 
 door, when it opened and Smith entered. 
 
 She crossed the room noiselessly to Mrs. 
 Rosenberg, and in her low, pleasant voice 
 said: "You're wanted on the telephone, 
 
 ma'am." 
 
176 SMITH 
 
 "Oh, how tiresome!" Mrs. Rosenberg ex- 
 claimed. "Have you said I'm here?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Smith. 
 
 "That's too stupid of you, Smith," cried 
 Rose. "You should always say you'll in- 
 quire. I thought I had impressed that upon 
 you before." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said Smith meekly. 
 
 "Well, say I'm in the middle of a hand 
 at bridge," said Mrs. Rosenberg, "and that 
 I can't possibly come. Ask them to give 
 you the message." 
 
 "Very good, ma'am," Smith answered, 
 and went back to the telephone. 
 
 Dallas-Baker looked nervously at his wife 
 and caught her eye. 
 
 "You seem to be in great demand, 
 Cynthia," Rose said chaffingly. "This is 
 the third time that you've been rung up 
 here." 
 
 "I suppose Otto has got some foolish idea 
 in his head," Mrs. Rosenberg replied with a 
 gesture of impatience. "I oughtn't to have 
 told him that I was coming." 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 177 
 
 "If one wants to play cards in peace and 
 quiet," said Emily, "it's fatal to let anyone 
 know one's whereabouts. They invariably 
 ring you up when you are playing a very 
 light no trumper and need all your wits 
 about you." 
 
 Dallas-Baker, who had been standing by 
 with a look of anxiety in his face, dropped 
 into the chair next Mrs. Rosenberg and 
 glanced over her hand. "As a matter of 
 fact, Cynthia," he began, then he hesitated, 
 as he felt Rose's look fixed upon him. 
 
 "Well?" said Mrs. Rosenberg, arranging 
 her cards. 
 
 "The fact is," he began Then he 
 broke off, for Smith entered the room again. 
 
 Freeman had swung around from his seat 
 at the writing table and watched her as she 
 came in. He noticed that the colour had 
 left her face and he ascribed it to the sharp 
 rebuke that his sister had given her. "It's 
 an outrage," he said to himself, "for one 
 grown woman to speak to another in that 
 way before people." 
 
178 SMITH 
 
 And for the moment a passion of resent- 
 ment against Rose swept over him. But 
 there was nothing that he could do, so he 
 kept silent. 
 
 Smith came to Mrs. Rosenberg again. 
 "If you please, ma'am," she began, and then 
 stopped. 
 
 The four at the card table looked up in 
 amazement. "What on earth is the matter 
 with you, Smith?" said Rose, for Smith had 
 stopped because she was unable to control 
 her voice. 
 
 "I'll bet a fiver," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "that Otto has eloped with the cook. The 
 kitchen maid is giving notice." 
 
 "It's Mr. Rosenberg, ma'am," said Smith 
 with an effort. 
 
 "Well?" said Mrs. Rosenberg impatiently. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am," cried Smith brokenly, "I 
 can't tell you!" 
 
 "Smith," exclaimed Rose sharply, "you 
 forget yourself!" 
 
 "You must go at once, ma'am," Smith 
 went on. "It's it's the baby." 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 179 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg looked uncertainly at 
 Rose. "I suppose Otto is in one of his states 
 of mind again," she said. "I'll have to go. 
 Tell Mr. Rosenberg," she said, turning to 
 Smith, "that I'll come as soon as I have 
 finished my hand." 
 
 "Oh, no, ma'am!" said Smith in a low, 
 earnest voice that had a haunting, resonant 
 tenderness, "please go at once. You 
 mustn't go on; you really mustn't!" 
 
 Rose pushed her chair back indignantly 
 and looked at her parlour maid, blazing with 
 anger. "What on earth are you talking 
 about?" she exclaimed. 
 
 Freeman had left the writing desk and 
 joined the party at the card table. "Smith," 
 he asked quietly, "what is it?" 
 
 "Oh, sir," she answered, "they said I was 
 to break it to her." 
 
 "Yes," said Freeman gently, "I dare say 
 that they thought it was my sister speaking. 
 What is it?" 
 
 Her voice dropped almost to a whisper 
 and the tears gathered in the corners of her 
 
180 SMITH 
 
 violet eyes. "It's dead, sir," she answered. 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg gave a curious little cry 
 and the hand that held her cards dropped 
 to the table. Then, without speaking, she 
 rose and began mechanically searching for 
 something. Peppercorn, divining that it 
 was her gloves she wanted, found them for 
 her under the table. As she passed Free- 
 man on her way to the door, he made a mo- 
 tion as if to accompany her, but she waved 
 him back with a nervous, frightened gesture, 
 and went out. 
 
 Dallas-Baker broke the silence. "Oughtn't 
 I to go with her?" he asked huskily of his 
 wife. 
 
 Rose shook her head. She was white with 
 fear. "No," she said, breathing hard. "Let 
 Algy go." 
 
 Algy nodded. "I don't mind," he said, 
 and followed Mrs. Rosenberg out. 
 
 Smith had remained speechless, with the 
 tears brimming in her eyes. After Pepper- 
 corn had disappeared, Rose turned on 
 her. 
 
A RUBBER AT BRIDGE 181 
 
 "What are you waiting for, Smith?" she 
 asked sharply. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am," Smith answered brokenly, 
 "isn't it dreadful!" 
 
 "For goodness' sake, go away!" cried Rose 
 violently. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the par- 
 lour maid, and crossed noiselessly and erect 
 to the door, which she shut behind her. 
 
 Freeman had an impulse to follow her, 
 but he checked himself. He saw Emily still 
 sitting, dumb and expressionless, at the card 
 table, with her cards clutched tightly in her 
 hand. 
 
EMILY SHOWS HERSELF IN A 
 NEW LIGHT 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 EMILY SHOWS HERSELF IN A NEW LIGHT 
 
 AFTER a few moments Rose dropped into 
 her chair again, Dallas-Baker turned his 
 back to the fire, and Emily laid her cards 
 face downward on the table. 
 
 Freeman went back to his seat at the writ- 
 ing desk, took up his pen and sat with it idle 
 between his fingers. 
 
 "I like Smith's idea of trying to break it 
 gently," said Rose, trying to recover her 
 usual voice and manner. 
 
 "She seemed quite upset," said Emily. 
 
 Dallas-Baker began nervously pacing the 
 room. "I hope it won't lead to any unpleas- 
 antness," he said apprehensively. 
 
 Rose looked at him with an expression of 
 impatience. "Oughtn't you to be going to 
 your meeting?" she said. 
 
 He started and looked at his watch again. 
 "I suppose I ought," he said apologetically. 
 185 
 
186 SMITH 
 
 "I had quite forgotten it for the moment." 
 He looked about him uncertainly and then 
 went out without speaking. 
 
 Freeman followed him with a perplexed 
 look. When he had gone, he rose and came 
 towards the two women, who were at the 
 card table. "Rose," he said, "did you know 
 the child was ill?" 
 
 Rose started. "They rang up just before 
 lunch," she answered evasively, "to ask if I 
 knew where Cynthia was." 
 
 "But you did," said Freeman. "I heard 
 you say at breakfast that she was lunching 
 at the Ritz." 
 
 "It's not my business to tell Otto where 
 his wife is lunching," she replied sullenly. 
 
 "Still," said Freeman, "if you had, she 
 might have been home three hours ago." 
 
 "But how could I," she answered, "when 
 she had told me in confidence?" 
 
 "Was she lunching with anyone she 
 shouldn't have been with?" asked Freeman. 
 
 "No," said Rose. "Otto doesn't like 
 Montie Kenyon, but there's no reason why 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 187 
 
 she shouldn't lunch with him, if she wants 
 to/' 
 
 "Then you ought to have told Rosenberg 
 where she was," Freeman said slowly and 
 authoritatively. 
 
 Rose sprang to her feet. "For goodness' 
 sake, don't lecture me!" she exclaimed ex- 
 citably. "I'm not in the mood to stand 
 it." 
 
 Her brother looked at her thoughtfully 
 for a moment, then an unpleasant possibility 
 flashed upon him and a shadow crossed his 
 face. "Rose," he said sternly, "you didn't 
 refuse to tell Rosenberg where his wife was 
 so that your bridge party shouldn't be 
 broken up?" 
 
 "Good heavens!" answered Rose. "You 
 don't suppose that I knew the child was 
 dying, do you? Otto was always getting 
 into a state of mind about its health. I 
 hadn't any idea that it was really sick. The 
 whole thing's a beastly nuisance." 
 
 Freeman gazed at his sister with some- 
 thing like horror as well as indignation in 
 
188 SMITH 
 
 his eyes. "Why, Rose!" he exclaimed. 
 "You don't mean" 
 
 "For heaven's sake, let me alone!" she 
 cried explosively. "You've done nothing but 
 blame me for one thing or another ever since 
 you came. I'm sick of it. If you're not 
 satisfied with me, you can go!" 
 
 "Yes," said Freeman sadly, "that is the 
 best thing I can do. I'm only a stranger 
 to you. We speak a different language, 
 you and I." 
 
 "And I can only hope," Rose answered, 
 her anger rising hysterically, "that I don't 
 speak such drivelling nonsense in mine as 
 you do in yours. Oh, if you only knew how 
 I loathed you," she went on. "How thank- 
 ful I shall be when you go and how I hope 
 I shall never, never see you again!" Her 
 voice rose almost to a scream and as she 
 finished she started for the door. 
 
 "You can easily be spared that!" he re- 
 joined. "Of course, I'll go." He watched 
 her as she flung herself out of the room and 
 slammed the door behind her. "Well," he 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 189 
 
 said grimly to Emily, "you have witnessed a 
 very pretty domestic quarrel." 
 
 "When a single woman has reached my 
 age," Emily answered, "she's seen her fair 
 share of them." 
 
 "Rose is the only relation I've got," Free- 
 man went on after a pause, "and I came back 
 fonder of her than I'd ever been before. I 
 clothed her with all the qualities I want in 
 
 a woman." 
 
 Emily smiled faintly. "Poor Rose," she 
 said. "She was always a little overdressed 
 before." 
 
 "Oh, no," he answered. "It was nothing 
 very much that I expected. I asked only 
 that she should be honest and truthful and 
 a faithful wife and a good mother." 
 
 Emily watched him thoughtfully with a 
 curious smile on her lips as he went on set- 
 ting forth the essentials that he demanded of 
 Rose. "I don't suppose that it is very much 
 to ask," she observed, "and yet " she hesi- 
 tated and stopped, and looked at Freeman. 
 
 "But how could she be so wantonly cruel 
 
190 SMITH 
 
 and selfish?" he went on, disregarding the 
 defence implied in Emily's hesitation. "The 
 only person who seemed to care a damn was 
 Smith." 
 
 "Persons of that class are very easily 
 moved," Emily replied. 
 
 "It's easy enough to be unmoved, if you 
 have no heart," he said fiercely. 
 
 Emily looked at him searchingly. "Let's 
 be honest with ourselves," she said after a 
 pause, "not sentimental. Do you really care 
 twopence whether the child is alive or dead?" 
 
 He gave an exclamation of surprise and 
 indignation. "Would it seem odd to you 
 if I did?" he answered. 
 
 "After all," said Emily, "it's nothing to 
 you. You have never even seen it." 
 
 "But the world is such a jolly place!" he 
 exclaimed. "And life is so full and splen- 
 did! Think how hard it is that any child 
 should be snatched away before he's enjoyed 
 anything." 
 
 Emily began mechanically gathering the 
 cards that lay spread upon the table. "Do 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 191 
 
 you really think the world is a jolly place 
 and that life is splendid?" she asked with a 
 trace of irony in her tone. 
 
 "Don't you?" he answered. 
 
 She dropped her eyes and began to make 
 the gathered cards into a pack. "It had 
 been weakly from its birth," she said, evad- 
 ing his question. 
 
 "Even then," he answered promptly, "it is 
 the saddest thing in the world that a child 
 should die." 
 
 "One often hears elderly spinsters say that 
 sort of thing," Emily replied, "but it sounds 
 odd in your mouth." 
 
 "I am afraid you think me very ridicu- 
 lous," he suggested. 
 
 "Not exactly ridiculous," she answered. 
 "I think you a little unusual." 
 
 "I've had a very rough time," he said, 
 "and the world has knocked me about a bit. 
 I think that it has knocked the nonsense out 
 of me. I only want very simple things 
 
 now." 
 
 : Like simple clothes," Emily added with 
 
192 SMITH 
 
 a smile, "I'm afraid they cost a great deal 
 of money." 
 
 He shook his head. "No," he said, "I 
 want no more than a roof over my head and 
 decent food to eat and a wife and children. 
 That oughtn't to be very hard to get, if you 
 are willing to work for it. And one thing 
 more I'd like my own people to be fond 
 of me." 
 
 Emily had dropped her eyes and was 
 nervously shuffling the pack of cards. 
 
 "And for that," he went on, "I don't mind 
 putting up with rotten weather and bad 
 times and sickness and separation and death 
 and still call it good." 
 
 Emily laid the cards before her on the 
 table and looked up at him. "You have 
 asked me to marry you, Tom," she said. 
 
 He uttered a dry laugh. "Good heavens, 
 I haven't forgotten it," he said. 
 
 "Did you ask me because you thought 
 that I would be honest and truthful, a faith- 
 ful wife and a good mother?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 193 
 
 An expression of pain passed over her 
 face and her breathing began to come short 
 and quick. "I want to tell you," she began 
 with difficulty, "that since you went away 
 I've been engaged twice." 
 
 He looked at her in some surprise, but 
 without grasping the significance which the 
 confession had for her. "Have you?" he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes," she answered wretchedly. "It 
 wasn't true when I said that I had waited 
 for you. It wasn't true when I said that I 
 had loved you all the time." 
 
 "Why do you tell me this now?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Because I can't go on with it," she said 
 desperately. 
 
 "On with what?" he asked. "What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 She rose and went to the fire and, standing 
 with her back to it, faced him. She had re- 
 covered her self-possession and spoke in her 
 usual calm, rather cold voice. "I mean 
 this," she said. "I set about to entrap you; 
 
194 SMITH 
 
 that's the long and the short of it. I set a 
 mean little trap for you and you fell into 
 it, just as I knew you would fall into it. 
 And now I can't go on with it. I haven't 
 sunk that far yet." She stopped, ap- 
 parently waiting for him to speak, but he 
 said nothing. Tell me what you think of 
 me," she went on, "and bless your stars that 
 you're out of it." 
 
 He went to her and put his hands on her 
 shoulders. "You poor girl," he said gently. 
 "You know I believe awfully in the life that 
 I'm going to take you to, even for a woman 
 brought up as you have been. It's a hard 
 life, rather, but it has its points, and I think 
 that after living it a little while the sordid- 
 ness and the meanness fall away from one." 
 
 Her eyes opened wide in amazement. 
 "You're not willing to marry me still!" she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 He smiled. "What do you take me for?" 
 he answered. 
 
 "But why?" she asked wonderingly. 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 195 
 
 "Because," he said, "I think we shall be 
 very happy." 
 
 Emily shook her head and her eyes filled 
 with tears. "I never expect to be happy," 
 she answered. "You don't know me, Tom. 
 I'm too old to change now." 
 
 "I've learned to ask awfully little of peo- 
 ple," he said encouragingly. 
 
 Emily dried her eyes with her handker- 
 chief, straightened up and in her usual self- 
 contained manner began to speak. "Do you 
 know why I was so desperately anxious to 
 marry you?" she asked. He made no reply. 
 "Well, I've got three hundred pounds of 
 debts," she went on, answering her own 
 question, "and writs are out against me and 
 I haven't a farthing. The mere announce- 
 ment of my engagement is enough to set me 
 free for the moment. My dressmaker," she 
 added bitterly, "is willing to lend me the 
 money until I'm married." 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, "she won't have to, 
 now. I can manage that on my head." 
 
196 SMITH 
 
 She turned and looked at him as if she 
 found him something impossible to compre- 
 hend. "But have you no reproaches for 
 me?" she asked. 
 
 Freeman laughed. "I'm rather glad 
 youVe made a clean breast of it," he said. 
 "Now we can start fresh and we won't talk 
 of it again." 
 
 Emily shook her head. "Do you suppose 
 that I would have humiliated myself like 
 this," she said bitterly, "if I hadn't made up 
 my mind? What would I do on a Rhode- 
 sian farm? The only talent I have is for 
 playing bridge." 
 
 "You'll be able to beat me at double 
 dummy in the evenings," he answered. 
 
 "But you don't understand what I am," 
 she went on. "When I grew desperate and 
 thought it would be easy to catch you, I 
 made up my mind that after we were mar- 
 ried, I should get you back to England as 
 soon as I could, and once there, I thought 
 it would be easy to invent excuses to prevent 
 our going out again. You see, I've been 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 197 
 
 nothing but heartless and selfish through it 
 all." 
 
 "At the same time," he said gently, "you 
 might grow to care for me and then you 
 wouldn't mind staying where I was." 
 
 "I?" said Emily. "I care?" She shook 
 her head. "There's no possibility of love 
 for me any more. All the love I'm capable 
 of was wasted years ago." 
 
 "Let us risk it at all events," he said. He 
 came towards her and held out his hands, 
 but she backed away. 
 
 "No, Tom," she cried desperately, "I 
 can't! I can't! I can't!" 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded. 
 
 "There is something in me that I didn't 
 know," she answered; "something I don't 
 understand. Perhaps I am a better woman 
 than I thought. I wanted it so much, but 
 now I haven't a spark of love in my heart 
 for you, and I can't do it. It mightn't be 
 so difficult," she went on, "if you loved me, 
 but you don't, do you? Be honest! Real 
 love, I mean." 
 
198 SMITH 
 
 "It may come," he said. 
 
 "No," she answered. "It wouldn't. This 
 is a moment when I am better than I am 
 and I know it. I know what I really am, 
 and what I should be if you married me. 
 You haven't deserved that I should make 
 you unhappy. I can't treat you like that. 
 You've been a perfect brick to me, and I 
 won't be such a cad." 
 
 "You know you are talking rather rot," 
 he answered, "aren't you?" 
 
 "No," she said firmly. "I'm talking 
 sense. I can't marry you, not only for your 
 sake, but mine. It would be indecent." 
 She turned to the chair over the arm of which 
 her long gloves were lying, picked them up 
 and began to move toward the door. Half- 
 way she stopped and turned around. 
 "Come," she said, "we've been ranting hor- 
 ribly, you and I. I'm sure that we've been 
 making ourselves perfectly ridiculous." 
 
 He stood by the fireplace, watching her 
 with a curious smile on his lips. "Well," he 
 said, "it begins to look as if I shall have to 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 199 
 
 go back to Africa without a wife after all." 
 
 "Oh, I hope not," said Emily. There 
 was a note of tenderness in her voice that 
 had not been there before. "I hope you'll 
 get a nice, helpful woman to go back with 
 you. And I should like her to be very 
 simple and unspoiled." 
 
 "But, my dear," said Freeman, "where the 
 dickens am I to find such a paragon?" 
 
 Emily laughed. "I haven't an idea," she 
 said. "Only I hope you do. You deserve 
 it." 
 
 There was a pause and then Freeman 
 started up, as if an idea had just come to 
 him. "I have half a mind to marry Smith," 
 he said. 
 
 "Don't be silly," she answered with an 
 amused smile. 
 
 "But I believe we'd suit one another un- 
 commonly well," said Freeman. 
 
 "But you couldn't marry a servant," said 
 Emily. 
 
 "That's all rot," said Freeman. "When 
 you are thirty miles from anywhere people 
 
200 SMITH 
 
 aren't ladies and gentlemen, but men and 
 women. And sometimes beasts." 
 
 "I suppose that is so," she answered 
 slowly. 
 
 "It is undeniably so," he continued, "and 
 they take rank according to what they are, 
 as men and women, not according to what 
 their parents were." 
 
 "Are you in love with her?" Emily asked, 
 drawing a step nearer and looking at him 
 seriously. 
 
 "If you put a strong, healthy man and a 
 strong, healthy woman together," he replied, 
 "love will come." 
 
 "Then why don't you ask her?" she sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "I think I will," said Freeman. 
 
 Emily burst into a peal of laughter. 
 "You foolish creature!" she exclaimed. 
 "Still I don't know that it would be any 
 worse to be snapped up by Smith than by 
 me." She had finished putting on her gloves 
 and turned to the table for her purse and 
 bag. "I must be off," she said. 
 
EMILY IN A NEW LIGHT 201 
 
 "I say," said Freeman, "what about your 
 three hundred pounds?" 
 
 "That's all right," she answered. "I for- 
 tunately have my dressmaker's check. I've 
 just got her a new customer, so she won't 
 be more than rather disagreeable when she 
 hears that my fourth engagement is broken 
 off." 
 
 He said nothing, but went to the bell and 
 pressed it. 
 
 "What are you ringing for?" she asked. 
 
 "I thought you were going," he answered. 
 "I wanted the door opened for you." 
 
 "Are you so anxious to get rid of me?" 
 she asked chaffingly. 
 
 "Of course not," he said; "but weren't you 
 really going?" 
 
 "I was going to see Rose," Emily an- 
 swered. "It would be fatal if she turned 
 you out of the house just now." 
 
 "Why?" he asked. "It was bound to 
 come, you know." 
 
 "But how could you prosecute your siege 
 of Smith's young heart," she answered, "if 
 
202 SMITH 
 
 you were banished? You must remember, 
 parlour maids have only one evening a week 
 out, and in well-regulated households they 
 are not allowed to receive company without 
 the chaperonage of the cook." 
 
 "You think I'm joking," he said seriously, 
 "but I'm not." 
 
 "Then I'll certainly go and appease 
 Rose," said Emily. "I have a peculiar 
 knack for persuading people who've had a 
 row that each was in the right and that 
 neither meant a single word of what they 
 said." 
 
 "You are very good," he said, "and you 
 can safely tell Rose that I am awfully sorry 
 if I offended her." 
 
 "I'll fix it," she said confidently, and 
 turned and went out. 
 
 A moment later Smith entered the room 
 and stood standing at attention, as if wait- 
 ing for an order. Freeman, who had for- 
 gotten for the moment that he had rung the 
 bell, looked at her perplexedly. 
 
FREEMAN IS A SECOND TIME 
 REJECTED 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 
 
 FREEMAN IS A SECOND TIME REJECTED 
 
 SMITH and Freeman stood, gazing at one 
 another. Finally Smith broke the silence. 
 "Did you ring, sir?" she asked. 
 
 "No," he answered vaguely. 
 
 "The drawing-room indicator went up, 
 sir," said Smith politely but with firmness. 
 
 "I lie in my throat," cried Freeman vehe- 
 mently. "I rang by mistake. I thought 
 Miss Chapman was going away. I'm 
 sorry." 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Smith, and she 
 turned to go. 
 
 Before she reached the door he called her 
 back. "I wonder," he said hesitatingly, "if 
 you would bring me a small drink?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," she answered. "What would 
 you like, sir?" 
 
 "1 think a little drop of whiskey and soda 
 would exactly fit the case," he suggested. 
 205 
 
206 SMITH 
 
 "Very good, sir," said Smith, and she dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 He had never seen her more professional 
 and parlour-maidish. When she had gone, 
 he dropped into the armchair by the fire and 
 tried to think clearly. Like most strong, 
 self-confident men, convention counted for 
 very little with him. There was even an 
 exhilaration in the prospect of defying it. 
 The difficult question was whether what he 
 proposed to do was fair to the girl, whether 
 as individuals they were really suited to each 
 other and might be expected to work out a 
 useful and happy life together. Without 
 being in love with her, from the physical 
 point of view she attracted him greatly. Her 
 strong, lithe figure and perfect skin were 
 radiant with health and feminine charm. 
 Her eyes and hair any woman might have 
 envied, as well as the double row of regular 
 white teeth, and her large, well-cut mouth. 
 As far as he knew or could judge, her char- 
 acter seemed as exceptional as her physical 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 207 
 
 organisation. Freeman was a believer in 
 what the expression of the human mouth 
 reveals of the individual and, judging by 
 that, Smith's was a fine, high-minded per- 
 sonality with that meekness which, when it is 
 born of strength, is one of the most attractive 
 of feminine qualities. However, his mental 
 debatings were cut short by her return with 
 the tray, on which stood the decanter, glass 
 and soda bottle. 
 
 "Thank you," he said. "This is very 
 
 nice." 
 
 "Is that all, sir?" she asked. 
 
 He pretended to be busy pouring out the 
 soda and not to hear. She waited for a 
 moment and then started towards the door. 
 "Oh, Smith," he called after her, "what are 
 you doing now?" 
 
 She stopped and looked back at him ques- 
 tioningly. "I was just going to decant the 
 claret for dinner, sir," she answered. 
 
 "Yes, I see," he said, helping himself 
 rather mechanically to the drink before him. 
 
208 SMITH 
 
 "I wanted to tell you, that is, I see that you 
 have been having a great game with my 
 clothes." 
 
 "Me, sir?" said Smith perplexed. 
 
 "You've marked every confounded thing 
 that I have with a large T. F.," he answered. 
 
 "I'm sorry, sir," she began, "I thought 
 
 "Don't think I'm not grateful," he said 
 quickly. "It's awfully jolly of you to have 
 put my things in good order." 
 
 "Well, I think they are in reasonably good 
 order now, sir," she assented. "Wherever 
 you go, no one will be able to say you're not 
 decent." 
 
 "And that's a very jolly thing to be, isn't 
 it?" he went on. 
 
 "Well," said Smith, "some people seem to 
 like going about in rags." She seemed to 
 consider that her duties in the drawing-room 
 were at an end and slowly started again for 
 the door. 
 
 He watched her, despairing of making 
 conversation, for she was apparently in an 
 ultra professional mood. "You see, at 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 209 
 
 home," he called after her, "I haven't got 
 anyone to look after me." 
 
 This last shot took effect. The statement 
 aroused her interest and the result of their 
 previous and more human conversations was 
 to make it easier for her to be drawn into an 
 expression of personal opinion. "Haven't 
 you got a woman in the house at all, sir?" 
 she exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 "Nothing to speak of," he said. 
 
 She looked at him and smiled one of her 
 faint, inscrutable, delightful smiles, such a 
 smile as she had indulged in freely with Mr. 
 Fletcher, the janitor, but now properly re- 
 duced in size and intensity out of respect to 
 Mrs. Dallas-Baker's drawing-room. "It 
 must be in a state," she observed. 
 
 He half pretended to resent the remark. 
 "I don't know about that," he said. 
 
 "Well," said Smith, "I always say that a 
 farmhouse wants a mistress. There's some- 
 thing to do from morning till night and a 
 man can't do half what a woman can." 
 
 Freeman was too delighted with his sue- 
 
210 SMITH 
 
 cess to trust himself to look at her. He 
 sipped his whiskey and soda and answered 
 gravely, "That's entirely a matter of opin- 
 ion. By the way," he added, "would you 
 like to look at my farm?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I should," she answered simply. 
 
 He rose, went to the writing table, and in 
 a moment returned with the surveyor's map 
 of his land. 
 
 "Oh!" said Smith, with a shade of disap- 
 pointment, "I thought you'd got some pho- 
 tographs, sir; I don't know what all that 
 
 means." 
 
 "I'll show you," he said. "Now, look 
 here. That's corn and that's pasture, and 
 there's the river running right through it. 
 It's worth a pot of money, that river. Sweet 
 water for the stock all the year around. And 
 look at that little blue square there; that's 
 my house, and not a half bad house, either." 
 
 "I shouldn't like to look in the corners," 
 said Smith demurely. "I expect there's a 
 lot of dust and dirt in them." 
 
 Their heads had been close together, as 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 211 
 
 they bent over the map, and the thin, clean 
 fragrance of her hair came to him and made 
 his pulses throb. Suddenly she looked up 
 and stepped back, feeling his eyes fixed 
 upon her. 
 
 "Hello," said Freeman, "why are you 
 blushing?" 
 
 "I'm not blushing," said Smith, with 
 spirit; "but it makes me uncomfortable when 
 you stare at me." 
 
 Freeman looked at her with mock gravity. 
 "What's your health like?" he demanded. 
 
 "My health?" she answered vaguely. "I 
 don't know; I never think about it." 
 
 "That looks as if you hadn't much to com- 
 plain about," he observed. 
 
 "Servants, you know, sir," she went on, 
 "can't afford to make a fuss every time they 
 have a finger ache." 
 
 "Ever ill in bed?" he asked. 
 
 "Not since I was quite a little tot, sir," 
 she replied. Her face showed her surprise 
 at his questions, but he went on without sat- 
 isfying it. 
 
212 SMITH 
 
 "Can you cook?" he asked. 
 
 "You do ask me funny questions/' she 
 said, at last. 
 
 "Not at all," he said severely. "It's a 
 very reasonable question. If you're think- 
 ing of going to Xew South Wales, it's most 
 important that you should be able to cook. 
 What do you think would be the use of hav- 
 ing a good hand with silver out there?" 
 
 She said nothing for a moment and 
 seemed to be trying to recall something to 
 mind. Finally she spoke: "Was the din- 
 ner you had on Friday all right, sir?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I quite forget," he answered. 
 
 Smith smiled again. "I expect it was, or 
 else you would have noticed it," she said. 
 "Men are always the same. If things go 
 right, they don't notice anything; but if 
 there's the smallest thing wrong, they 
 grumble for a week." 
 
 "Oh!" he exclaimed reproachfully, "I 
 think that's putting it rather strong. 
 Women are much more exacting than men." 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 213 
 
 "Well, it's my experience, sir," she 
 replied. 
 
 "But what about the dinner on Friday?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 "Nothing, sir," she answered; "only cook 
 had one of her sick headaches, and I did it." 
 
 "You don't have sick headaches, do you?" 
 he asked. 
 
 Smith laughed outright at this. "Me, 
 sir?" she said. "I've never had a sick head- 
 ache in my life." 
 
 He looked at her admiringly, but main- 
 tained his mock-serious, rather fault-finding 
 expression. "I dare say you can do fal-lalla 
 and fancy things," he began. He saw that 
 she was puzzled, and explained. "I was go- 
 ing back to Friday's dinner," he said. 
 
 "You do jump about so, sir!" she said 
 rather hopelessly. 
 
 "I suppose I do," he answered, "but the 
 point is, can you do good, honest, English 
 cooking?" 
 
 "When mother wasn't well, I cooked for 
 thirteen often and often at home," she re- 
 
214 SMITH 
 
 plied. Her manner was simple and respect- 
 ful, as it invariably was, but there was a 
 faint note of scorn in her voice that delighted 
 Freeman. 
 
 "Were you happy at home?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir," she answered. "I like a 
 farm. I wouldn't ever have come away, if 
 there hadn't been so many of us." 
 
 Freeman was silent a moment. He was 
 weighing the pros and cons for the last time 
 and with as much deliberation as he ever 
 gave to his personal affairs. "I don't know 
 why you are so particularly struck on New 
 South Wales," he said at length. 
 
 "Well, you see, sir," she answered, "I've 
 got my sister there." 
 
 "I suppose that is a reason," he said. 
 "However, I wonder if you would like 
 Rhodesia? It's a jolly climate and the 
 country's coming on like anything. You'd 
 be very useful on my farm." 
 
 "Well, sir," she answered, "I couldn't very 
 well come to you, when there's no lady in 
 the house, could I?" 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 215 
 
 She took the empty glass from the card 
 table, where he had placed it, and put it on 
 the tray. "Shall I take the whiskey away, 
 sir?" she asked. 
 
 He nodded. But as she turned to go he 
 stopped her and, in a matter-of-fact tone, 
 as if he were inquiring the day of the month, 
 said: "Will you marry me?" 
 
 Smith turned on him with a face blazing 
 with indignation. "Me, sir?" she said, 
 stiffly. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "you, Smith. By the 
 way, what is your name?" 
 
 "Smith, sir," she answered shortly. 
 
 "I meant your Christian name," he ex- 
 plained. 
 
 She looked at him with a quiet dignity 
 that admitted no evasion. "I prefer to be 
 called Smith, sir," she replied. 
 
 But Freeman was not to be snubbed. 
 "Why?" he demanded. 
 
 "In the houses that I've been used to," 
 she answered, "the servants have always been 
 called by their surnames, except the foot- 
 
216 SMITH 
 
 men." She picked up the tray and started 
 for the door. 
 
 Without seeming to threaten her or bar 
 her passage, he placed himself before it. 
 "Where are you going?" he asked. 
 
 "I was going to decant the claret, sir," 
 she answered. "The master likes it to stand 
 before dinner." 
 
 "I see," said Freeman politely, "but has 
 it slipped your memory that I asked you a 
 question?" 
 
 She looked him steadily in the eyes. "You 
 were only laughing at me, sir," she said. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said earnestly; 
 "I was doing nothing of the kind. I was 
 very much in earnest." He broke off, notic- 
 ing a look of perplexity on her face that 
 apparently had nothing to do with the ques- 
 tion that he was asking to have answered. 
 "What's the matter, now?" he demanded. 
 
 "I was wondering, sir," she answered de- 
 murely, "how I was going to get through 
 that door with you standing in front of it." 
 
 He took the tray from her with gentle 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 217 
 
 firmness and put it on the table. Then he 
 planted himself before her. "Now," he said, 
 "I am certainly not going to let you get out 
 of the room till youVe answered me. Hang 
 it all, you don't get a serious proposal of 
 marriage every day. You might give it 
 serious attention." 
 
 Smith stiffened herself and took a step as 
 if she would pass him. "Thank you very 
 much, sir," she said with dignity, "but I 
 don't think it would do." 
 
 "What?" he said in amazement; "not do? 
 And why not?" 
 
 "Well, sir," she answered, "for one thing, 
 I'm a domestic servant and you're a gentle- 
 
 man." 
 
 "Oh, no; I'm not," he answered quickly. 
 "I've long given up that delusion. I'll 
 grant you I was a gentleman," he went on. 
 "I used to hunt and buy my clothes in 
 Saville Row; I belonged to three clubs, and 
 used to take chorus girls to supper at the 
 Savoy; but I'm not a gentleman, now." 
 
 His earnestness had a curious effect upon 
 
218 SMITH 
 
 Smith. "Oh, yes, you are, sir," she said 
 insistently. "I knew it the moment I saw 
 you." 
 
 "Don't be so disagreeable," said Free- 
 man. "I ought to know. And I wish you 
 wouldn't call me 'sir' every other minute. It 
 does put one off, when one is making a pro- 
 posal of marriage." 
 
 Smith looked at him, uncertain whether to 
 smile or not. "I think I know my place, 
 sir," she said gravely, and made a movement 
 to take the tray again, but again he checked 
 her. 
 
 "I suppose you think I have forgotten 
 mine," he suggested. 
 
 "It's not for me to say, sir," she replied 
 meekly, but with a sparkle in her eyes. 
 
 He smiled. "Well, that's proof positive 
 that I'm not a gentleman," he said. 
 
 Smith, feeling herself defeated at dia- 
 lectic, shifted her ground. "I don't hold 
 with people marrying out of their proper 
 station," she said. "I've never seen any 
 good come of it." 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 219 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't make general reflec- 
 tions," he replied. "What I want is a 
 straightforward answer." 
 
 "I thought I gave it to you, sir," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 Freeman made a grimace and winced. "It 
 wasn't the right one," he said. "I think you 
 had better try again." 
 
 She shook her head slowly. "It wouldn't 
 be right," she said. Then, as if asking her- 
 self a question, she added half aloud, "What 
 would the mistress say?" 
 
 Freeman smiled. "I dare say her obser- 
 vations would be a little pointed," he an- 
 swered; "but you know hard words break 
 no bones." She bent down for a third time 
 to lift the tray with the decanter and a third 
 time he stopped her. "Come, my dear," he 
 said, "don't let's talk nonsense. You'll 
 make me a very good wife, and I'll try to 
 make you a good husband. I've got a com- 
 fortable home to take you to, and you'll be 
 your own mistress, which is much better than 
 being in service." 
 
220 SMITH 
 
 She smiled, as if inwardly amused. 
 "That's what Fletcher said only last week," 
 she observed. 
 
 "Fletcher?" he exclaimed, with well- 
 feigned surprise. "Who the dickens is 
 Fletcher?" 
 
 "He's the porter, sir," she answered. 
 
 "And has he been making you a proposal 
 of marriage?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she said simply. 
 
 "Well, I'll be hanged!" Freeman ex- 
 claimed. "And what did you say to him?" 
 
 "I didn't say yes and I didn't say no," 
 Smith replied. 
 
 "I see," said Freeman, "you're keeping 
 him dangling." 
 
 "I can't make up my mind," she replied. 
 
 "You made up your mind about me 
 jolly quick," he said, with an aggrieved 
 air. 
 
 "Oh, well, sir," she answered, "you're dif- 
 ferent. He's very much more suitable." 
 
 "That's flattering," said Freeman grimly. 
 
 "I don't mean it rudely," said Smith; "but 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 221 
 
 when I marry, I want to marry a working- 
 
 man." 
 
 Freeman laughed aloud. "God bless my 
 soul!" he exclaimed. "What do you sup- 
 pose I am? I bet you, I do more work in 
 a day than half a dozen Fletchers in a week." 
 
 "Brain work," said Smith, with calm 
 assurance. "I don't count that." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," he went on indignantly. 
 "Manual labour, my child." 
 
 "Oh, I know what gentlemen call manual 
 labour," Smith replied firmly, "looking on 
 while people they pay wages do the work." 
 
 "You know I shall slap you in a minute," 
 said Freeman, with a laugh. 
 
 Even his pleasantry did not recall Smith 
 to an immediate sense of her professional 
 self. Her contempt for amateur manual 
 labourers was too deep and, once stirred, it 
 was bound to find expression. "I've seen 
 gentlemen farmers at work," she said. "You 
 know what we say about them down our 
 way? 'Neither gentlemen nor farmers.' ' 
 
 Freeman laughed again. "That's kind 
 
222 SMITH 
 
 of you, I'm sure," he said. "But in South 
 Africa things are very different." 
 
 "I didn't mean to apply it to you, sir," 
 she said hastily and in some alarm. 
 
 "That's all right," he answered. "What 
 I want to find out is what you want in a 
 husband?" 
 
 "Me, sir?" she asked in some surprise. 
 
 "Yes, you," he replied. "I suppose you 
 know." 
 
 Smith thought a moment. "Well, I 
 wouldn't have a lazy man," she began. 
 
 "Please note," he put in, "that I'm up a 
 good hour before anybody else in this 
 house." 
 
 "I don't say you're not an early riser," 
 she assented. 
 
 "Well, that's in my favour, to begin with," 
 he said. 
 
 "It's a great bother," she said, "when I 
 want to do the drawing-room every morning 
 to find you sitting in it at half -past seven." 
 
 "We'll pass that by," he suggested. 
 "What else do you want in a husband?" 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 223 
 
 "Well," she answered, "I want a man 
 who's got a strong pair of arms. The way 
 I look on it is this: One never knows what's 
 going to happen. A man may be thrown 
 out of work, but if he's not above putting 
 his hand to anything, and he's got a strong 
 pair of arms, he won't starve in England or 
 anywhere else." 
 
 "That is quite true," said Freeman, "and 
 now I invite you to feel my muscle." He 
 doubled up his biceps and Smith touched it 
 lightly with her fingers. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said, "it's gentleman's 
 strength. I know that. It's all very well 
 for playing games with, but when it comes 
 to useful things, to carrying a heavy box up 
 five flights of stairs" 
 
 He interrupted her with a triumphant 
 laugh. "My dear child," he said, "I was 
 luggage porter for six months in the best 
 hotel in Johannesburg." 
 
 Smith looked at him in open astonishment. 
 "You, sir?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, I," he answered, "and glad to get 
 
224 SMITH 
 
 it, too. That's one in the eye for Fletcher, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 Smith tossed her head slightly. "Fletcher's 
 very wiry and willing," she said in reply. 
 "He says he can bend an iron bar with his 
 hands, and I shouldn't be surprised if it was 
 true." 
 
 "I would," said Freeman ungenerously. 
 "More than that, I don't see much good in 
 being able to bend an iron bar with one's 
 hands." 
 
 Smith considered the matter for a mo- 
 ment. "Neither do I, sir," she said consci- 
 entiously, "but it looks well." 
 
 "No," he said, shaking his head, "too 
 showy for my taste." 
 
 She made no reply, but, picking up her 
 tray, started for the door. He was still 
 standing in her path and she stopped when 
 she reached him and dropped her eyes. 
 "You won't take it amiss my having said 
 'no' to you, sir?" she asked shyly. 
 
 "Not a bit," he said; "it's the fortune of 
 
 war." 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 225 
 
 "You see," she went on, "one has to think 
 of one's self in these matters, doesn't 
 one?" 
 
 "I, for one, do," he answered. 
 
 "And now, sir, if you please, may I go and 
 decant the wine for dinner?" she pleaded. 
 
 "You may," he said. Then a flash of 
 reckless fun woke in him and he stepped 
 in front of her again. "Won't you give me 
 a kiss?" he asked. He waited .for her an- 
 swer, wondering whether the lightnings of 
 her just indignation would consume him 
 utterly. He was prepared even for bodily 
 violence. To his surprise, she looked him 
 quietly in the eyes and said: "If it will give 
 you any pleasure, sir." 
 
 "Upon my word!" he exclaimed, "you're 
 such a sensible girl, it quite takes my breath 
 away! Anyone else would have made no 
 end of fuss about my impudence!" 
 
 Smith smiled demurely. "Oh, well, sir," 
 she said, "what I say is, no great harm's done 
 by a kiss." She put her cheek out, as if in 
 a spirit of bravado, and he kissed it. 
 
226 SMITH 
 
 "Well, I'm dashed!" he exclaimed, and 
 she disappeared through the doorway. 
 
 Freeman was somewhat roughly awak- 
 ened from contemplating the sensation 
 which Smith's original course of action had 
 aroused in him by the entrance of Mr. Pep- 
 percorn. The youth had his hat on the back 
 of his head and seemed warm, out of breath 
 and in a hurry. 
 
 "Where's Rose?" he demanded. 
 
 "I think she is in her room," said Free- 
 man, "with Miss Chapman." 
 
 "Oh !" said Mr. Peppercorn. He thought 
 a moment, then went to the door and called 
 down the passage. "I say, Smith, tell Mrs. 
 Dallas-Baker I'm here." Then he came 
 back and dropped into his favourite chair. 
 "Freeman!" he exclaimed, "I am a hero! 
 Upon my soul, I am!" 
 
 "Unquestionably you behaved with great 
 nobility," said Freeman laughing. 
 
 "I did," said Peppercorn. "And I sup- 
 pose you have been havin' hysterics, what?" 
 
 "I averted that catastrophe," Freeman 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 227 
 
 answered, "by the application of a small 
 whiskey and soda." He broke off as Rose 
 pushed the door open and came in, followed 
 by Emily Chapman. She glanced at her 
 brother without any great affection, but in 
 a manner that evidently indicated that 
 Emily's efforts at peace-making had been 
 successful. 
 
 "Well?" she said, addressing Peppercorn. 
 
 "Well," he answered, "I took her home 
 according to orders." 
 
 "Was she much upset?" Emily asked. 
 
 "She did seem a bit put out, don't you 
 know," replied Mr. Peppercorn. "She 
 kept on saying, 'What will Otto say?' ' 
 
 "Silly little fool!" Rose exclaimed. "She's 
 frightened to death of Otto." 
 
 "She is," said Mr. Peppercorn. "But 
 then he makes himself awfully unpleasant. 
 I suppose he'll make a regular fuss about 
 this!" 
 
 "I suppose so," said Rose. "He's dread- 
 fully common." 
 
 "It will be very vulgar of him, won't it," 
 
228 SMITH 
 
 said Freeman gravely, "if he is annoyed at 
 his baby's death?" 
 
 Rose shot him a look, but what she had in 
 mind to say she left unsaid, for Smith en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "If you please, ma'am," she said, "I can't 
 draw the cork of the claret the master put 
 out for dinner." 
 
 "Then you had better ask Fletcher to do 
 it," said Rose. 
 
 "Fletcher was in the kitchen, ma'am," 
 Smith replied. "He's tried already." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that Fletcher can't 
 draw a cork?" said Freeman. "I thought 
 he was a kind of young Hercules." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Smith, "if he can't draw 
 it, nobody can." 
 
 "Bring the bottle," he answered, "and let 
 me have a shot." 
 
 "Very well, sir," she said, and went out. 
 
 "I wish I could stop on," said Emily 
 Chapman, "and see the end of the cork, but 
 I must be going. Good-bye, Rose, dear." 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 229 
 
 "Good-bye," Rose answered. "Please 
 forgive these domestic details." 
 
 "I like them," said Emily. "Smith looks 
 upon me as a member of the family." She 
 held out her hand to Freeman. "Good-bye 
 and good luck," she said. 
 
 "Thank you," he answered; "thank you 
 very much." 
 
 It may have been something in Freeman's 
 tone or in his manner that excited Mr. Pep- 
 percorn's lively sense of curiosity. At all 
 events, his eyes lit up. "What are you 
 wishing him good luck in?" he demanded. 
 
 Emily smiled. "His matrimonial schemes," 
 she replied. 
 
 "Like those of mice and men," Freeman 
 observed, "they 'gang oft agley.' ' 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Mr. Peppercorn, 
 "don't talk Scotch to us. You should take 
 my advice and put an advertisement In the 
 Telegraph: 9 
 
 "I'm beginning to think that I shall be 
 driven to it," said Freeman. 
 
230 SMITH 
 
 "Good-bye again," said Emily, and she 
 waved her hand at Freeman and went out 
 arm in arm with Rose. 
 
 In a moment Smith returned with the 
 bottle of claret. "Fletcher's had another 
 try at it, sir, and he can't move it," she said. 
 "Is there any use of your trying?" 
 
 "Fletcher's a donkey," said Freeman. 
 He took the bottle from her and, gripping 
 it between his knees, made a mighty effort, 
 but the cork never budged. 
 
 Smith watched him with an air of polite 
 disinterestedness, but beneath the profes- 
 sional Smith, Freeman knew that Smith, the 
 woman, was sitting in judgment upon him. 
 The veins in his head began to swell, but the 
 cork withstood him. 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll strain yourself, sir," 
 she said politely. She dropped her eyes, but 
 the faint glimmer of a smile was on her lips. 
 
 "Shut up!" he exclaimed wrathfully and, 
 throwing every pound of himself into the 
 effort, the refractory cork slowly began to 
 come and left the bottle with a little pop. 
 
AGAIN REJECTED 231 
 
 "Upon my soul," exclaimed Algy, admir- 
 ingly, "you are a strong beast!" 
 
 Freeman handed the bottle to Smith, who 
 looked at him without expression, and then 
 gravely untwisted the cork from the cork- 
 screw. "You can give the cork to Fletcher 
 with my compliments," he said. "Perhaps 
 he'd like to wear it on his watch chain." 
 
 Without making any response, except a 
 whispered "Thank you, sir," she turned and 
 left the room. 
 
SMITH AND FREEMAN CON- 
 TINUE DISCUSSION 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SMITH AND FREEMAN CONTINUE DISCUSSION 
 
 FOR five days, peace, if not good will, 
 reigned in the Dallas-Baker abode. Rose 
 treated her brother with at least outward 
 civility and, on his part, Tom took pains to 
 refrain from criticising her or interfering in 
 any way with the life of the household. Dur- 
 ing this time he saw Smith only as she served 
 him at meals or as he met her about the 
 house. He avoided scrupulously any con- 
 versation that might embarrass her or put 
 her at a disadvantage. Emily Chapman he 
 did not see at all. Since the day that he had 
 been refused both by her and Smith she 
 had avoided Credinton Court. However, 
 he had received a note from her, for that 
 evening, after she had gone, he had written a 
 check for three hundred pounds and had sent 
 it to her. Her gratitude had been deep and 
 sincere, but she had shown no symptoms of 
 235 
 
236 SMITH 
 
 changing her mind as regards her deter- 
 mination not to marry him. And when 
 Freeman was honest with himself, he not 
 only gave her the credit of acting upon high 
 motives, but he congratulated himself upon 
 an escape. As a matter of fact, since Smith 
 had refused him, he had begun to regard 
 her in a wholly different light. It was not 
 that he merely wanted to get married, but 
 that he wanted to marry her. As well as he 
 could judge in his saner and better ordered 
 moments, he was in love. But no fairy 
 princess, or flesh and blood royalty seemed 
 farther away and more impossible of attain- 
 ment than Smith. "For, after all," as he 
 thought it out to himself, "one can with de- 
 cency try to scale a fairy princess's tower or 
 elope with the daughter of a royal highness, 
 yet it is quite impossible to annoy a parlour 
 maid with attentions which she does not care 
 to encourage." So he decided to grin and 
 bear it, as he had grinned and borne many 
 things before and as his philosophy of life 
 prescribed. 
 
FURTHER DISCUSSION 237 
 
 One rainy Sunday morning he was lying 
 on the window seat in the drawing-room with 
 a book, which he pretended to read. His 
 perusal of the page had become a pretence, 
 when Smith came in with a tray on which 
 were half-a-dozen vases of fresh flowers. 
 She deposited the tray on the table and was 
 disposing the vases about the room as her 
 sense of aesthetic fitness determined. The 
 last bowl of roses evidently troubled her, for 
 she tried it in various positions and, after 
 each new experiment, withdrew to the 
 middle of the room to witness and weigh the 
 effect. 
 
 The fourth time that the bowl underwent 
 a removal, Freeman looked up from his book 
 and smiled. "They were all right before," 
 he said quietly, "don't you think so?" 
 
 Smith started and turned toward him. 
 "You did give me a shock, sir!" she said 
 naively. "I thought you were reading." 
 
 "When you came in, I suddenly discov- 
 ered that I had something better to do," he 
 replied. 
 
238 SMITH 
 
 She made no answer, but set the roses on 
 the piano top, and Freeman went on: "It 
 may interest you to know that I am going 
 away next week." 
 
 "We shall be sorry to lose you, sir," she 
 answered respectfully. 
 
 "Thank you," he said drily; "but I can't 
 flatter myself that it will disturb your night's 
 rest." 
 
 "It would take a lot to do that," she said. 
 Her manner was so perfect that he was un- 
 able to decide whether there was irony in her 
 remark or not. He suspected that there 
 was, having become familiar with the humor- 
 ous possibilities of the human underlying 
 Smith ; but she shielded herself so completely 
 behind the parlour maid that he had no point 
 of attack open to him. 
 
 "Is there anything else, sir?" she added. 
 
 "Nothing, thank you," he answered. 
 
 She started for the door with her tray and 
 then, obeying a sudden impulse, turned 
 about and came towards him. "Excuse me, 
 sir," she said, and hesitated. 
 
FURTHER DISCUSSION 239 
 
 "Yes?" he replied encouragingly. 
 
 "I wanted to thank you for being so kind 
 to me, sir," she said shyly. 
 
 "That's very good of you," he answered. 
 "I've not noticed that I've been particularly 
 kind." 
 
 "You have," said Smit>h. "Many gentle- 
 men would have taken advantage of of 
 what you said last week to be familiar." 
 
 "I could hardly look upon it as encour- 
 agement to be familiar when you refused to 
 marry me," he replied. 
 
 "Or you might have been short with me," 
 she went on. "I know it's silly, when you 
 are in a situation, but I don't like it 
 when people talk to you as if you were a 
 dog." 
 
 "Now you are being idiotic," said Free- 
 man. "You'd better get on with your 
 work." 
 
 "Yes, sir," she said and turned away, but 
 before she had reached the door he called 
 her back. 
 
 "Just a moment," he said. "It never 
 
240 SMITH 
 
 struck me that I might be making it rather 
 uncomfortable for you here." 
 
 "Well," Smith answered frankly, "it isn't 
 your fault, sir; but cook says she thinks I 
 ought to give notice." 
 
 Freeman laughed drily. "So you have 
 discussed it with cook?" he said. 
 
 "You don't mind, sir, do you?" she asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Not a bit," he answered. "You can dis- 
 cuss it with the dustman, if you like." 
 
 "Well, sir," she went on, "mother asked 
 cook to keep an eye on me, so I thought I 
 had better tell her what you said. Though 
 the fact is," she added, "I keep more of an 
 eye on cook." 
 
 "Do you?" asked Freeman with an amused 
 smile. 
 
 "Yes," said Smith. "It seems to me that 
 single women, when they get near forty, 
 always become rather silly about men." 
 
 Freeman chuckled. "And what did you 
 say to cook when she advised you to leave?" 
 he asked. 
 
FURTHER DISCUSSION 241 
 
 "I said I didn't know how she'd manage 
 without me," Smith answered frankly. 
 
 Freeman threw his head back and 
 laughed, but Smith's gravity remained un- 
 disturbed. 
 
 "I see that you have a proper opinion of 
 yourself," he said. 
 
 "Well, it's not everyone who could get 
 on with cook, sir," she answered, "so I 
 thought I'd wait a week and see what hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "On cook's account?" he suggested. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Smith. 
 
 "Well, I hope I haven't made myself 
 very objectionable," he observed gravely. 
 
 "No, sir," she said, "that's what I wanted 
 to thank you for. You've been just the 
 same as you were before, except she 
 added with a note of regret in her voice 
 "that you used to chat a little with me now 
 and then, and you haven't said a word to me 
 until to-day." 
 
 "I've thought a good deal," he said 
 gravely. 
 
242 SMITH 
 
 She looked at him, perplexed. "Have 
 you, sir?" she said. 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "I have thought a 
 good deal about you and I think you are 
 a very good girl and that the man who mar- 
 ries you will be a devilish lucky chap. And 
 I hope," he added, "that he will be as good 
 to you as you deserve." 
 
 Smith smiled her charming, frank smile. 
 "I hope he'll be better than that, sir," she 
 answered. 
 
 "Well, don't let him know that such a 
 thing is possible," said Freeman. He 
 picked up his book feeling that he had said 
 all that he had a right to say and feeling too, 
 that he was drifting rapidly into dangerous 
 waters. 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon the page and 
 held them there, expecting to hear her 
 as she turned the handle of the door and 
 catch a parting look at her as she went out. 
 But the door handle was not turned and he 
 looked up a moment later to find her stand- 
 ing somewhat nearer him than she had been 
 
FURTHER DISCUSSION 243 
 
 with an expression of shy and troubled con- 
 cern on her face. 
 
 As he caught her eye, she looked down. 
 "You didn't care the other day," she began 
 with evident difficulty, "when I said 'no/ did 
 you, sir?" 
 
 Freeman was silent for a moment. Then 
 he sat up and put his feet to the floor. 
 
 "No, curiously enough," he said huskily, 
 "but, Smith, I care now." 
 
 She raised her eyes, looked at him steadily 
 and then dropped them again. 
 
 "I suppose that I am like a lot of people," 
 he went on, getting more control of himself 
 as he proceeded. "I don't really want a 
 thing till I can't get it. It's very silly, isn't 
 it? I asked you to marry me, well, because 
 I wanted a wife and rather admired you, 
 and you seemed to be on the spot. I fell 
 in love with you the minute you refused to 
 marry me." 
 
 "I don't believe if anyone was really in 
 love," said Smith quietly, "they could make 
 jokes about it." 
 
244 SMITH 
 
 "That's what we all think when we are 
 very young," he answered. "When we get 
 older, we know that circumstances alter 
 cases, and we find out, too, that making 
 jokes about things that are very near us 
 doesn't mean that we don't feel. Rather 
 the opposite." 
 
 "I don't think I understand that," said 
 Smith. 
 
 "Well, suppose a man was very shy," said 
 Freeman. "Suppose he felt so deeply that 
 he couldn't speak seriously about the things 
 that were of first importance to him; well, 
 joking about them might seem the best way 
 out of it." 
 
 "I can't make you out, sir," said Smith 
 simply. 
 
 "I wonder if it would change your opin- 
 ion about me, if you could?" he answered. 
 
 "I don't know," she said. "And no 
 matter what I thought of you, sir, all the 
 things that I said were objections would be 
 just as true, wouldn't they, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, and no," he replied. "When peo- 
 
FURTHER DISCUSSION 245 
 
 pie care for one another, I suspect that 
 objections, no matter how logical, don't seem 
 objections any longer. There always seems 
 a way around them. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "I don't know," she answered. "I 
 never ' she stopped, for a bell rang vio- 
 lently in the passage. 
 
 "Is that the telephone?" he asked. 
 
 "It's the front door, sir," she answered. 
 "I expect it's Mr. Peppercorn." 
 
 "Hadn't you better let him in?" he sug- 
 gested, suddenly coming to a realising sense 
 of things. He opened his book and took his 
 place on the window seat again. 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 
 
 FREEMAN, ensconced on the window seat, 
 had read hardly more than a single sen- 
 tence, when the door opened again and 
 Smith announced Miss Chapman. He 
 sprang up, tossed the book aside, and went 
 toward her. "You're quite a stranger," he 
 said. 
 
 "How do you do?" said Emily, and ex- 
 tended her hand. 
 
 "It's at least a century since you were 
 here," he insisted gallantly. 
 
 "Five days, to be precise," she answered. 
 
 "Well, have it your own way," he said. 
 "I am afraid that Rose is not in," he went 
 on. "Providence having sent us a wet 
 Sunday, Rose thought she'd get even with 
 Providence by taking Herbert to church." 
 
 "I didn't come to see Rose," Emily re- 
 249 
 
250 SMITH 
 
 plied, "and I came at this time because I 
 thought that I might catch you alone." 
 
 He looked at her, mystified. "That's 
 very flattering to a man of my age," he 
 observed. 
 
 "I wanted to thank you," she said gravely 
 and with more feeling than her voice usually 
 showed. 
 
 "Good Heavens! what for?" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Tom," she said, "it was good of you to 
 send me that three hundred pounds!" 
 
 "But you can't bring that up against me 
 again," he protested. "You've written the 
 most ample thanks. In fact, I'm overcome 
 and mortified already." 
 
 "You don't know what it means," she 
 went on, after a pause. "I've paid my dress- 
 maker. For the first time in my life I 
 haven't a debt in the world except to you." 
 
 "You must feel immensely relieved," he 
 said kindly. 
 
 She laughed. "Just at present," she 
 said, "I feel rather lonely." 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 251 
 
 "You'll get used to it," he answered. 
 
 "But I've done something else," she con- 
 tinued, lowering her voice confidentially. 
 "I've sold everything I possessed." 
 
 "But why?" he asked in surprise. 
 
 "I'm going away," she answered. 
 
 He looked at her, not understanding 
 quite what she meant. "Are you, indeed?" 
 he said politely. 
 
 "Yes," said Emily, "I've come to say 
 good-bye to you all, and I wanted to tell 
 you what I'm going to do, because you've 
 had a good deal to do with it. I hope you 
 won't think it's awfully silly of me," she 
 added. 
 
 "I have no doubt I shall," he observed. 
 
 Emily smiled gaily. "You know," she 
 began, "I really did rather a good action 
 when I refused to marry you. Neither of 
 us cared two straws for the other and it 
 would have been all to my advantage. But 
 I'm glad I released you. I don't know just 
 why I did it. It was something stronger 
 than myself, that just took me and made 
 
252 SMITH 
 
 me. But it was madness " She paused 
 and laughed. "Good actions are like drug 
 taking the first step may lead you, good- 
 ness knows, where." 
 
 He looked at her, in comic alarm. "You 
 fill me with consternation," he said. 
 
 "I felt desperately virtuous, afterwards," 
 she went on, "and I had a sleepless night 
 or two and I cried a good deal." 
 
 "I say," Freeman exclaimed earnestly, "I 
 am awfully sorry!" 
 
 "There is no need to be," she answered, 
 "because I was quite happy. I don't know 
 what came over me. I suddenly felt so hor- 
 ribly worthless and I began to hate the life 
 I've been leading for the past ten years." 
 
 He looked at her sympathetically. "I 
 expect you've had rather a rotten time," he 
 said. 
 
 "Rather," she assented. "Well, when I 
 began to wonder where I was drifting, I 
 looked at myself in the glass and shuddered. 
 I'm only thirty, and I'm a painted harridan 
 already. 'What shall I be in ten years?' I 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 253 
 
 thought. I've had enough of that sort of 
 thing, I decided, so I began next morning 
 by washing my face." 
 
 "As an economy or as a symbol?" Free- 
 man asked. 
 
 Emily laughed. "Both," she answered. 
 "Then it seemed that I had wasted so much 
 time that I must try and make amends for 
 it by up and doing something at once 
 towards earning an honest living. I told 
 you the other day that the only talent I had 
 was for playing bridge. I grossly misled 
 you. I'm really not at all a bad cook." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed Freeman, in 
 amazement. 
 
 "It's so," she said. "Perhaps you re- 
 member telling me that Smith was thinking 
 of emigrating to New South Wales? Well, 
 I made inquiries." 
 
 "You?" exclaimed Freeman, again. 
 
 "Yes, I," said Emily, "and I've got a sec- 
 ond class ticket in my pocket for which I 
 haven't had to pay anything. I start for 
 Sydney at once, and on my arrival I'm 
 
254 SMITH 
 
 guaranteed a place at quite a decent sal- 
 ary." 
 
 Freeman gazed at her in open-mouthed 
 amazement. "But do you know what you 
 are in for?" he said. "I think it's awfully 
 brave of you." 
 
 "It isn't a bit," she replied calmly. "It's 
 merely the least of a number of evils." 
 
 She stopped, and they both listened, for 
 they heard the sound of a key in the front 
 door, and then of the door opening. 
 
 "It's Rose and Herbert," said Freeman. 
 
 "You needn't tell them what I am going 
 to do," she said hurriedly. "They wouldn't 
 understand." 
 
 Freeman nodded assent and Rose came 
 in. 
 
 "Oh, Emily dear!" she exclaimed with an 
 amiable enthusiasm, "I've been wondering 
 what on earth had become of you!" 
 
 Emily extended a cheek and the two 
 women kissed one another in a perfunctory 
 way. 
 
 "I've been very busy," said Emily, in an- 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 255 
 
 swer to Rose's question. "I've had a num- 
 ber of important things to do and to decide 
 about." 
 
 "Really?" said Rose vaguely. She 
 glanced about the room and a shadow 
 crossed her face. "Isn't Algy here?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I've not seen him," said Freeman. 
 
 "How tiresome he is!" Rose exclaimed. 
 
 "I've no doubt he'll turn up in time for 
 lunch," Freeman remarked reassuringly. 
 
 Rose sat down stiffly and began taking 
 off her gloves. "I'm beginning to think," 
 she said icily, "that he's making too great 
 a convenience of us." 
 
 Freeman raised his eyebrows and looked 
 at Dallas-Baker, who had followed his wife 
 into the room. 
 
 "I'm afraid Rose isn't in a very good 
 humour this morning," he said regretfully. 
 "I wish Algy would come," 
 
 "Do you really?" said Freeman 
 
 "I do, indeed," Dallas-Baker replied with 
 emphasis, "and I hope he's not going to be 
 
256 SMITH 
 
 late for luncheon. It always puts Rose out 
 to be kept waiting." 
 
 "Perhaps he won't come at all," Freeman 
 suggested. "As it was raining and you 
 couldn't play golf, I daresay he thought he'd 
 take a day off." 
 
 Rose turned to Emily, apparently as 
 much from a desire to change the conversa- 
 tion as to be hospitable and invited her to 
 stay to lunch. 
 
 "It's very kind of you," Emily replied, 
 "but I'm afraid I can't." 
 
 Rose looked vexed, but she only said: 
 "I'm sorry," in a tone that was anything 
 but regretful, and asked Emily if she had 
 seen Cynthia Rosenberg lately. 
 
 "No," Emily replied. "I called, but she 
 wasn't at home." 
 
 "I'm very angry with her," said Rose vig- 
 orously. "I called twice and I happen to 
 know she was in each time and they wouldn't 
 let me up. I wrote and asked her if I might 
 go and see her, and she hasn't answered my 
 letter." 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 257 
 
 "I daresay she was very much upset by 
 the baby's death," Dallas-Baker remarked 
 soothingly. 
 
 Rose turned on him. "Nonsense!" she 
 said brusquely. 
 
 "Well," he replied mildly, "one never can 
 tell how people are going to take these 
 things. She may think that it was a little 
 our fault that she didn't get home in time." 
 
 "Oh, Herbert!" Rose exclaimed, "don't 
 begin on that again. I think you're grow- 
 ing more and more prosy every day." 
 
 "I've been very much worried by the 
 whole thing," he replied with more firmness 
 than he generally showed. "It was unpleas- 
 ant. No one can deny that it was unpleas- 
 ant." 
 
 "My dear Herbert," said Rose, "it's an- 
 cient history now." 
 
 "I'm a great believer in looking facts in 
 the face," he continued, undeterred by her 
 interruption, "and the fact is that people 
 might say very disagreeable things if they 
 knew that " 
 
258 SMITH 
 
 "It's quite indifferent to me what people 
 say about me!" Rose exclaimed, taking the 
 words out of her husband's mouth. 
 
 While she was still speaking the door had 
 opened softly and Mr. Peppercorn entered. 
 "How lucky I am," he said, coming forward 
 and shaking hands; "I've arrived in the nick 
 of time for a domestic tiff." 
 
 "You're very late, my friend," said Rose 
 severely. 
 
 "Am I?" said Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "You know you are," said Rose. "Don't 
 you think you might at least pretend some 
 regret?" 
 
 "I precipitate myself at your feet and 
 kiss the hem of your garment," he answered. 
 His remark was in his usual vein of light- 
 ness and flippancy, but there seemed to be 
 something laboured about it. 
 
 "I am beginning to think that you are 
 growing stupid, Algy," said Rose. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn looked at her shrewdly. 
 "I've noticed you've been thinking that for 
 some time," he said quietly. 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 259 
 
 Dallas-Baker laughed and shook a warn- 
 ing finger at him. "What happened to you 
 last night, young man?" he said with mock 
 severity. "It was too bad of you to tele- 
 phone five minutes before dinner that you 
 were unable to come." 
 
 "Yes," said Rose coolly, "I've been won- 
 dering when it would occur to you to apolo- 
 gise for putting us to inconvenience." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn slowly took out his pocket 
 handkerchief, a corner of which was knotted. 
 "There," he said, pointing to the knot, "look 
 at that. I thought of a most convincing 
 excuse, as I came along, and so that I 
 shouldn't forget it, I tied a knot in my 
 handkerchief. And now it's gone." He 
 shook his head sadly. "I shall never trust 
 a knot in my handkerchief again." 
 
 Dallas-Baker laughed, but Rose heard 
 him through without a smile. She was 
 about to speak when Smith appeared in the 
 doorway and announced Mrs. Rosenberg. 
 
 A moment later Cynthia's slim figure, 
 dressed in heavy mourning, stood on the 
 
260 SMITH 
 
 threshold of the room, hesitating, appar- 
 ently, about entering. 
 
 "Cynthia?" said Rose in some surprise. 
 
 "I didn't expect to find so many people," 
 Mrs. Rosenberg replied, and advanced tim- 
 idly. "I thought, as it was Sunday " 
 
 Rose went to meet her and kissed her with 
 a show of affection. "What on earth is the 
 matter?" she asked. "What has happened 
 to you? Why wouldn't you see me the 
 other day, when I called?" 
 
 Cynthia made no answer at first to Rose's 
 question, because Dallas-Baker had ap- 
 proached her, offered his hand and was ex- 
 pressing his pleasure at seeing her. "I'm 
 glad to have this opportunity of expressing 
 my sympathy with your great loss," he said 
 with some uneasiness. 
 
 Rose shot him a look. "Really, Her- 
 bert!" she said sharply. 
 
 But Mrs. Rosenberg smiled rather mourn- 
 fully. "It's very kind of you," she said. 
 "I came in for a moment," she went on, "be- 
 cause I had something to say to Rose." 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 261 
 
 "Would you like us to leave you?" sug- 
 gested Freeman quickly. 
 
 "No, don't bother," she answered. 
 
 "Then won't you sit down?" he suggested. 
 
 She shook her head. "No, thank you," 
 she said; "I can only stay a minute." She 
 turned to Rose. "You wrote me the other 
 day, Rose," she began. 
 
 "Yes," said Rose, "and I've been wonder- 
 ing why on earth you didn't answer." 
 
 "Otto wanted me to answer by letter," 
 Cynthia replied, "but I felt I couldn't I 
 thought I could explain so much better if I 
 saw you." She hesitated, evidently much 
 embarrassed. "It's very difficult." 
 
 "You're extraordinarily mysterious!" said 
 Rose. "I simply wrote to ask you when I 
 could come and see you. It was mere 
 politeness." 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't ask you to come and 
 see me just yet," Mrs. Rosenberg replied. 
 "You must forgive me. I feel very 
 badly" 
 
 "But why on earth not?" exclaimed Rose. 
 
262 SMITH 
 
 "Oh, I've had such an awful week!" 
 Cynthia broke out hysterically. "When I 
 got home and the baby was dead, Otto was 
 furious with me. I thought he was going 
 to kill me!" 
 
 "The brute!" said Rose. 
 
 "I didn't mind that," she went on brok- 
 enly. "But he wouldn't speak to me. I 
 had to go to Rachel and ask her to go to 
 him. He said I had married him for his 
 money and was a worthless wife and a 
 worthless mother." 
 
 "You oughtn't to have let him talk 
 that way to you," said Rose severely. 
 
 "It was true," said Cynthia, dropping her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Fortunately," Rose answered, "we don't 
 live in a world where people habitually 
 speak the truth." 
 
 "He talked of separating," Mrs. Rosen- 
 berg continued, "and I was horribly fright- 
 ened. It seemed to me as if the whole world 
 were coming to an end." 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 263 
 
 "Because Otto Rosenberg suggested a 
 separation?" Rose asked ironically. 
 
 "I suppose I cared for him more than I 
 knew," she answered. "But at last he said 
 that if I would promise to be more de- 
 cent, he'd let me stay. And I," she added 
 falteringly, "I promised to give up seeing 
 you." 
 
 "Me?" exclaimed Rose in angry amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "All of you," said Mrs. Rosenberg sim- 
 ply "the people that I have been going 
 about with. He thinks that you are " she 
 stopped and then added miserably, "I 
 don't quite know how to put it." 
 
 "My dear," said Rose insolently, "you 
 need not trouble to explain. We shall bear 
 the loss of your society with fortitude." 
 
 A look of pain crossed Cynthia's pale face. 
 "Don't be too angry with me," she said 
 appealingly. "I felt that I must explain, 
 so that you shouldn't think too badly of 
 me." 
 
264 SMITH 
 
 "I think you've behaved very pluckily," 
 said Freeman. 
 
 Mrs. Rosenberg thanked him with her 
 eyes, but said nothing. A moment later she 
 turned to Emily, who was standing by with 
 a smile of half-amused indifference. "I'm 
 afraid it applies to you, also, Emily," she 
 said regretfully. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," Emily answered, "don't 
 be troubled about me. I couldn't have seen 
 much more of you in any case. I'm going 
 away." 
 
 Rose turned toward her with a quick sus- 
 picion and then glanced at Tom. "You go- 
 ing away?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes," said Emily with a quiet smile. "I 
 came to say good-bye to you, too. I am 
 going to Australia." 
 
 "Australia?" repeated Rose, wonderingly, 
 and again she looked at Tom. 
 
 "Yes, Australia," Emily said again. 
 "We shall never battle with one another at 
 bridge again, Rose, dear; at least not for a 
 long time." 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 265 
 
 "That will at least be an advantage to 
 my pocket," said Rose with a cold smile. 
 
 "I wish you a great deal of good luck, 
 Emily," said Mrs. Rosenberg. "Good- 
 bye." She kissed her on the cheek and then 
 turned to Rose. "Good-bye, Rose. I must 
 be off." 
 
 Rose nodded stiffly. "You can tell Otto 
 with my compliments," she began, but 
 stopped, as Freeman interrupted her. 
 
 "I wouldn't say anything disagreeable, 
 Rose," he said. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rosen- 
 berg, that I don't know your husband." 
 
 "You called him a fat old German when 
 you first came," Mrs. Rosenberg observed 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 "I knew him much less than I do now," 
 Freeman replied quickly. "Good-bye." 
 He held out his hand and she took it 
 warmly. 
 
 Then Mrs. Rosenberg bowed stiffly to the 
 room in general and, Dallas-Baker holding 
 open the door for her, she took her leave. 
 
 When she had gone, Rose burst into a 
 
266 SMITH 
 
 hard little laugh. "I never heard anything 
 so vulgar and absurd !" she exclaimed. "Did 
 you?" 
 
 "I daresay that we shall be able to do 
 without her, my dear," said her husband 
 pompously. "I don't think that either she 
 or her husband were quite our form." 
 
 "Still," said Rose bitterly, "we might have 
 discovered that before they turned their back 
 
 on us." 
 
 "That is true," said Dallas-Baker calmly. 
 He looked at his watch. "I've got just time 
 to read a brief before luncheon," he said. 
 "I shall go and put on a smoking jacket. 
 I think my frock coat is growing a little 
 tight for me." 
 
 He turned to go, but Emily stopped him. 
 "I'd better say good-bye to you," she said, 
 "for I shall be off in a few minutes." 
 
 "Good-bye," he said in his best manner. 
 "I am sure I hope that you will have a pleas- 
 ant journey," and he went out. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn, who had begun to feel 
 the atmosphere grow kindlier and more pro- 
 
EMILY MAKES NEW PLANS 267 
 
 pitious as regards himself, dropped into a 
 chair and began hunting through his pockets 
 for his cigarette case. "You won't forget 
 to write us, will you, Emily," he said 
 amiably, "and tell us all about the kanga- 
 roos?" 
 
 "I won't forget," she said, "and I will 
 write you." 
 
 "To me," said Rose, with a knowing look, 
 "it is somewhat of a surprise that your des- 
 tination is Australia. I suppose it is a case 
 of leading the horse to water, but being 
 unable to make him drink." 
 
 Emily nodded good-naturedly and shot a 
 glance at Freeman, intended to make him 
 keep silent, for a frown had gathered on his 
 brows and he looked ready to blurt out one 
 of his lectures which so exasperated Rose. 
 "Yes," she said, "it's Australia for lack of 
 the wherewithal to make it Paris." The 
 two women kissed, said good-bye, and sepa- 
 rated. 
 
 "Truly an affecting leave-taking!" ob- 
 served Mr. Peppercorn, carefully selecting 
 
268 SMITH 
 
 a cigarette as was his custom, although they 
 were all the same brand. 
 
 "Very," said Emily. 
 
 Freeman crossed to her and took her hand 
 and held it a moment in silence. "Good- 
 bye, my dear friend," he said. "Good 
 luck!" He went to the door and opened 
 it for her. 
 
 The tears came into her eyes, but she 
 smiled and, waving her hand to him, left the 
 room. 
 
THE STORM BREAKS IN CREDIN 
 TON COURT 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE STORM BREAKS IN CREDINTON COIPRT 
 
 As Rose watched Emily leave the room, she 
 became morally certain that her plan to trap 
 Tom had failed ignominiously. She had no 
 feeling either of pleasure or regret that such 
 should be the case. At the same time she 
 felt that it would be amusing to know the 
 details and to find out whether Tom had 
 suspected the snare that had been set for 
 him. 
 
 Freeman came slowly across the room to 
 his book on the window seat and settled him- 
 self as if to read. 
 
 "Well, Tom," Rose began good-natur- 
 edly, "you look quite broken-hearted. Why 
 did you let her go to Australia in this sud- 
 den and extraordinary fashion?" 
 
 "What could I do about it?" he answered 
 simply. 
 
 271 
 
272 SMITH 
 
 "Well, if that is the way you feel," she 
 went on, "I don't see why you pull such a 
 long face. You look as if you had vowed 
 never to smile again." 
 
 Freeman tossed aside his book. "Doesn't 
 it move you a little," he said sharply, "to 
 see the last of a friend that you've known 
 all your life?" 
 
 "I don't think she was ever a very good 
 friend to you," said Rose meaningly. "Be- 
 sides, she was getting quite impossible, poor 
 thing. People were beginning to fight shy 
 of her." 
 
 "Speaking of old friends," said Mr. Pep-^ 
 percorn, "personally I much prefer new 
 acquaintances." 
 
 Rose laughed. "That is a sentiment to 
 shock Tom!" she said. "You musn't say 
 such things when he's about." 
 
 Freeman left the window seat and stood 
 facing Peppercorn and Rose. "My dear," 
 he said soberly, "you have all long ceased to 
 shock me. I might as well be shocked by 
 the marionettes in a child's theatre." 
 
THE STORM BREAKS 273 
 
 "Hello!" exclaimed Mr. Peppercorn. 
 "What new wheeze is this?" 
 
 "At first, when I came home," Freeman 
 went on, ignoring the interruption, "I was 
 frankly horrified. I thought I'd fallen into 
 a perfect sink of iniquity." 
 
 "How absurd!" exclaimed Rose. 
 
 "How flattering!" corrected Mr. Pepper- 
 corn. 
 
 "It took me some time to discover," said 
 Freeman, "that you weren't real people at 
 all. You are not men and women, but 
 strange, sexless creatures without blood in 
 your veins, and when one puts you face to 
 face with life," he paused and shrugged his 
 shoulders contemptuously, "you're like a 
 parcel of young ladies painting the Alps in 
 water colours. You can't be wicked. 
 You're too trifling. Your only vice is ciga- 
 rette smoking, your only passion is bridge. 
 You want nothing very much except to be 
 amused and boredom eats into your very 
 bones. In yourselves you're perfectly un- 
 important, but England is full of people as 
 
274 SMITH 
 
 frivolous, as flippant and inane. The en- 
 emy is at our gates and we're frittering 
 away our time over the games of the circus." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn produced his watch and 
 consulted it with a great deal of manner. 
 "It's lucky I haven't a train to catch," he 
 observed. 
 
 "My dear Tom," began Rose with em- 
 phasis, "if this outburst of yours is drawn 
 out by my remarks about Emily Chapman, 
 it is just as well that you understand what 
 you are talking about. Emily Chapman 
 cares as little for me as I do for her. It's 
 absurd of you to lecture me like a school 
 girl because I don't have an attack of hys- 
 terics when she tells me she is going to 
 Australia." 
 
 "As you please," said Freeman quietly. 
 
 "I say," said Mr. Peppercorn, perking 
 up, "I wonder why the deuce she's going?" 
 
 Rose smiled mischievously. "I should 
 think Tom could tell you more about that 
 than anybody else," she answered. 
 
 "Why?" demanded Freeman. 
 
THE STORM BREAKS 275 
 
 "Well," said Rose, "because I fancy she 
 failed in inducing you to marry her and she 
 thought that you were her last chance." 
 
 "It may interest you to know that I asked 
 her to marry me," Freeman replied. 
 
 "Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Mr. Pepper- 
 corn. "What did she say?" 
 
 "She refused me," said Freeman. 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Rose. 
 
 "But the truth," he replied. "And, as 
 you seem to be interested in my matrimonial 
 affairs, I may as well tell you that after she 
 refused me I promptly offered my heart 
 and hand to Smith 
 
 "What are you talking about?" exclaimed 
 Rose. 
 
 "But she," Freeman continued, "strange 
 as it may seem, refused me, too. So now 
 you know all, as they say in the play." 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn burst into a fit of dis- 
 cordant laughter. "What a joke!" he cried. 
 
 "You don't seriously mean to tell me that 
 you asked a servant to marry you?" Rose 
 demanded. 
 
276 SMITH 
 
 "I did, indeed," said Freeman. 
 
 "You must be off your head," his sister 
 replied. 
 
 "I think she would make an admirable 
 wife," Freeman went on gravely. "She's 
 the only woman I've seen since I came back 
 who seems capable of being a good house- 
 keeper and a decent mother. She's very 
 simple and she has a good heart, and she's 
 honest and straightforward." 
 
 Rose looked at him with mixed incredulity 
 and scorn. "Why did she refuse you?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "I'm afraid she didn't think me good 
 enough," he answered. 
 
 "It must have been rather a sell for you," 
 observed Mr. Peppercorn. 
 
 "It was rather," assented Freeman. 
 
 "Tom," demanded Rose, "is this the 
 truth?" 
 
 "The whole truth and nothing but the 
 truth," he replied. 
 
 She walked stiffly to the bell that was set 
 in the wall by the fireplace and pressed it. 
 
THE STORM BREAKS 277 
 
 "What are you ringing for?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 She turned on him haughtily. "Surely," 
 she said, "I can ring the bell in my own 
 house without accounting to you for it." 
 
 Freeman went toward her pleadingly. 
 "You're not going to do anything beastly, 
 Rose?" he said. 
 
 "I am going to do what I see fit," she 
 replied, "to maintain the dignity, if not the 
 decency of my household," As she finished, 
 the door opened and Smith came in. Rose 
 turned upon her at once. "Smith," she said 
 coldly, "I wish you to leave to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 The girl caught her breath and looked 
 about her in amazement. "Me, ma'am?" 
 she faltered. 
 
 "Rose!" exclaimed Freeman indignant- 
 
 ly. 
 
 "Please leave me alone," she said sharply. 
 "I shall give you a month's money," she 
 went on to Smith, "but I wish you to go 
 to-morrow." 
 
278 SMITH 
 
 "But what have I done, ma'am, that you 
 don't like?" the girl said meekly. 
 
 "I have no explanations to offer," Rose 
 replied. "I shall expect you to be ready at 
 ten o'clock." 
 
 "Rose!" exclaimed Freeman, in an under- 
 tone, "you can't be such a beast!" 
 
 She turned on him angrily, her face white 
 with passion. "Surely I can dismiss my 
 own servants, if I wish to !" she exclaimed. 
 
 Smith turned to go without speaking. A 
 stifled sob escaped her, and she left the room. 
 
 Brother and sister faced one another for a 
 moment in silence. "How can you be so 
 cruel?" he said at last. 
 
 "Don't be absurd," she snapped back. 
 "How can you expect me to keep a servant 
 that you have been making love to? It's 
 too disgraceful! Every tenant in the man- 
 sions knows by now that you've asked her 
 to marry you. If you wanted to play this 
 sort of trick, you ought not to have come 
 here. You've made me the laughingstock 
 of the whole place." 
 
THE STORM BREAKS 279 
 
 "How have I made you the laughingstock 
 of the whole place?" he demanded. 
 
 "By your ridiculous conduct," she replied 
 "by proposing to my parlour maid, the 
 day you say another woman refused you, as 
 if getting a wife was like picking out a set 
 of china." 
 
 "Then I may as well tell you," he said 
 soberly, "that it is not like picking out a set 
 of china as far as this woman is concerned. 
 I am just sick with love for her." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Rose furiously, "what stuff!" 
 
 "I told you that I wanted her for this or 
 that quality," Freeman went on, "but it's all 
 rot. I want her because she is her self and 
 I am my self, because my whole being cries 
 out for her. If this means love, because 
 I love her He paused, changed his 
 tone, and went on again: "You've hated me, 
 Rose, and thought me interfering. I dare- 
 say I have been arrogant. If you have felt 
 bitter towards me, you can be satisfied now. 
 You have had revenge enough." He turned 
 on his heel and went out. 
 
280 SMITH 
 
 Rose heard him going to his room, but 
 made no attempt to call him back. "He is 
 too absurd!" she said. 
 
MR. PEPPERCORN MAKES AN 
 ANNOUNCEMENT 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MR. PEPPERCORN MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT 
 
 MR. PEPPERCORN threw his half-smoked 
 cigarette into the fireplace, rose and pulled 
 his coat down, smoothed and buttoned it. 
 "All this emotion is really making me very 
 uncomfortable," he said. "I think I'll be 
 toddling." 
 
 Rose looked at him in surprise. "Aren't 
 you lunching here?" she asked. 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't," he said uneasily. 
 "Didn't you know?" 
 
 "I didn't," said Rose grimly. 
 
 "How stupid of mother!" explained Mr. 
 Peppercorn. "I told her to ring you up this 
 morning and tell you." 
 
 "She didn't," said Rose. "Where are 
 you lunching?" 
 
 "I?" he answered. "Oh, with Lady 
 Whitstable." 
 
 283 
 
284 SMITH 
 
 "Lady Whitstable is out of town," said 
 Rose. "I saw in the paper this morning 
 that she'd got a week-end party on the 
 
 river." 
 
 "Has she?" exclaimed Mr. Peppercorn 
 with interest. "That's awkward, isn't it?" 
 
 "You've rather put your foot in it," said 
 Rose dangerously, "haven't you?" 
 
 "I have," said Mr. Peppercorn, with a 
 kind of vague, impersonal regret at the error 
 which had been made. "It shows the dan- 
 ger of snobbishness. If I had said I was 
 lunching with Mrs. Jones or Robinson, you 
 would have been none the wiser." 
 
 Rose looked at him searchingly. "Sit 
 down," she said. "What are you hiding 
 from me?" 
 
 "I?" said Mr. Peppercorn blandly. 
 
 "Oh, don't pretend to be. stupider than 
 you are," she insisted. "I know you're hid- 
 ing something from me. Something is the 
 matter, and I want to know. Why did you 
 tell me that lie?" 
 
 "It was stupid of me," said Mr. Pepper- 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT 285 
 
 corn frankly. "I am lunching with some 
 Americans called Trevor." 
 
 "I've never heard of them," said Rose 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Notwithstanding they have managed to 
 exist," he replied with his old impertinence, 
 "and even to amass a considerable fortune." 
 
 She looked at him sharply. "What do 
 you mean?" she demanded. 
 
 "I suppose you have guessed it," he said. 
 "If you want to know, I am proposing to 
 marry their young and lovely daughter." 
 
 "Are you engaged to her?" Rose asked 
 quickly. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn smiled amiably. "I 
 am," he said. 
 
 There was a pause, then Rose sjipke 
 again. "How long has this been going on?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 "I offered her my young affections at a 
 dance the night before last," he replied. 
 "That would make it forty-eight hours this 
 evening." 
 
 "Why haven't you told me anything about 
 
286 SMITH 
 
 it?" she asked. "You knew that I would 
 be interested." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Peppercorn, "the 
 Trevors are making a little tour around 
 Europe this summer and won't return to 
 London until the late autumn. I thought 
 that there was no need to trouble you about 
 my private affairs until then." 
 
 "I suppose," said Rose icily, "that you 
 thought we mightn't be so ready to take you 
 motoring with us this summer if " She 
 stopped, choked with indignation. 
 
 "If what?" inquired Mr. Peppercorn 
 blandly. 
 
 "Do you never tell the truth?" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Seldom to women," he replied quietly. 
 "I'm always afraid they'll look upon it as 
 an impertinence." 
 
 Rose made no reply. Angry as she was, 
 her curiosity about the Trevor girl was para- 
 mount. "Is this girl rich?" she asked. 
 
 "On the contrary," he answered, "for an 
 American she's very poor. She has barely 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT 28T 
 
 ten thousand dollars a year, poor thing. 
 We shall have to be rigidly economical. 
 Isn't it a pity, when I so appreciate com- 
 fort?" 
 
 "Oh, don't laugh all the time!" Rose cried 
 explosively. She threw herself into the 
 armchair by the fire and gazed sullenly at 
 the blazing coals. 
 
 "Upon my word, you know!" said Mr. 
 Peppercorn, "I don't see why you're 
 taking it like this! Not a sentiment of 
 congratulation or praise have you ex- 
 pressed." 
 
 She turned angrily upon him. "How 
 could you let me go on making all sorts of 
 plans for the future?" she exclaimed. "If 
 you'd had any decent feelings at all, you 
 wouldn't have made such a fool of me!" 
 
 "My dear Rose," said Mr. Peppercorn 
 propitiatingly, "women are very peculiar. 
 We got on extremely well together, but you 
 were just as little in love with me as I was 
 with you. It would have bored you, if I 
 had made love to you, just as it would have 
 
288 SMITH 
 
 bored me to do it. But I knew quite well 
 that you didn't want me to make love to 
 anyone else. You liked to think of me as 
 your property and you were looking forward 
 to the pleasure of giving me the chuck when 
 you grew sick of me." 
 
 Rose turned her head away. "There's 
 not a soul in the world that cares for me!" 
 she blurted out through angry sobs. 
 
 "My dear Rose," Mr. Peppercorn began. 
 He put his hand on her shoulder, but she 
 flung it off with an impatient shrug. He 
 put the spurned member into his trousers 
 pocket and went on, "You are just about to 
 do a very foolish thing. Now that I'm en- 
 gaged to somebody else, you are going to 
 persuade yourself that you're in love with 
 
 me." 
 
 "How can you have the heart to sneer at 
 me?" she sobbed. 
 
 "I'm not sneering at you," he replied. 
 "I'm only suggesting the exercise of a little 
 common sense." He stopped and con- 
 sulted his watch again. "I really am afraid 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT 289 
 
 I must be toddling," he said. "I suppose 
 you'll be in to supper?" he added. 
 
 Rose shot him a look of loathing. "No," 
 she said. She dried her eyes, got up and 
 went to the piano. 
 
 "That is a nuisance," he said calmly. "I 
 shall have to sup with mother. Still, what 
 can't be cured, you know- 
 Rose took a cigarette from a silver box 
 on the piano top and nervously lit it. "You 
 need not give yourself the trouble of coming 
 here again," she said. "I have come to the 
 conclusion that you bore me." 
 
 "Just as you like," Mr. Peppercorn re- 
 plied calmly. "But you see, now, how wise 
 I was to keep the happy news of my en- 
 gagement locked in my own manly bosom?" 
 
 "You'll be too late for your party," said 
 Rose satirically. 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn smiled good-naturedly. 
 "Good-bye," he said. "I'm sure you'll like 
 my wife." He held out his hand, but she 
 drew away with a shudder of disgust. 
 
 "You cad!" she exclaimed. 
 
290 SMITH 
 
 Mr. Peppercorn laughed lightly. "Well, 
 good-bye again," he said, and went out. 
 
 A few moments later Freeman re-entered 
 the drawing-room and found Rose on the 
 couch, her face buried in a cushion. 
 
 "Hello," he said, "what's the matter? I 
 thought I heard Algy go out." 
 
 She lifted her head and looked at him 
 bitterly. "He's gone for good," she said. 
 
 "Has he?" said Freeman calmly. "Well, 
 I don't think he's much loss." 
 
 "What have I done?" she went on slowly. 
 "Emily's gone and Cynthia won't see me, 
 and now he's gone, too. Why have they all 
 left me at once? I might be plague- 
 stricken." 
 
 "I think they left you," said Freeman in 
 a kindly tone, "because you never tried to 
 make them your friends. You used them 
 for your pleasure, as they used you for 
 theirs. It's very hard to make friends. It 
 requires that one should give all oneself 
 without a thought of return. But you 
 might find it worth while." 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT 291 
 
 "I despise them all!" cried Rose, leaping 
 to her feet. "They're beneath contempt!" 
 
 "Steady!" said Freeman gently. "Per- 
 haps it isn't their fault altogether. You've 
 got precious little out of life so far. Why 
 don't you try a change? You've got a 
 chance that you'll never have again." 
 
 Rose looked at him, and for a moment 
 her lip quivered and she hesitated. "Can 
 the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard 
 his spots?" she said slowly. "I'm not made 
 like you, Tom. No," she continued, 
 speaking more rapidly, "no, I must go on 
 as I've begun. If a few acquaintances have 
 left me, I can make more. I'm not going to 
 worry my head about them. There are as 
 good fish in the sea as ever were caught." 
 She went nervously to the door and began 
 to call her husband. He gave her an an- 
 swering "Hello!" from his study. "Be 
 quick, I want you!" she called. She came 
 restlessly back into the room, took her hat 
 from the table and began putting it on with 
 feverish haste. 
 
292 SMITH 
 
 A moment later Dallas-Baker put his 
 head in. "Yes, my dear," he said. "What's 
 the matter?" 
 
 "Be quick!" she exclaimed. "Get into 
 your coat, I want you! Let's go and lunch 
 at Princes's, you and I. We can't lunch in. 
 There's been a catastrophe in the kitchen." 
 
 Dallas-Baker looked at her perplexed. 
 "Why, Rose, what's the matter with you?" 
 he asked. 
 
 She laughed hysterically. "Nothing's 
 the matter with me," she answered. "But 
 I'm bored. I want gaiety. I want the 
 crowd, and the band, and the noise!" 
 
 "Just as you like, my dear," her husband 
 replied. "But what about Tom?" 
 
 "That's arranged," said Freeman quickly. 
 "I'm going to my club." 
 
 "Very well," said Dallas-Baker doubt- 
 fully. "I'll change my coat." 
 
 "Hurry!" Rose called after him. "It's 
 awfully late." She turned to her brother, 
 but spoke as if to herself or to some imper- 
 sonal auditor. "I won't be bored!" she said 
 
AN ANNOUNCEMENT 293 
 
 passionately. "I'm going to amuse myself. 
 I want the crowd, and the band, and the 
 gaiety! And afterwards we'll take a taxi 
 and go down to Ranlegh." 
 
 Freeman watched her, hoping for an op- 
 portunity to speak, but she gave him none. 
 He went to her and laid his hand soothingly 
 on her arm, but she flung him off and paced 
 restlessly to and fro the length of the room, 
 swallowing the sobbing that choked her. 
 
 Presently her husband returned. "I'm 
 ready, dear," he said. 
 
 "Then hurry," she answered and, dabbing 
 at her eyes with a handkerchief, she led the 
 way out. 
 
TOM FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TOM FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 
 
 FREEMAN stood in the middle of the room, 
 blankly wondering at the scene to which he 
 had been witness, till he heard the front 
 door close with a bang. Then he shook his 
 head sorrowfully and went to the armchair 
 by the fire, sat down and mechanically 
 sought the solace of tobacco. He smoked 
 for perhaps three minutes, considering the 
 situation in which he found himself. Rose 
 had passed out of his life. Emily Chap- 
 man was off for Australia, and he was on 
 the eve of sailing back to South Africa 
 again. The only living creature that he re- 
 gretted leaving was Smith. Smith and her 
 problem and the complications which he had 
 unwittingly introduced into it laid very 
 heavily on his heart. The worst of it was 
 that he seemed powerless to do anything. 
 "One can't adopt a beautiful parlour maid," 
 297 
 
298 SMITH 
 
 he murmured. Assistance of a financial na- 
 ture, he knew that she would not accept, 
 yet he had caused her dismissal and was 
 morally responsible in a way for making it 
 up to her. But over and beyond that, as 
 he had confessed to Rose, he was in love 
 with her, which, as she did not return the 
 sentiment, only tended further to complicate 
 matters. 
 
 However, Freeman had never been the 
 kind of man that withers in inaction. He 
 had made many mistakes, but never that of 
 doing nothing. Just as it seemed to him 
 that there was nothing to do except to slip 
 off to Rhodesia by the next ship, a smile 
 came to his lips. He tossed his cigarette 
 into the fireplace, rose, took a vase of flowers 
 from the mantelpiece, went to the window, 
 poured out part of the water and then, com- 
 ing back to the centre table, strewed them 
 and the rest of the water on the floor, lay- 
 ing the vase on its side, as if it had acci- 
 dentally been knocked from the table. 
 After surveying his work with some sat- 
 
FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 299 
 
 isfaction, he went to the bell and rang. 
 Then he lighted another cigarette and sat 
 down. 
 
 After a suitable interval, Smith ap- 
 peared. She carried herself even straighter 
 and with more dignity than was usual, and 
 her eyes looked red and swollen. "Did you 
 ring, sir?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes," he answered disingenuously. "It 
 was very stupid of me. I knocked a flower 
 glass off the table. I wonder if you would 
 bring me a duster?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," she said. She went to one 
 of the bookcases, opened a drawer in the 
 bottom and came back with a dust cloth. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, and came forward 
 as if to take it. 
 
 "Oh, no; I'll do it," she said firmly. She 
 got down on her knees and began to wipe 
 up the carpet and gather the flowers back 
 into the vase. 
 
 "It's lucky it wasn't broken, isn't it?" he 
 suggested. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she answered. Her voice had 
 
300 SMITH 
 
 a little break in it and he noticed that, as she 
 bent her head over her work, twice she put 
 her hand to her eyes. 
 
 "You've been crying," he said gently. 
 
 "No, I haven't, sir," she answered sharply, 
 but without looking up at him. 
 
 "I apologise then," he said. "Do you 
 mind my asking if you are much put out 
 at leaving?" 
 
 "No one has ever given me notice before, 
 sir," she said miserably. "I don't like be- 
 ing spoken to like a dog." 
 
 "I'm very sorry about that," he said 
 gravely. "It's all my fault. It never oc- 
 curred to me that my sister could take it in 
 that way." 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter," she answered. 
 "Cook said it was bound to come!" 
 
 "Cook seems to be a confirmed pessimist," 
 he observed. 
 
 "It won't take me long to find another 
 place," she went on. She finished gather- 
 ing up the flowers and, rising, placed them 
 on the table again. 
 
FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 801 
 
 "I thought you were going to your sister's 
 at Sydney," he said. 
 
 Smith shook her head. "I can't do that 
 now, sir," she replied. "I had a letter from 
 her last week, saying that she and her hus- 
 band were coming home for a holiday." 
 
 "Oh!" said Freeman. "Then perhaps 
 you'd like to stay on here. My sister speaks 
 very sharply on the impulse, but I daresay 
 she would " 
 
 Smith interrupted him with quiet dignity. 
 "Thank you very much, sir," she said, "but 
 I shouldn't like to stay in a place where I'd 
 been given notice for no fault of my own." 
 
 "Have your own way," he answered, "but 
 I call it sinful pride." 
 
 "I call it a proper spirit," she answered 
 firmly. 
 
 He looked at her questioningly. "Then," 
 said he, "it seems to me that the only thing 
 that remains is Fletcher." 
 
 "Thank you, it will be a long time before 
 I marry Fletcher!" she replied with spirit. 
 As she spoke about Fletcher, she seemed 
 
302 SMITH 
 
 either to forget or lay aside the professional 
 Smith more than she had ever done before 
 in his presence, and to his eyes her beauty 
 and charm increased accordingly. 
 
 "What has Fletcher done?" he asked. 
 
 "I made up my mind and told him I 
 wouldn't, that's all," she explained. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" he demanded. 
 
 Smith smiled in spite of herself. "You 
 remember that cork that you drew?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Of course I do," he answered. "The 
 young Hercules couldn't manage it, could 
 he?" 
 
 "Well," continued Smith, "I told him that 
 if he couldn't draw a cork that a gentleman 
 could draw, he must be a weak little thing. 
 I was only chaffing him, sir, but he got quite 
 nasty about it, and one thing led to another, 
 and at last, to make a long story short, I 
 told him he could take himself off," and she 
 added simply: "Last Wednesday he went 
 out with the girl upstairs." 
 
 "It seems to me," Freeman observed 
 
FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 303 
 
 gravely, "that you are rather at a loose end." 
 
 She made no reply, for her eyes were 
 fixed on the flowers on the table and she 
 seemed to be working out something in her 
 mind. "Excuse me, sir," she said with 
 some hesitation. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, sir," she went on, "how did you 
 knock these flowers off the table when I dis- 
 tinctly remember putting them on the man- 
 telpiece?" 
 
 "I didn't knock them off the table," he 
 answered solemnly. "I put them very 
 carefully on the floor, so that you should 
 have the bother of clearing them up." 
 
 Smith looked at him in hopeless perplex- 
 ity, then a smile broke on her lips, and next 
 she laughed. "You are a caution!" she ex- 
 claimed in her low, delightful voice. 
 
 Freeman took a step forward and squared 
 his shoulders. "Why don't you change 
 your mind and marry me?" he asked. He 
 attempted to carry it off gaily, but his voice 
 trembled. 
 
304 SMITH 
 
 "Thank you very much, sir," she said de- 
 cidedly, "but when I say no, I mean no." 
 
 "Have you any objection to me person- 
 ally?" he asked in desperation. 
 
 She smiled again. "No, sir," she an- 
 swered, "I can't say that I have." 
 
 They were silent for a moment, gazing at 
 one another, then he began, his voice uncer- 
 tain with emotion. "You know at first," 
 he said, "I asked you to marry me because 
 I wanted a wife. Now I ask you to marry 
 me because I want you" 
 
 As he finished, the duster slipped from 
 her hand, her lips began to quiver, and sud- 
 denly, like a child, she burst into tears and, 
 dropping into the armchair by the fire, she 
 hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "What the devil is the matter, now?" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Why couldn't you leave me alone?" she 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, don't! don't!" he said pro- 
 testingly. 
 
 "I was quite happy till you came," she 
 
FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 305 
 
 went on brokenly. "I've never done you 
 any harm and you She stopped, unable 
 to go on and gave herself up to sobbing. 
 
 The colour left Freeman's face and his 
 voice trembled. "Is it possible that you 
 care?" he said. "For God's sake, don't 
 play the fool with me now!" He took her 
 hands and drew them gently away from her 
 face. 
 
 "If you really cared for me," she said 
 sorrowfully, "you wouldn't have proposed 
 as if it was a joke." She snatched her 
 hands away. "I hate you!" she exclaimed 
 fiercely. "I've always tried to do my best, 
 and you come here and " she began to 
 choke again "I haven't deserved it," she 
 sobbed. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," he said earnestly, "if you 
 only knew how much I loved you ! It would 
 make me so desperately happy, if I thought 
 you could ever care for me!" 
 
 "Cook was quite right," she said, as if 
 speaking to herself; "I ought to have gone 
 at once." 
 
306 SMITH 
 
 "Oh, damn cook!" he exclaimed impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "I didn't know it was coming over me 
 like this," she went on. "I never gave you 
 a thought till you asked me, and then and 
 then," she added simply, "I thought I'd 
 liked you ever since you came." She 
 dropped back into the chair from which she 
 had risen, and he took her hands and knelt 
 beside her. 
 
 "Oh, my darling," he said, "do you mean 
 it?" 
 
 She made no reply, but dropped her head 
 on his shoulder. Her cap became disar- 
 ranged, and she put up a hand to replace it. 
 
 "Take the damned thing off!" he cried. 
 
 With a swift movement she unpinned it 
 and smiled at him. 
 
 "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "I didn't 
 know you had such hair!" 
 
 She said nothing, but sat there, gazing at 
 him with misty eyes, her little head crowned 
 with a glory of straw-coloured hair. 
 
 He rose slowly and drew her to her feet. 
 
FREEMAN TRIES AGAIN 307 
 
 "My dear," he said, and put his arm about 
 her, but she drew away again. 
 
 "Oh, don't!" she said pitifully. "It 
 wouldn't do. Just think of the difference. 
 I'm not good enough for you." 
 
 "Bosh!" he cried savagely. "Now tell 
 me what your name is." 
 
 She laughed and hid her face on his shoul- 
 der. "Mary," she whispered. 
 
 "How ripping!" he exclaimed. "That's 
 just what I wanted it to be!" 
 
 THE END 
 
VC 46250