I 
 
 LIAMDE MORGAN

 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 By 
 WILLIAM DE MORGAN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 SOMEHOW GOOD, IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN, 
 JOSEPH VANCE, AND AN AFFAIR OF DISHONOR 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1907 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 Published May, 1907 
 
 THE QUINN & BODEK CO. PRESS 
 RAH WAY, N. J.
 
 DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 E. B. J. AND W. M.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PADS 
 OF NEAR FIFTY TEAKS AGO, AND OF ALICE AND HER BEER- JUG; 
 
 AND HOW THE LATTER WAS MENDED 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 OF ALICE'S BELONGINGS AND HOW THEY FELL OUT. ALSO HOW THE 
 
 FIRST-FLOOR CAME DOWNSTAIRS 11 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 OF THE ANTECEDENTS OF ALICE'S BELONGINGS 27 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 OF ALICE'S RIDE IN A CAB WITH THE FIRST-FLOOR. OF THE FIRST- 
 FLOOR'S BEAUTIFUL SISTER, AND HER PARROT .... 35 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OF THE FIRST-FLOOR'S FAMILY, AND OF HOW HIS MOTHER SHOULD 
 HAVE BEEN TOLD 41 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OF HOW ALICE COULD NOT GO BACK TO FATHER, AND WHY. OF 
 HOW THE DOCTOR CAME TO ALICE, AND ALICE DIDN'T GO TO 
 AN INQUEST. AND OF HOW IT CAME TO PASS THAT ALICB WAS 
 NOT TO GO BACK TO MOTHER 50 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 OF PUSSY'S MILK, AND OF THE LADY WITH THE BLACK SPOTS . 67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 OF THE PSYCHICAL RESEARCH INTO THE LADY WITH THE SPOTS. OF 
 A CERTAIN TABLE. AND OF HOW ALICE CRIED IN THE DARK. 
 HOW MR. HEATH CALLED HIS SISTER TO SEE MR. JOHNSON. HOW 
 ALICE WAS TOLD THAT THAT WAS MOTHER. HOW MR. HEATH'S 
 SISTER KISSED MOTHER, AND WHY. OF A PAWN-TICKET, AND 
 HOW DR. JOHNSON WROTE A PRESCRIPTION WRONG . . 72
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 OF THE NEW TENANTS AT NO. 40 AND HOW MR. HEATH MADE THEIR 
 ACQUAINTANCE. OF THE CAT'S BONES AND OF DK. JOHNSON'S 
 INFATUATION 83 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OF THE DISTRICT SURVEYOR. OF THE NEW KILN-FOUNDATION AND 
 WHAT WAS FOUND IN IT. OF ALICE'S FATHElt'8 DREAM. HOW 
 ABOUT THE LADY WITH THE SPOTS? OF MISS PEGGY'S ADORERS 100 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 OF THE STORY OF THE BONES. A POSSIBLE CLUE. MR. VERRINDER. 
 
 MR. HEATH GOES TO SEE HIM. CONCERNING BEDLAM . . 115 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 OF A VISIT OF ALICE TO NO. 40, AND OF THE RED MAN WITH THE 
 
 KNIFE 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 OF SHELLACOMBE SANDS, AND WHAT PEGGY THOUGHT THERE. AND 
 
 WHOM SHE MET THERE 138 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OF BOHEMIA, AND HOW THE MISS PRYNNES APPEARED THERE. OF 
 THE FINE ARTS AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. OF TERP- 
 SICHORE, AND A GHOST THAT MR. HEATH SAW .... 148 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OF ALICE'S WALK TO SURGE POINT AND HOW SHE WENT OVER THE 
 
 CLIFF. OF A DECLARATION AT A CRISIS 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 OF HOW BROTHERS ARE FOOLS, AND HOW PEGGY WASN'T EXACTLY 
 
 ENGAGED. OF ALICE'S FAMILY, BUT NOT MUCH . . .177 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 BOTHER LAVINIA STRAKER! OF MISS THISELTON'S PROFILE. HOW 
 CHARLES HAD BETTER GO TO SHELLACOMBE. OF REGENTS PARK 
 AND A GIRL HE SAW THERE 185 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 OF MISS STRAKER'S ANTECEDENTS, AND HER VOICE. WHY DIDN'T 
 
 CHARLES GO TO SHELLACOMBE? HOW MISS PRYNNE SAW A 
 GHOST. HOW DR. JOHNSON SAW MISS STRAKER CHARLES ISN'T 
 IN LOVE 197
 
 CONTENTS vii 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 OP MR. VERRINDER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. OP ALICE-POR-8HORT 
 AND THE BEETLE. WHO WAS THE NICE LADYLIKE GIRL? PSY- 
 CHICAL RESEARCH 206 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 OP MISS STRAKER'S COLD, AND HOW CHARLES WENT TO SEE HER 
 
 AFTER. OF HER GOBLIN MOTHER, AND HOW CHARLES SPOKE 
 FRENCH. OP A CHAT AFTER MUSIC, IN THE DUSK . . . 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 HOW CHARLES WENT TO BELGIUM, AND CAME BACK. HOW MISS 
 STRAKER SANG TILL ELEVEN O'CLOCK. ALICE'S SPECIMEN. 
 PROPHETIC POLLY. HOW CHARLES COULD LOOK HIS SISTER 
 STRAIGHT IN THE FACE ABOUT MISS STRAKER .... 224 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 HOW PEGGY CALLED ON MISS STRAKER, AND MISS STRAKER WENT 
 TO THE GARDENS. HOW ALICE AGREED WITH POLLY ABOUT 
 HER. CHARLES'S FATHER THINKS HIM A FOOL. HOW MISS 
 STRAKER WROTE A LETTER, AND LANDED A FISH. BUT WHAT 
 ABOUT REGENTS PARK? 282 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 HOW PEGGY CALLED AGAIN ON MISS BTRAKER, AND GOT LITTLE COM- 
 FORT FOR CHARLES. MISS STRAKER'S UNCERTAIN SOUND . . 242 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 OF MISS PRYNNE'S SECOND GHOST, AND HER CAT, MOSES. SHE is NOT 
 
 SO SCRAGGY, AFTER ALL. PSYCHICAL RESEARCH. HOW CHARLES 
 BROKE MISS STRAKER QUITE OFF. MISS GEORGIE ARROWSMITH. 
 PEGGY WILL SEE MISS STRAKER AGAIN 248 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CHARLES AND JEFF GO TO SEE VERRINDER. HE WILL NOT USE HIS 
 
 OLD PAINTS ANY MORE 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 HOW ALICE KNEW ALL ABOUT IT. ALICE'S RING AND THE JEWELS 
 THEREON. MISS STRAKER'S LONG LETTER, WHICH CHARLES DID 
 NOT READ TO HIS FATHER. BUT HOW ABOUT EXETER HALL? 
 OP 8CRUNCHY DAYS AND SQUASHY DAYS. HOW PEOPLE TALK. 
 WAS CHARLES PERHAPS UNFAIR, AFTER ALL? .... 263
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 FACJB 
 
 HOW MISS PRYNNE HUNTED FOR MOSES. HOW CHARLES WILL BUY 
 PHYLLIS CARTWRIGHT. JONAH AND ST. MARGARET. HOW CHARLES 
 WENT FOR A WALK IN REGENTS PARK. AND OVERHEARD A 
 CONVERSATION. HOW HE FOUND MISS STRAKER AT HOME . 278 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 ET NOS MUTAMUB IN ILLIS 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 HOW PEGGY HAD BECOME A GREAT MAD-DOCTOR'S WIFE. HOW 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT HAD BEEN ALICE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO BE- 
 COME A WOMAN. HOW THE PARROT HAD FORGOTTEN NOTHING 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 HOW DEATH MUST NEEDS BE SAD, EVEN OF A RIDDANCE. HOW A 
 BOY NAMED PIERRE HAD SMALLPOX, AND ALICE WENT TO 
 NURSE HIM 300 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HOW CHARLES AND MRS. GAMP HAD A CLASSICAL CABMAN, AND HOW 
 THEY ENJOYED THE BALCONY IN THE MOONLIGHT. HOW CHARLES 
 WAS A BAD ARTIST, AND ALICE SHOWED HER LOVE-LETTERS . 309 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 HOW ALICE GOT LET IN FOR PARNASSUS. HOW SHE WISHED CHARLES 
 A RESPLENDENT WIFE. OF TWO FOOLS, AND WHAT THEY SAID. 
 OP A MS. THAT CAME TO LIGHT 326 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 HOW LATAKIA. KEPT OFF INFECTION, AND HOW ALICE WENT TO 
 FRIENDS IN THE COUNTRY. HOW PHYLLIS CARTRIGHT CAME 
 OUT OF A DARK ROOM, AND JEFF SAW AN OPTICAL DELUSION . 336 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 HOW CHARLES WENT TO THE ALPS, AND FOUND THEM THERE STILL. 
 BACK IN ENGLAND AND OFF TO 8HELLACOMBE. BUT NO ALICE. 
 HOW ST. FOB HAD A GAP, AND MR. WILKINSON WAS CURED WITH 
 RAT'S BLOOD AND TREACLE. OF A LETTER UNDER A CARPET, 
 AND ITS LIGHT ON AN ESCAPADE OF ALICE'S. HOW THE PICNIC 
 CAME HOME . ... . . 345
 
 CONTENTS ix 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HOW ALICE LOOKED OUT FOR A SPARROW'S SHADOW, AND LET HER 
 NURSE READ CHARLES'S LETTER ALOUD. HOW CHARLES MADE A 
 MORTAL SHORT-CUT ACROSS A CHURCHYARD, AND TOOK ALICE 
 TO WIMBLEDON. HOW GRANDMAMMA WOULD TALK ABOUT MISS 
 STRAKER 358 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 A SUDDEN CASE OP CATALEPSY. THE NAME WAS VERRINDER. HOW 
 SIR RUPERT ADVOCATED TREPHINING OLD JANE. WAS THE OLD 
 OAK-CHEST WORSE? WHY VERRINDER WATCHED BEDLAM. HOW 
 CHARLES BELONGED TO THE GENERATION OF PEN-VIPERS . 377 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 HOW SIR RUPERT GOT HIS WAY, AND PEGGY AND ALICE WENT TO 
 
 BEDLAM. WHERE WERE THE PATIENTS? A USELESS VIGIL . 393 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 HOW OLD JANE WAKED FROM YOUNG JANE'S SLEEP. HOW ALICE 
 
 WENT BACK TO BEDLAM . . 403 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 HOW ALICE STAYED IN BEDLAM, AND HAD TO BE CYNTHIA LUTTRELL. 
 
 HOW MRS. GAISFORD WAS A MENTAL CASE .... 412 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HOW ALICE RAN AWAY, AND OLD JANE GUESSED. HOW CHARLES 
 
 AND ALICE GOT PHOTOGRAPHED IN VERRINDER'S LODGINGS . 420 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 HOW OLD JANE PUT ON HER WIDOW'S WEEDS. AND SAW HERSELF 
 IN THE GLASS. HOW ALICE AND OLD JANE RESIDED TEMPO- 
 RARILY AT CHARLES'S HOUSE 429 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 OF THE RUIN OF CHARLES'S ART. HOW ABOUT OLD JANE'S MEMORIES. 
 
 BEST TAKE HER TO NO. 40 435 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 OLD JANE'S VISIT TO HER HOME OF SEVENTY YEARS AGO. A PEEP 
 INTO THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. WHO THE GHOST WAS, UNDER 
 THE LITTLE DANCING FIGURE. HOW LAV1NIA SAT IN THE CHAIR 
 
 AGAIN . 443
 
 x CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PSYCHICAL RESEABCH. HOW HERCULES OVERTOOK NE86U8. SIXTY- 
 SIX FOR THREE WICKETS. SHE MUST HAVE BEEN PRETTY ONCE 459 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 HOW MR. SCOTT HAD WRITTEN A NOVEL. MORE MEMORY OP OLD 
 JANE'S. CHELSEA WATERWORKS IN HYDE PARK! MORE INGRE- 
 DIENTS FOR A SUPERNATURAL PIE 468 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 THE PEE CREEPS ON. HOW ALICE SAW MRS. KAIMES AGAIN AT NO. 40. 
 HOW OHAULES AND ALICE WENT TO SEE THE TOWER. SO DID OLD 
 JANE AND HER HUSBAND ONCE. OF EXPERIMENTS WITH A 
 WEDDING-RING. AN EMBARRASSMENT, AND A DECEPTION. STILL 
 OLD JANE GOES TO SLEEP HAPPY 477 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII 
 
 BUT SHE DOES NOT WAKE, THIS TIME. AND SHE DIED UNDER A DE- 
 LUSION. NOW SUPPOSE IT HAD BEEN TRUE ! HOW CHARLES MET 
 HIS BEAU-PERE IN THE REGENTS PARK. THE WITCHES IN MAC- 
 BETH. A LETTER OF MISS STRAKER'S. HOW IF ALICE HERSELF ? 497 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO CAN'T SEE. PEGGY GIVES ALICE UP. 
 NOT WANT TO MARRY ALICE RUBBISH! A GREAT REVELATION, 
 WHICH IS PREMATURE 510 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 THE LITTLE ARCADIANS, AND HOW CHARLES BOUGHT THEM. A 
 FUNERAL IN A FOG, AND HOW ALICE CLEANED THE SHEPHERD. 
 AND WHAT SHE FOUND. HOW CHARLES COULD STAND IT NO 
 LONGER, AND COOK WASN'T CANDID . . . . . . 518 
 
 HOW CHARLES CLEARED OUT HIS OLD CUPBOARDS. OF LAVINIA 
 STRAKER'S EPITAPH. OF A WEDDING AND ONE OF ITS SEQUELS. 
 OF A REMOVAL, AND A DOCUMENT THAT CAME TO LIFE. HOW 
 THE FATHER OF ALICE'S RED MAN HAD BEEN IN FEAR OF GOD, 
 AND ACKNOWLEDGED ANOTHER OF HIS SONS. HOW ALICE WAS 
 DESCENDED FROM THE VICTIM OF A DEVIL. HEBREWS THIR- 
 TEEN 532 
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 OF SIR CRAMER STENDHALL LUTTRELL*8 WILL, AND HOW ALICE'S 
 PROPERTY WAS TOO LARGE TO CLAIM. HOW SHE LET IT ALONE 
 AND WAS HAPPY. OF A CAT SHE COULD REMEMBER IN THE 
 AREA, AND THE STRANGENESS OF THINGS 545
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 OF NEAR FIFTY YEARS AGO, AND OF ALICE AND HER BEER-JUG; AND HOW 
 THE LATTER WAS MENDED 
 
 IN the January in which this story begins there was a dense fog 
 in London, and a hard frost. And there was also a little girl of six 
 in a street in Soho, where the fog was as thick and the frost as 
 hard as anywhere else in the metropolis. The little girl was bring- 
 ing home the beer from the Duke of Clarence's Head at the corner 
 to an old house that had been built in the days of her great-great- 
 grandfathers. She did not like bringing it; and though her eyes 
 were blue and she was a nice little girl, she could almost have 
 found it in her heart to stop and drink some of it on the way. 
 But she was afraid of her mother. So she staggered on with her 
 large jug, and nobody offered to help her. 
 
 Her great-great-grandfathers had been better off than she was. 
 At any rate in their days, however cold it was, there was no fog 
 to speak of; certainly not one like this. In those days she might 
 not have been choked with coughing in addition to frozen finger 
 tips. She might have had chilblains, but her eyes would not have 
 smarted as they did now. She might have been able to see more 
 than her own small length in front of her; and then perhaps she 
 would have detected in good time a boy with a red nose and a red 
 comforter to console it who was making a slide on the pavement, 
 and would not have been run into by that boy and his circle of 
 friends who were assisting him in making that slide. 
 
 Would these boys' great-great-grandfathers have behaved as ill as 
 their great-great-grandsons did when they had overwhelmed a de- 
 fenceless little girl six years old, and knocked her over and rolled 
 upon her, and smashed her glorious jug in three pieces, and spilt 
 her precious nectar in the gutter ? I hope not. I trust they would 
 have helped her tenderly to her feet, and subscribed among them- 
 selves to make good the damage. 
 
 These boys did no such thing. On the contrary they appeared
 
 2 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 to rejoice at the mishap, and to look forward with satisfaction to 
 further misfortune for its victim. "You tike the 'andle and the 
 pieces home," they said; "won't you cotch it 'ot neither!" And 
 then one or two of them desisted from a dance of joy at the pros- 
 pect, to collect the fragments of the jug and unreasoningly advo- 
 cate their careful preservation. "You kitch tight holt, and don't 
 let go." But no sooner had they by vigorous and confident repeti- 
 tions produced conviction, and the little maiden was really satis- 
 fied that the proper course in such a case would be to carry home 
 the pieces of the jug, for reasons unexplained, than one of them 
 detected a sound through the fog as of Law and Order approaching 
 and slapping their representative's hands across his chest to keep 
 out the cold. On which account, he, being Policeman P 21, found 
 no boys on the scene only the little maiden. To whom his first 
 words were not encouraging. For they were identically the very 
 words the boys had used. "You'll catch it hot, little missy," said 
 he, as though a universal understanding existed among persons 
 out in the street, from which little girls were excluded. No won- 
 der this little girl sobbed the more. And the Policeman made 
 matters no better by adding: "Sooner you're 'ome, sooner it'll be 
 done with!" a ghastly speech, with its reference to an undefined 
 SOMETHING the same that was going to be caught hot. 
 
 "What's all that you've got in there pudd'n' ?" said the Police- 
 man. This was an absurd question, and only asked to show the 
 speaker's contempt for his subject. It didn't matter whether he 
 was right or wrong; he was so great, and the little girl was so 
 insignificant ! I 
 
 "Pieces, please ! The boys said I was to." 
 
 "The boys said you was to! Next time, you tell 'em to mind 
 their own consarns, or I'll let 'em know !" 
 
 "Please, Sir, you won't be there." This is what the little girl 
 wanted to say, but speech failed half-way; sobs had the best of it. 
 It was an additional horror that there was going to be a next 
 time. Would things never cease getting worse and worse? 
 
 "You may chuck 'em down here 7 give leave, bein' on duty. 
 Some of our division wouldn't. Chuck 'em down! I'll take my 
 chance of being reported." And the little girl was reflecting 
 whether she ought to chuck them down, with further breakage, or 
 lay them carefully in the gutter without, when another passer-by 
 came out of the fog. He was acquainted with the Policeman. 
 
 "What's this young culprit after, Mr. Officer? Bad case?" said 
 he. The reply was substantially that it was a very bad one, and 
 that that quart would never be drunk by them as paid for it.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 3 
 
 "Unless the child's parents comes afore it freezes. She'd better 
 run and tell them to come quick," said the Policeman. And the 
 young man in spectacles, whom he addressed, confirmed him with 
 such gravity, and his brown beard looked so convincing, that the 
 little thing really seemed to accept the suggestion. It may be 
 Hope had revived, with a vision of her parents on their knees by 
 the beer puddle, drinking deep. But she did not start, because 
 the spectacles looked enquiringly at her, and their owner's mouth 
 asked her name. This put matters on a human footing, and the 
 sobs subsided. But they only gave place to inconsecutiveness, 
 apparently. 
 
 "Blow your nose and speak up, little missy," said the Policeman. 
 "Don't you hear the gentleman's asking your name?" And the 
 child repeated her half-heard words more audibly, and less timidly. 
 
 "Please, you're the gentleman on the first floor " 
 
 "Oh, am I? Then you're the little girl in the extensive base- 
 ment with cellarage. Come along ! Don't cry." And after a word 
 with the Policeman about new-born babies being sent to fetch beer, 
 the small delinquent accepted the protection of the young man 
 without question, and walked off clinging to his hand. 
 
 But they had not gone many steps when she asked, "Please was 
 she to keep the pieces or not?" This required consideration. 
 
 "That depends, Miss Extensive Basement, with Cellarage, on the 
 quality and number of the pieces. Let's have a look." 
 
 The child detached her hand from her protector's, and extended 
 her pinafore and its contents. He picked up the handle bit, and 
 contemplated it. 
 
 "As an example of the Ceramic Art, Miss Basement, or Miss Cel- 
 larage which do you prefer?" 
 
 "Please, Sir, I'm Alicia, or Alice, for short." 
 
 "Well, Alicia, or Alice-for-short, provided that the whole of the 
 fragments of this jug can be recovered from the pavement, I will 
 go so far as to offer to acquire it for the sum of two shillings nett. 
 Let us return to the scene of the accident, and endeavour to re- 
 cover the missing fragments. It may be an example without inter- 
 est for the collector, or it may be otherwise. Here we are on the 
 scene of the tragedy, and there are two pieces!" There were, and 
 apparently there were no others. These were recovered, and 
 carried away with the rest in the pinafore. 
 
 The young gentleman in the spectacles did not offer to carry any 
 of the pieces. He appeared to draw the line at that, on the score 
 of dignity. Something of this appeared also, in a certain senten- 
 tiousness and pomposity of speech, as a protest to empty space
 
 4 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 against its possible misinterpretation of a good-natured action. 
 He felt pleasure in being kind to the small six-year-old in her 
 desolation; but was not above being glad it was a thick fog, and 
 that the house was not far off. He hoped he would not meet a 
 friend, especially a waggish friend. And his evil star saw its oppor- 
 tunity, and disappointed him on both heads by contriving that the 
 artist on the top floor should cut him off on the doorstep. 
 
 This young gentleman had been endowed (or visited) by Provi- 
 dence with one of the most singular surnames that ever fell to the 
 lot of man. It was Jerrythought. His full name was actually 
 Jeffery Saunders Jerrythought. But then all his friends called 
 him "Jeff." So it didn't much matter! Mr. Jerrythought was, 
 or pretended to be, very vulgar, and was never without a pipe in his 
 mouth. 
 
 "At it agin, 'Eath?" said he, shaking a reproachful head and 
 closing an astute eye. "No use denyin' of it ! Good job I noticed 
 you!" And Mr. Jerrythought continued shaking his head and 
 grinning offensively, and Alice couldn't for the life of her see why. 
 Mr. Heath replied with an intensification of his dignified manner. 
 
 "If I understand your insinuations rightly, Mr. Jeffery Saunders 
 Jerrythought, I may say your most offensive and unfounded 
 insinuations " 
 
 "Member of the Corps de Bally, 'Eath?" But Mr. Heath ig- 
 nored the interruption. 
 
 "I presume you allude to this young lady, whose character, I beg 
 to inform you, and whose reputation (I may add) are above 
 aspersion. Her residence is in the spacious basement of this 
 mansion, and I believe she constitutes the sole incumbrance of 
 the worthy couple " 
 
 "I know Mother Gingham looks blotchy smells of three 
 pennyworth of rum shrub. What's the kid been at?" 
 
 "Your description of the mother," said Mr. Heath, "appears to 
 me to convey a correct impression." And then dropping his arti- 
 ficial manner he went on: "The poor little party had smashed the 
 beer-jug and I rescued her. I suppose I shall have to see her 
 through it. You know about Bristol and Crown Derby and that 
 sort of thing? Look at the bits of the beer-jug." 
 
 Mr. Jerrythought did so, and became suddenly serious he was 
 never known to be really serious except about Ceramics or Chip- 
 pendale furniture. He almost gave a cry of pain. "My heart 
 alive !" said he, "I wish I'd seen this before it was smashed." 
 
 "Thought you'd say so, Jeff! But it's spilled milk now, as 
 well as spilled beer. Fancy the female mother of this small kid
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 5 
 
 sending her out with it ! Fancy her sending her out to the Pub 
 at all, for that matter!" 
 
 "She never knew its value. Stole it probably, and considered it 
 caretaking! Why, it's a Robert Sproddle! Look here I tell you 
 what! You let me have these pieces I'll stick them together. 
 Needn't say anything about it to Goody Peppermint." And Alice, 
 the little girl, thought Goody Peppermint certainly need know 
 nothing about it, as she was a stranger quite outside her circle. 
 But Mr. Heath perceived that this was only another name for 
 Alice's mother. He saw this because he was grown up, and he 
 and Mr. Jeff had secret reciprocal understandings to the exclusion 
 of a very little blue-eyed girl of six. She, however, was not too small 
 to discern protection for herself in the tone of the conversation, 
 although she could not analyse its components. She yielded the 
 precious fragments of the beer-jug to Mr. Jeff, who had not im- 
 proved his appearance by griping an eyeglass in one eye, which 
 seemed to hold it so tight, Alice thought, that she could not have 
 pulled it out if she had tried ever so. Also, she could not under- 
 stand why he didn't shut his other eye. One of the teachers at 
 the Board School had an eyeglass, and always did. She thought 
 of this as Mr. Jerrythought went away upstairs with the precious 
 fragments. They had been promoted to a Ceramic position in life, 
 and were no longer a common jug. 
 
 "Now, where," said Mr. Heath, addressing Alice, "where is your 
 excellent mother? Be good enough, Alicia, or Alice-for-short, 
 to conduct me to your respected mother." 
 
 It was not necessary for Alice to understand, and probably she 
 didn't. Mr. Heath knew his way down into the basement, because 
 he was grown up, and knew things. Alice took his hand and held 
 it tight like a little girl who didn't want to let go. Neither did 
 she at any rate till her respected mother had had time for an 
 outbreak of drunken anger and its abatement. Then she would 
 substitute maudlin admonition for castigation or threats thereof. 
 Alice thought that if her protector could shelter her through the 
 storm, she could deal with the admonition stage by herself. 
 
 "This is a rum place, Alice-for-short," said Mr. Heath, who 
 seemed to talk to himself for the pleasure of doing so, without 
 waiting for people to answer. Alice considered she was people. 
 She was framing a question in reply to this last remark of Mr. 
 Heath, to find out how he came to know it was rum, and not gin. 
 For she at once connected his adjective with a pervading bottle. 
 But he went on too quickly for her to organise speech. 
 
 "Blackbeetles probably abound. Mice are no doubt of frequent
 
 6 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 occurrence. I hear a cat, with which something appears to have 
 disagreed. If I might suggest, Alice-for-short, you had better 
 recommend your cat to eschew blackbeetles and addict herself 
 solely to mouse. I should like to live down here if I was a 
 mouse." 
 
 Alice wished to point out that he wasn't one. But she also 
 wanted to say what for ? So she missed saying either, and only 
 stared, while the speaker continued: 
 
 "I should frequent that safe, which appears to consist almost 
 entirely of means of ingress for persons anxious for the remains 
 of a cold dumpling, and a most discouraging rib of beef. That 
 safe's mission would seem to be to supply a stimulus to larceny by 
 suggestions of insecurity. I trust I make myself fully under- 
 stood." 
 
 Not fully, apparently. But it didn't seem important to either. 
 Alice's next remark was to the effect that she could hear mother, 
 in there. Mother wasn't a complicated noise of water beginning 
 to come in and losing its temper that was clear! So she was 
 some lesser noise, veiled and hidden, but audible by members of 
 her family. 
 
 "Mother's in there, asleep. Please can't you hear her?" 
 
 "Perhaps she had better be waked ?" 
 
 "Please I'm frightened." But there was no need ; for the sleeper, 
 whose snores had been the subject of this conversation, woke with 
 a jerk and came out in response to a tap at the door, which 
 Mr. Heath had thought his best way to announce himself. The 
 Bmall hand that held his tightened with apprehension and the 
 little thing clung to him for safety, as her unsavoury parent stood 
 revealed. She suggested, but came short of, the Seven Dials, old 
 St. Giles' type the sort that used to wear a red handkerchief 
 round its neck and no head covering. She addressed her daughter 
 as a little Devil, and wanted to know where she had been idling 
 and prancing round. 
 
 It certainly was singular, thought Mr. Heath to himself, that 
 any premises whatever should have got entrusted to such a care- 
 taker. Was this the person who had been mentioned to him when 
 the last downstairs tenants cleared out and carried with them a 
 housekeeper whom he had allowed to undertake his attendance 
 (outside her normal sphere), as a worthy successor who it was 
 desirable on all accounts that Mr. 'Eath should be properly seen 
 to? This is literal reporting. And this housekeeper, by whom 
 this mother of the blue-eyed little girl had been recommended, had 
 described her as decent and sober, and had dwelt upon the good-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT V 
 
 ness of her 'art. She had stood at the fount with six of her 
 thirteen children, and had helped bury three. "It sounded," said 
 Mr. Heath to his sister Peggy, when he told her of the interview, 
 "exactly as if she was making a merit of burying three of the chil- 
 dren alive, in order to reduce their number." Anyhow, she must 
 have seen a good deal of the family, and may have had some 
 means of knowing of a decency and sobriety which certainly did 
 not speak for itself to the passer-by, as the mother paused in a 
 pounce of vengeance on her small daughter. "It was the glare 
 of my spectacles brought her up short," said Heath to Mr. 
 Jerrythought afterwards. "Spectacles have a strong moral influ- 
 ence. That lens you pretend to use and can't really see through, 
 is a fund of Immorality in itself. Your appearance, Mr. Jerry- 
 thought, is dissolute." 
 
 "And what did the hag do then?" said Mr. Jerrythought, who 
 didn't seem dissatisfied with his friend's account of him. 
 
 "She climbed down and cringed and snivelled and abased herself. 
 But I saw Alice would catch it after I was gone if I didn't soften 
 matters down with cash. So I brought remuneration in cleverly, 
 by a side-wind." This was the case, for the alleged hag having" 
 taken up the position that Hallice never was sent for the beer 
 (except this once) and only now because she was that anxious to 
 be allowed to it, that her mother's tender heart had softened, and 
 she had allowed its weakness to overcome her better judgment. 
 
 "And somethin' within me," said the good woman, "seemed to 
 murmur in my ear that that child was too young to be trusted. 
 But I give way, bein' that easy-goin' and indulgent." And Alice 
 detected another something in her mother's eye which she inter- 
 preted as, "Confirm me and I will make concessions. Suggest 
 doubts and you shall be maltreated." So she struck in, in a small 
 tremulous voice, "Please it was me asted." 
 
 "In course you asted. Likewise the expression you says was 
 'Manny dear/ you says, quite out and courageous like, 'Manny 
 dear, you let your little Hallice go and fetch father's beer, and save 
 you trapesin'.' And Mr. Kavanagh is that particular about the 
 child that I will tell you, Sir, and concealing nothing give my hon- 
 est word, I had my doubts at the time, and said so to the milk, 
 where we have an account and settle weekly. But Mr. Kavanagh 
 I kept in ignorance, which he remains." 
 
 "I suppose you're Mrs. Kavanagh then," said Mr. Heath, with 
 incredulity in his thoughtful countenance. He spoke in the tone 
 of one who selects a truth from a heap of falsehoods, but isn't con- 
 cerned with the quality of the residuum.
 
 8 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Hannah Kavanagh, Sir, by your leave, and christened accord- 
 ingly. And I was just tiding round to get a little order like, when 
 on the sudden it came upon me, what an easy two minutes it was 
 to the Clarence's Head, and Hallice gone a quarter of an hour. 
 And I do assure you, Sir, my 'art sank within me to think what 
 might happen to that child and remain unknown. And I had 
 just took hold of my bonnet and shawl, when I caught the sound 
 of some one knocking at the door. And it was yourself, Sir." Mrs. 
 Kavanagh ended up with an implication of successful dramatic 
 climax. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Kavanagh, Alice has had a mishap and broken the 
 beer-jug. It wasn't her fault, but mine. And I consider com- 
 pensation due, and shall be inclined to be liberal on two con- 
 ditions." 
 
 "Which were, Sir?" And Mrs. Kavanagh indulged in an inten- 
 tional cough behind her hand, which conveyed an idea of pros- 
 pective bargaining of seeing how the land lay, at any rate. 
 
 "One," said Mr. Heath, taking his hand from Alice to use its 
 forefinger as an indicator of numbers on the forefinger of his other 
 hand. Alice transferred her grasp to his coat-pocket flap. "One 
 that Alice shall remain unspanked if I may use an expression 
 familiar to my infancy." Mrs. Kavanagh exploded. 
 
 "Well, of all the artful little hussies, I never! To say such a 
 thing of her own mother!" 
 
 "And," said Mr. Heath afterwards to Mr. Jerrythought, "I had 
 nay hands full to quiet down the old cat. However, we did get on to 
 the second condition, which was that this jug or its remnants 
 should become my property on payment of the sum of three and 
 tenpence-halfpenny." 
 
 "How did you arrive at it, 'Eath?" 
 
 "Three and sixpence for the jug, and fourpence-halfpenny for 
 the spillings. It appeared that a person of condition who was 
 held up as a real gentleman in contrast to myself had offered 
 three shillings. So I went sixpence better, and overlooked its 
 present condition." 
 
 "It's worth all of a guinea, smashed as it is." And Mr. Jeff 
 gloated over the dismembered pieces as they lay on his studio 
 table. "Why, it's a Sproddle a Robert Sproddle too. Don't 
 think much of Ebenezer Sproddle. You'll find him ah! and 
 signed examples, too! in any bric-a-brac shop. But Robert!" 
 And speechlessness alone coped with the value of a Robert Sprod- 
 dle. Mr. Heath stretched out his hand. "Where's the guinea, 
 Jeff?" said he.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 9 
 
 "I'll put it down to the account, Charley," replied Mr. Jeff, 
 insolently. "It'll go to your credit. An item of one pound will 
 appear simultaneously to my credit for jining up. Nothing but 
 the best Diamond Cement will be employed. Which of course is 
 dear, owing to the price of diamonds." 
 
 "You're a swindler, Mr. Jerrythought. That's like you and the 
 Latakia. 'To Latakia one and fourpence' on one side; and on the 
 other, 'To purchasing and paying for Latakia one and fourpence. 
 Total, two and eightpence.' " 
 
 "That's all fair. It's double entry. You make your accounts 
 balance, and then you add 'em all together, and charge up the 
 total." 
 
 "But I don't see why I shouldn't pay you half and you pay me 
 half." 
 
 "Because I got it on tick from the scrumptious girl at the 'baccy 
 shop." 
 
 "Yes, because she knew I should pay for it." 
 
 "No, Charles! Because she is in love with your humble but 
 deserving servant, whose attractions for the only sex which differs 
 are a bye-word with the aristocracy." . . . 
 
 And with conversation of this sort, ad infinitum, these young 
 men beguiled the time ! For the fog, which of course continued 
 fogs do made work quite impossible, and there was nothing for it 
 but to chatter, as above, and smoke the Latakia. 
 
 If you should have an impression that the first-floor Studio with 
 a high north light, arbitrarily forced up as an addition to the 
 middle window, and the sky-lighted room in the attics, where Mr. 
 Jeff was mending his jug, and the above conversation took place 
 if, I say, you have an impression that the apartments were not 
 bee-hives, in respect of the work done therein, you will not be far 
 wrong. In fact, a sense of impatience at the impossibility of work 
 was one of the few tributes to the Goddess of Industry our young 
 friends ever paid her. During a thick fog, they were quite con- 
 vinced of the work they would have done had there been no fog. 
 And the work they hadn't done when there was none assumed an 
 impressive actuality to their imaginations which increased with 
 its density. By the time there was a halo round the gas-jets, and 
 the confirmed Londoner, with a voice like a mad dog's choking 
 bark, was beginning to think it time to justify fog on the score 
 of its antiseptic qualities, each of these youths was picturing 
 himself in his own mind as a monumental example of thwarted 
 enthusiasm, a potential Van Eyck or Memling straining at the 
 leash in the pursuit of elaborations, cruelly hindered from assidu-
 
 10 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 ous and determined effort by a force-ma jeure trying to the temper 
 but heroically endured. This hallucination disappeared with the 
 return of daylight; and the only consolation was that it was too 
 late now, and you couldn't do any real work in a couple of hours, 
 and for your part you might just as well shut up! And you did 
 so accordingly. 
 
 But it was a jolly life for two young men in the early twenties, 
 and they enjoyed it thoroughly and called it Bohemian. Very 
 likely it was, but of course if one hasn't lived in Bohemia, one 
 doesn't know what amount of satisfaction the inhabitants of that 
 country get from buying rolls and butter and herrings and chest- 
 nuts and sardines and other small cookabilities, and carrying them 
 home oneself to irregular meals, and giving most of them away in 
 the end to Italian models. Or from sleeping at their Studio when 
 (as in Mr. Heath's case) a home awaits them which they spend 
 every alternate evening or more at. One has to accept the char- 
 acter given of that province by those who profess to know, and 
 hope that all its inhabitants are under five-and-twenty and full 
 of hope and buoyancy like the two young men of this narrative; 
 and not like ourselves, who take this opportunity of recording, as 
 the view of an old fogy, that we personally much prefer the com- 
 forts of a home, and that nothing would induce us now to be a 
 Bohemian on any human consideration. 
 
 Anyhow, there they are in the story, for better or worse as may 
 be. And one is the occupant of the old state drawing-room of this 
 old Soho house in a thick fog, and the other in a thick fog and 
 the garrets. And so far as the outsider can see, neither does any- 
 thing except laugh and sing and smoke, and sometimes, when there 
 is no fog, pretend to do a little work. Perhaps they will improve 
 as time goes on. If so, the story will show it.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 OF ALICE'S BELONGINGS AND HOW THEY FELL OUT. ALSO HOW THE 
 FIRST-FLOOR CAME DOWNSTAIRS 
 
 ALICIA KAVANAGH, who was Alice or Hallice for short, was what 
 Mr. Jeff called her, a few days after the incident of the broken 
 jug. He said she was a new 'un, and was more your sort, Charley, 
 than his. This was true, as his sort was considerably older, usu- 
 ally, than himself generally taller always of a particular type 
 of which the young tobacco lady he had mentioned was a sample. 
 It may be remarked here that he seemed to take a sort of pride in, 
 as it were, tuning down his pronunciation and phraseology to the 
 key of a Society he himself had selected. It was sometimes a 
 little difficult to make out whether he was playing with his h's in 
 order to offend the fastidious, or whether he couldn't aspirate them 
 if he chose. His comment on Hallice, with an ostentatious stress 
 on the initial, was in reply to his friend's remark that we mustn't 
 lose sight of Miss Kavanagh. 
 
 Miss Kavanagh was new enough as to years, but her experience 
 was old enough and sad enough to make her feel, when she let 
 go Mr. Heath's hand, that she was slipping back into a pit that a 
 beneficent being in spectacles had kept her out of, or out of the 
 worst of, for a few minutes. It was a short interlude, but long 
 enough to make her think how nice it would be if there was always 
 the gentleman on the first floor, and not quite so much of mother. 
 But time passed, and Hallice sat small and forlorn, and wept when 
 not at school, or sent on an errand, in the gruesome basement with 
 extensive cellarage. It was difficult to define where the cellarage 
 ended and the basement that was other than cellarage began; both 
 were so dark and damp and smeit so of varieties of decay. There 
 was more fungus, no doubt, in the coal-cellar and the dust-'ole than 
 in the pantry or the 'ousekeeper's room, but even that was rather 
 a matter of guesswork, and you couldn't really tell without a light. 
 And there was none at least, it was only when mother lighted the 
 Paraffin lamp you could see anything at all. For Hallice had so 
 far had no experience of what sunshine could reveal in the base- 
 ment of number forty, as she and her father and mother had only 
 took the place in November; the late tenants who were a Danc- 
 
 11
 
 12 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 ing-School having cleared out in the middle of the quarter, on the 
 chance of new parties wanting to come in before quarter-day, 
 and its being possible to exact a fraction of rent from them. On 
 which accounts the Dancing-School had sanctioned bills in the 
 window, though six weeks unexpired; and Mr. Kavanagh, a most 
 respectable journeyman tailor, but working at home at present, with 
 his wife and one daughter, were lending plausibility to the state- 
 ment that particulars could be had of Messrs. Lettsom & Ten- 
 nant, the Agents, and also of the Caretaker on the premises. So 
 poor Miss Kavanagh passed her small new life, mostly weeping, 
 in the darkness and the fungus growths, cut off from upstairs by a 
 swing-door at the top of the kitchen flight, and unsuspected by 
 the world above. 
 
 This was a cruel door and made a great difference to Hallice. 
 For it was very heavy, and she couldn't push it open to come back 
 if she went out without leave, at least without great danger of 
 tumbling suddenly downstairs. So she dared not go out when she 
 did not see security of official recognition on her return. Few 
 of us, it is to be hoped, know exactly what it feels like to call 
 timidly for admission to a mother who will slap us when admitted, 
 for being out of bounds without a passport. If Hallice could have 
 made her father hear, he would have come to let her in with no worse 
 Nemesis for her than a half -heard whimper as he shuffled back to 
 the only light room in the basement where, however, there wasn't 
 light enough to fine-draw, even at its best, at this time of year. 
 But this room was far away, at the end of Heaven knows what 
 stone-paved passages, and mysterious recesses and strange bulk- 
 heads with no assignable purpose, and at least one black entry 
 unexplored by man from which spectres might be anticipated. 
 Besides there was always water coming in and making noise enough 
 to drown your voice, so Goody Peppermint said, and if it wasn't 
 coming in the Company suffered frightfully from moist rales and 
 wheezing in its pipes, which was nearly as bad. So that, what with 
 one thing and what with another, Hallice passed most of her time 
 underground. There was the Infant School of course, but Schools 
 don't count. What one would like, at six, when one is getting 
 quite a great girl, would be to get out and see the world. Espe- 
 cially, in Hallice's case, the great big upstairs room where the 
 Dancing- School had been. She had just peeped in there, and seen 
 that there were the remains of paintings on the walls, and it seemed 
 to her a palace of delights. So, though she was new, she felt old. 
 And she felt older still after the beer-jug adventure, and at the 
 end of three days had quite made up her mind the gentleman on
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 13 
 
 the first floor would go, and she would never see him again. She 
 felt that she and the old house were about the same age, and that 
 one was as forgotten and deserted as the other. 
 
 But Hallice was, as I have said, six, and the house was two 
 hundred, or thereabouts. Now, Hallice's kitten was really young; 
 say five weeks. It was very intelligent for all that, and could 
 sympathise with all her troubles; at least, with a little interpre- 
 tation. Its owner was very liberal on this point. 
 
 "To hear that child a-telling to that cat," said her mother. "As 
 if she was a 'Eathen, I say." 
 
 This remark about Hallice's profane communications was made 
 by the mother to the father of the latter while waiting for the com- 
 pletion of the cooking of a Finnan haddock for supper. For even 
 Mr. Kavanagh stopped waxing thread, and sticking on trouser-but- 
 tons, and putting on a patch very nearly of one colour, so that 
 you could really hardly tell, when there was any dinner or supper 
 going. Sometimes there was none, for all he had given his wife 
 the money for it. This time there was some, and Hallice was 
 going to be giv' some if she was good. 
 
 "Don't see what harm it does you," said Mr. Kavanagh in reply 
 to his wife. And then, having found an idea to harp upon, he 
 was able to do so, and did it in a peevish, complaining minor key. 
 "You ain't bound to listen. You've got your own business to mind, 
 I suppose. Ain't there nothing else wants attending to? Suppos- 
 ing I was to cut in and listen to what folks was saying, who'd 
 do my work for me? My hands are full enough without that." 
 And so on, until his wife pulled him up abruptly. 
 
 "Now ! I don't want a jawbation," said the pleasant lady. "Take 
 and eat your supper, and be thankful." But Mr. Kavanagh, to 
 his credit, before flying at his food, made a double motion of his 
 head and thumb towards Hallice and said, "The child " 
 
 "The child's plenty greedy enough, without you!" This rejoinder 
 came very tartly. But her father's appeal led to Hallice getting 
 her allowance of the kippered haddock while it was hot. Also to 
 a fair share of a new half -quartern loaf, very black on the under- 
 crust; though her mother scraped the salt butter over it much too 
 thin for Alice's expectations. If her father hadn't given her some 
 off of his own slice, it wouldn't have been no butter at all in the 
 manner of speaking. Goody Peppermint did not contest the point. 
 She was turning her attention to a means at her disposal, afforded 
 by supper, of affirming indirectly her habitual abstention from 
 spirits, and at the same time resorting to them under public 
 sanction.
 
 14 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 You know the illusion habitual tipplers are subject to, that each 
 appeal to the bottle is an exceptional occurrence, and a departure 
 from, sobriety? They admit the departure, but affirm the sobriety. 
 Mrs. Kavanagh's life was made up of such departures, and by 
 forgetting all the previous ones and ignoring all those to come, 
 she honestly achieved a belief in her own practical abstention from 
 liquor. She really hardly left herself interims to abstain in. 
 There were, however, special opportunities that she cherished of 
 affirming her normal self-restraint by a parade of their excep- 
 tional character. Breakfast, dinner, and supper yielded the luxury 
 of a clear conscience, coupled with the public exhibition of the 
 rum-bottle; and as she sat watching her husband correcting the 
 shortcomings of Alice's piece of bread-and-butter, her mind was 
 gradually approaching a bottle of rum in the corner cupboard, 
 whose door stood suggestively on the jar, almost within reach 
 of her hand. 
 
 To broach a topic of this sort, you affect faintness, smile in a 
 sickly way, and sigh as one accustomed to conceal suffering. By 
 doing so you provoke enquiry, and procure a fulcrum. In re- 
 sponse to her husband's "Why don't you take your supper ?" Goody 
 Peppermint, who had done all these things with a view to this 
 question, replied, "No airpetite!" She emphasised this by laying 
 her hand across the outside of her interior, on which her husband 
 began a groan, and cut it off short in the middle. 
 
 "Get your mother out the bottle out o' the cupboard, and let's 'a' 
 done with it," said he. He was familiar with her treatment of this 
 subject, and resented its hypocrisy. He knew the rum-bottle 
 would come out of that cupboard sooner or later. This time it 
 came out sooner, and there was no humbugging round over it. 
 Then Goody Peppermint felt better, and could touch a little supper. 
 Hallice felt no objection to anything that produced family good- 
 humour. Presently her mother went back to the pre-prandial 
 topic. 
 
 "You don't need to be that tempersome about it, Kairv'nagh, and 
 me to be took up sharp before the child. Cats is cats. And when 
 cats is talked to about Princes and sim'lar, a child's mother has 
 a right to ask, and ask I do, accordin'. Who was it I heard you 
 tellin' about, child? Prince Summun. You speak up and tell 
 your father, afore I get up and shake you." 
 
 "Prince Spectacles," said Hallice, timidly. "Poothy knows." 
 Her father, who at his best had never had a romantic turn, and 
 had now no mind for anything outside piece-work, and his 
 natural desire to murder the persons who employed him on it, did
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 15 
 
 not rise to enquiring what Pussy knew, but only looked at his 
 daughter in a weak-eyed manner, and said, "Ho ho !" He seemed 
 a good deal more interested in the haddock than in Prince 
 Spectacles, whoever he was, and did not pursue the subject of his 
 wife's supper, or absence of it. It had taken the form of rum, and 
 adhered to it. Conversation remained dormant until supper was 
 finished which meant in this case until everything on the table 
 was eaten, a very different thing sometimes from the disappear- 
 ance of inclination for more. Alice's father then turned down the 
 gas, which was flaring, and pulled out a cherry-wood pipe, which 
 he cleaned into his plate, and subjected to perforation with a wire, 
 to make it draw. But long as was the pause, and much as was 
 the rum her mother consumed in it, Alice knew the talk would go 
 on from where it had stopped. And in fact it was resumed exactly 
 as if only a few seconds had passed. 
 
 "You don't jine in, seemin'ly," said her mother. "Then Hallice 
 can hardly be expected." The bottle was by now beginning to tell 
 on Goody Peppermint, as Hallice saw by a moist gleam in the 
 eye that rolled round towards her as its owner drank her tea and 
 rum, or rather rum and tea; and she anticipated an affectionate 
 stage, which would have been welcome in itself but for an anticipa- 
 tion of other stages that would probably follow. Indeed had 
 Hallice been asked when she was fondest of her mother, she 
 would probably have said when she was snoring. There was 
 security in her snore. 
 
 "She'll tell her own mother. Won't she, ducky?" This was 
 accompanied with an alluring smile, which Hallice seemed shy 
 of rising to. "Come and tell Mammy about Prince Prince " 
 
 "She said Spectacles," said her father briefly. "It ain't a name." 
 Alice had been resolving to take her parents into her confidence, 
 but this was so unsympathetic a way of treating the subject that 
 she changed her mind and retired into her own soul. Never mind ! 
 She would tell Pussy all this too; only let her wait till mother 
 was asleep, and father at work. 
 
 "Which leads to suppose," said the former to the latter, in reply 
 to his comment, "that the first-floor front is the child's illusion." 
 This was a vaguely selected word; of serviceable ambiguity, it 
 seemed, for the speaker explained, "It illudes to Mr. 'Eath, on 
 the first floor; I'll thank him not to put such ideas in the child's 
 'ead. A-stuffin' of her young mind with a lot of noospaper non- 
 sense !" 
 
 A sudden aggressive tone, not warranted by what had gone 
 before, belonged to the growing influence of rum.
 
 16 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "There's worse nonsense than Princes," said Mr. Kavanagh. 
 And Alice thought so too. But her mother, after her very short 
 stage of good-humour, was feeling round towards a quarrelsome 
 one. "She's my child, anyhow, Mr. K.," said she, with abrupt 
 hostility in her voice. It was thickening, for in order to put an 
 exact quantity of rum in her tea (in accordance with the advice 
 of a doctor, whom Alice had never seen), she had poured too much 
 into a tumbler, to be above the cuts and see the quantity plain, 
 and had then, after supplying the tea, forgotten herself and 
 swallowed the remainder raw. 
 
 "Never mind !" she had said, "a drop in season is worth a Dock's 
 ransom." 
 
 Alice's father, who, it may be, was getting more talkative after 
 a corresponding allowance of beer, appeared irritated at his wife's 
 claim to property in Alice. "I don't see how you bring that in," 
 said he. "Who said she wasn't?" And Alice thereon interpreted 
 her mother's statement as meaning that she was her mother's 
 child but not her father's regarded as personal property of course ; 
 for no other relation of child to parent came into her small calcu- 
 lations. She ascribed her father's irritation, and all that followed, 
 to his resentment at being so excluded from rights in herself; also 
 she was entirely in sympathy with him in fact, considered she was 
 much more his child than her mother's. But she foresaw there 
 would be a bad evening about it ; for she divided her evenings into 
 bad and good, and always knew which was coming. 
 
 "Who said she wasn't?" Mr. Kavanagh repeated, with growing 
 asperity in his voice. And as no one had said that Alice was not 
 her child, Goody Peppermint, who was perfectly ready for war, 
 and did not care what casus 'belli was agreed upon, sought for it 
 in another quarter. 
 
 "If they had 'a' said so, you'd 'a' sat still and listened to 'em!" 
 No response came; the pipe had to be carefully filled with some 
 strong tobacco Negro-head or Cavendish and this absorbed 
 attention. The woman kept silence till it was being puffed at, 
 and then resumed the attack. She seemed to have been laying in 
 ammunition. 
 
 "Sittin' blinkin' at the fire, like a howl! And as to raisin' a 
 finger to protect your own wife, not you! If I'd 'a' married else- 
 where, he'd 'a' stood between me and insult." Her husband 
 was sucking in satisfaction with his first whiffs, and it produced 
 good-humour. 
 
 "Who's he ?" said he with so much of jocularity in his voice that 
 Alice felt hope dawn. But alas! It only made Goody Pepper-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 17 
 
 mint worse. Alice couldn't for the life of her see why the next 
 attack should be so much more vigorous. After all, her father 
 had only asked a reasonable question. She herself wanted to 
 know who "elsewhere" was. Her mother's reply came like a sud- 
 denly unmasked battery. 
 
 "Not a cowardly grinnin' hape, sitting sniggerin' at the fire. 
 Yes ! I know you, Samuel Kairv'nagh. I knew you when I mar- 
 ried you, the worse the luck. And it's been kep' up to, all along. 
 And thirteen children I've brought you, and any one of them 
 (barring five dead) you might sit by and hear your own wife and 
 their mother put upon, and you not have the courage to so much 
 as exporstulate !" This was a lucky word, and saved an appear- 
 ance of weakness from defective syntax. But the speaker lost 
 ground through its discovery gratifying her vanity. She paused 
 to enjoy the rhetorical triumph, and the pause called attention to 
 the fact that it received no reply. For Alice's father was pretty 
 well used to this sort of thing at this particular stage of his wife's 
 intoxication. He had now settled down to smoke, and intended 
 to smoke. His wife for her part had determined to irritate him, 
 and the more he said nothing, the more she persisted in her efforts. 
 It was a trial of strength between his patience, and her power of 
 postponing the maudlin stage which was sure to come next. He 
 knew she would reach it and subside into stupefaction if only he 
 could hold out long enough. But the enemy had got some terrible 
 repeating guns; particularly the reiteration of his full name, 
 and the allusion to his nervous affection of the eyes, no doubt 
 the result of too much small stitching in a bad light. 
 
 "Ho yes Samuel Kairv'nagh! You can smoke and sit a-blink- 
 in' at the fire. There's no amount of proarvocation touches you, 
 Mr. K. Nothin' won't never spirit you up ! A poor, mean, spirited 
 man from the beginnin'!" 
 
 Alice had a sort of hope at this point that if it was carried nem.- 
 con. her mother would begin to die down. Her father kept obdu- 
 rately silent, and the hope increased. But there is no steadiness 
 in drink, and after a moment's concession to the coming drowsi- 
 ness, the flame broke out afresh; to die altogether next time, said 
 Hope. Besides, no doubt Kavanagh, though silent, grinned per- 
 ceptibly. Absolute torpidity gives no vantage ground, but a grin 
 was not safe. The weak point was seized in a moment. 
 
 "Yes Mr. K. ! That was what I said. A cowardly grinnin' 
 hape, not a man! Thankful I'd have been never to come acrost 
 you. I'd have been another woman. I say nothin' about who ! But 
 your brother Jonathan, though one leg shorter than the other, had
 
 18 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 a good 'art and if I'd V married him, I say it would have been a 
 long time before he'd set on one side of the fire and snigger at his 
 own lawful wife afore their child, like a baboon would in a men- 
 argerie." 
 
 "You go to bed, Alice. Hook it!" said her father. But 
 Alice hesitated before her mother's threatening eye and raised 
 finger. 
 
 "You dare to go to bed afore I tell you! You go obeying your 
 father and disregardin' your mother, and a nice basting you'll get 
 to-morrow when you come back from school " 
 
 "No, you won't; I'll see square. You hook it!" And Alice 
 hooked it, her hopes for the morrow resting on the probability of 
 getting away to her father's workroom when she came back from 
 school at midday. 
 
 The gas-lamp at the street corner was bright enough to shine into 
 Alice's sleeping-den against the front hairey. It was a pantry 
 undefined, that looked as if it would have liked to be a cellar, but 
 couldn't quite recollect how. It was close to a rich preserve of 
 cats; a cul-de-sac which must have been contrived for their special 
 use by the Architect, as no one else's interest had been studied, 
 and indeed access was forbidden by a strong gateway placed arbi- 
 trarily across the hairey, and crowned with a cheval-de-frise that 
 a sparrow could not have perched on with comfort. There was on 
 the other side a cellar-door visible from Alice's window when 
 you spitted on the bottom pane and rubbed the grime off with your 
 frock. And this cellar was not the coal-cellar nor the dust-hole, nor 
 yet the wine-cellar because that was in the house, to be dry; nor 
 was it in any way reconcilable with human purpose. It was a sub- 
 terranean nameless horror; a place your imagination shrank from 
 doing justice to in respect of cobwebs and fungi. It was an object 
 of interest to Alice nevertheless, because wondering what there 
 was in it supplied food to fancy, and was an inexhaustible re- 
 source. Just think! It must have been almost for ever since it 
 was closed, and what might not come to light in the way of buried 
 treasure, if it was opened now. But then, of course, there was 
 the other side to the picture. Who could say how many goblins 
 or hideous vampires might not be kept under restraint by that 
 thick-rusted chain and padlock, which no key could open; even 
 if one could be found and this was impossible in the nature of 
 things. On the whole it was safer it should remain shut, and no 
 risks should be run in search of diamond carcanets that had got 
 overlooked by their owners, or secret passages communicating with 
 the ceDars of the Bank of England. Alice was not altogether a
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 19 
 
 stranger to Romance and its possibilities in this direction; for, 
 though she had not read the Arabian Nights, she had had read to 
 her, at the Sunday School, a beautiful Tract called the 'Buried 
 Treasure,' which was fascinating in spite of the mean way in 
 which its Moral was sprung on the unsuspecting reader, and uti- 
 lised for his confusion. There might be, so Alice thought this 
 evening as she hung over the window-sill to get a look at the gas- 
 lamp before going to bed, some such Buried Treasure in that vault, 
 which would turn out a substantial reality; and not a corrective 
 medicine for one's natural profanity, the incurability of which may 
 be said to have been announced by the label on the bottle. 
 
 Poor little Miss Kavanagh! She needed something to dry her 
 eyes this evening. She couldn't even dwell upon the gas-lamp 
 and the sunny side of the mysterious door's possibilities, because 
 of the cold. So she got to bed as quick as ever she could and 
 it really was very quick to get the advantage of all the heat she 
 had brought away from that beautiful fire that her parents were 
 still in full enjoyment of. If it was possible to enjoy anything 
 during a heavy mitraille of angry recrimination and reproach! 
 For Alice could hear, all through the time it took to get the bed 
 lukewarm enough to go to asleep, an almost continuous current 
 of abuse from her mother, and an occasional interjection from her 
 father, rendered less articulate each time by the growing influ- 
 ence of a whole quart. The storm rose and fell, and rose and fell, 
 for what seemed hours, and Alice lay and listened for a lull. Then 
 one came, and the hiss and gurgle of a waterpipe burst in the frost 
 got the upper hand, and Alice thought a calm was impending. . . . 
 Alas ! not this time. 
 
 But the bed was beginning to get warmer, and as it warmed 
 Alice's sobs slowed down and she went into an uneasy half -sleep, 
 penetrated by a sense of her mother's volubility afar, and an in- 
 creasing consciousness of emphasis in her father's thickened 
 speech. She could not distinguish words, but was aware of a cer- 
 tain phrase by its accents in constant repetition. It was one she 
 had before heard her mother use to her father. Nine of him went 
 to a man it seemed; and she did not understand it. But he 
 seemed to accept it as having a meaning, and an irritating one. 
 Alice was in terror lest she should hear a blow. For she remem- 
 bered how once he had struck her mother when stung to ferocity 
 by this very same unexplained expression. To be sure on that 
 occasion her mother had snapped her fingers close in his face ; and 
 also being very drunk had called him a sniffing fish, with an adjec- 
 tive prefixed which did not seem to go well with fishes. Perhaps
 
 20 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 she wouldn't this time. Perhaps they would make it up and go 
 to bed. 
 
 Sleep overcame Alice, and the voices ceased or were merged in a 
 dream a dream in which there was something that had to be 
 grappled with, and Alice had to do it. But the difficulty was that 
 no one knew whether it had to be stopped, or turned in another 
 direction, or cleaned up, or took off of the hob, or read aloud to 
 the Teacher at Sunday School without being silly and giggling 
 for no one knew in the dream what it was. All that was certain 
 was that it went on and on, and was bad. And it went on for 
 hours and hours, until quite suddenly (without changing its 
 nature in the least) it became a voice speaking down the area. 
 It was Alice that had changed, and become a frightened little girl 
 sitting up in bed in the dark, waked abruptly by the airey-bell, 
 which had been pulled harder and rung louder than any bell within 
 human experience. 
 
 "What's all this here row at this time o' night?" said the voice 
 without. And Alice jumped out of the bed it was so nice and 
 warm, and such a pity to! and pulled a rag-stopper out of a 
 broken pane of glass to answer through. And what she said was 
 that please it was f-father and m-mother. She almost always said 
 please. But she could not hear any row. 
 
 "Well please you come up and open this here street door !" 
 
 Alice was too frightened to obey, not because she heard her 
 parents quarrelling, but because she could hear no noise at all 
 only a cat! Was it a cat? No it wasn't. What was it? Was 
 it mother? A sort of moaning she was afraid it was mother. 
 She was so terrified she jumped back into bed again, and drove her 
 fingers tight into her ears. Then she wanted to hear if the moan- 
 ing was still there or perhaps, after all, it was a cat. She un- 
 corked her ears, keeping her fingers just outside, to put back at a 
 moment's notice. But a new voice came in the street from over- 
 head, and she settled not to put them back. 
 
 "Good -evening, Officer," said Mr. Heath. He had opened his 
 front window and looked out. It was only the kitchen windows 
 that were stuck to, or had no sashes. "Do I understand," he 
 continued, "that that was a client of yours shouting 'murder' 
 just now ?" 
 
 "Can't say yet awhile, Sir. It's in the house. It 'ud be as 
 well seen to. P'r'aps you'll step down and open the door ?" 
 
 Alice heard the first-floor shut his window down, while the 
 policeman slapped his gloves to keep warm. She was conscious that 
 one or more passers-by stopped from curiosity, and that the police-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 21 
 
 man told at least one enquirer that it warn't any concern of his. 
 One seemed offensively inquisitive, for the policeman said to him, 
 "I'd move you on, young feller, if there warn't any other job on 
 hand." Then she heard the street-door open, and the policeman 
 come in, and then only comparison of notes by outsiders. They 
 accepted the account of the first man up, who knew no more than 
 any one else about the matter, that it was a burglar in hidin', 
 beyont the chimley-stack on the roof, and all crossed the way to 
 see as much of the capture as possible. 
 
 Alice slipped out of her den with the silence of bare feet. She 
 slipped past the room where she had left her parents quarrelling, 
 past the moaning unexplained, past its cause she dared not guess 
 at, and up the kitchen stairs. She passed the policeman, who 
 flashed his searchlight on her without comment, and went straight, 
 as to a haven of protection, to the han/1 of the young artist who 
 followed him. 
 
 "My word!" said he; "it's poor little Miss Kavanagh. Come up 
 off the cold stone." And Alice felt her small self picked up by 
 a strong arm and carried down behind the policeman, whose mys- 
 terious bull's-eye light sent a long ray ahead in search of tricks of 
 ground and human ambushes, if such existed. They were approach- 
 ing the moaning. It was not a cat. Alice could not speak. She 
 could only hold tight to her protector. She and Pussy knew how 
 good he was. 
 
 "You can look in and report, Officer," said he ; "I'll keep the kid 
 back a minute." 
 
 "Quite right you are, Sir," said the policeman, and walked 
 straight along the passage, flashing his light as he went. Alice 
 turned quite sick with terror. Mr. Heath put her down on the 
 ground, and then, taking off his loose smoking-coat, wrapped her 
 in it, and picked her up again as before. Alice's father was not 
 bad to her, like her mother, but he did not know how to do this 
 sort of thing. Evidently it was an attribute of first-floors and 
 spectacles. Oh dear! How long the policeman was! 
 
 "Sh sh sh sh sh ! Miss Kavanagh dear. Don't you make a 
 noise. I want to hear." And Alice made the bravest of efforts, and 
 choked back her sobs. Mr. Heath listened. When would the 
 policeman come back ? At last he came. "Drink !" said he, briefly. 
 "I don't recommend taking the child into the room, but do as 
 you think." Mr. Heath asked a question under his breath. The 
 reply was: "Can't say, I'm sure, Sir. You can't tell which is 
 drink, and which is the effect of the injury bad scalp wound on 
 the head. Surgeon must have the case at once. Perhaps you'll be
 
 22 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 so good as to remain here and see the man doesn't go off. It's 
 a pity our surgeon's no nearer." 
 
 "There's a surgeon two doors off." 
 
 "I believe so, Sir. But I might be exceeding my instructions. 
 My Divisional will be round in less than a quarter of an hour ' 
 
 "I'll be responsible. Cut along to Dr. Taylor at No. 37, and say 
 it's from me Mr. Charles Heath " 
 
 "Quite right you are again, Sir." And off went the officer, 
 much relieved. 
 
 "Oh, you poor little kid, how you do shake!" said Mr. Heath, 
 and Alice replied, as he pulled the coat closer round her, "I'm not 
 c-cold," and then followed on with explanation "It's because 
 of m-mother. May I please go ?" 
 
 There was a footstep behind them on the stone stair. It was the 
 top attics ; that is to say, Mr. Jeff. He had on a Turkish fez, with 
 a tassel ; and Alice, in all her acute misery, was still able to wonder 
 why this was right and reasonable. For, as he was a grown-up 
 gentleman, and a friend of Mr. Heath, it never occurred to her 
 to doubt it. He had come down, hearing an imbroglio seething 
 below stairs, to see what the matter was. Mr. Heath managed to 
 tell him ever so quick, without Alice hearing exactly what was 
 said, and finished up with, "What should you say ?" 
 
 Mr. Jeff decided that a minute had better be waited, while he 
 went in and had a look, himself. This showed Alice that it was 
 under consideration whether she should be taken into the room, 
 where the moaning went on just the same. And Alice ascribed to 
 him mere curiosity on his own account, and thought him selfish. 
 In a moment or two he came back, looking pale in the light of a 
 gas-jet, at the stair-foot, the policeman had lighted just before he 
 left. He came back shaking his head, all the length of the passage. 
 He didn't speak. Mr. Heath spoke first. 
 
 "What's the man about ?" said he. 
 
 "Kneeling down beside her. Seems in a great taking. Says 
 God forgive him, and all that sort of thing." 
 
 "Did you speak to him?" 
 
 "I said he should have thought of all that before. Do you think 
 the child understands ?" And Alice heard a reply in a half -whisper 
 which she thought was, "Don't let's frighten her." Suddenly she 
 broke out and began to struggle to get away into the room. 
 
 "Oh, poor father oh, poor father!" It came out mixed with 
 despairing sobs. "Oh, please, Sir, let me down to go to father." 
 
 "Poor little Alice-for-short !" said Mr. Heath. "You promise 
 not to be frightened, chick, and we'll go to father."
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 23 
 
 "Please, I'm not frightened," said Alice. And Mr. Jeff said, 
 "P'r'aps you're right, 'Eath. Cut on!" and followed them into 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Heath saw what he had been led to anticipate. On the ground 
 kneeling was the man; in front of him on her back with her head 
 in a pool of blood, the woman, known to the two young men as 
 Goody Peppermint. Once twice the man stretched out his hand 
 and touched the prostrate mass before him. There was no response 
 or movement. Was she still moaning? Even that was doubtful. 
 Then presently the man turned round to the two spectators, and 
 said in a collected voice, apparently under the impression that some 
 question had been asked: "Yes gentlemen my wife." Neither 
 said a word. Then he said, in exactly the same tone : "Is my little 
 girl there?" and Mr. Heath said, "Yes, Alice is here," and let 
 Alice go down and run to her father. "Ought she to kiss me?" 
 said he. 
 
 The two young men glanced at each other. Heath caught the 
 drift of his question. "Why, God bless me, my good fellow," said 
 he, "you haven't killed your wife." 
 
 "You think not, Sir?" said Kavanagh not as an enquiry, but 
 as a statement of fact. "May I go to the bell?" For at this mo- 
 ment the wire of the street-door bell was heard trying to rouse it 
 to action, and after a pause succeeded so effectually that it seemed 
 as if it would never leave off, having been started contrary to its 
 wishes. 
 
 "It's the officer back, with the surgeon," said Mr. Heath. "Just 
 you trickle upstairs, Jeff, and open the door to 'em." 
 
 And Mr. Jeff departed to do so. Mr. Heath's courageous voice 
 and odd phrases were a great comfort to Alice. 
 
 "Your wife's all right, man alive!" said he. "Wait till the 
 doctor's put on a plaster, and she's had time to get sober, and 
 she'll be as right as a trivet." 
 
 "That is how it is, Sir," said Alice's father in the same mechan- 
 ical way. He left his hand in Alice's and she felt how cold it was 
 as she kissed it. "Time for her to get sober. That's how it is." 
 Then he said, dropping his voice, "They'll take me. May I get 
 to my room a minute only just down the passage afore they 
 come?" It seemed such a reasonable request, and after all it 
 was addressed to a very young man. One with more experience 
 would have accompanied him. Heath reflected that the applicant 
 could not get out without repassing the door, and decided that 
 he would be safe enough. No other contingencies crossed his 
 mind.
 
 24 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "You come here to the fire, Miss Kavanagh," said he, and raked 
 together its remains for Alice to sit by. 
 
 Then a grisly dream, to be remembered for life, passed before 
 the eyes of the frightened child. There seemed to be a great 
 deal of policeman in the room; more than was at all necessary, 
 Alice thought. One of them came and drew water from the boiler 
 close to her, and she remembered how she had stood there to turn 
 off the tap the minute the kettle was full up, and how that kettle 
 supplied the tea her mother put her rum in, or put into her rum. 
 Meanwhile the other policemen and the doctor gentleman who 
 came back with them, carrying a leather case, got her mother up on 
 a chair; and then the latter got a pair of scissors out of the case 
 and began cutting her mother's hair. She did not groan at any 
 rate only breathed heavily; that was good, so far! Then the 
 doctor began washing her head, and then cut her hair again. Mr. 
 Heath was holding her head up. 
 
 "A little more over this way," said the doctor. "Thank you 
 very much." And went on cutting the hair. Alice looked away, 
 feeling sick. When she mustered courage to look round again, 
 she wondered what on earth the doctor could be about. It looked 
 as if he was sewing up her mother's head, like father did coats 
 and trousers. Could she hear what he was saying to Mr. Heath ? 
 
 "Probably saved her life; that is, if her life is saved," said he; 
 "I can't say about that just yet. But the hammer struck aslant and 
 the scalp gave, and took off the force of the blow. If it had come 
 straight it would have killed on the spot. A little more this way. 
 Thank you very much. That's how such a great piece of scalp was 
 lying free." Of course Alice did not understand most of this ; but 
 she understood some. 
 
 The first policeman came back into the kitchen from somewhere. 
 He spoke to Mr. Heath. 
 
 "He's quiet enough in there," said he. "He ain't going to make 
 a bolt. Besides, there's nowhere to get out at. And if there was, 
 there's one of our men outside." 
 
 But he wasn't going to make a bolt. 
 
 Mr. Heath looked very pale, and very sorry, thought Alice. Mr. 
 Jeff stood by, and was of no use. But he showed his good will 
 by jerks of incipient action, indicating readiness to help, and hav- 
 ing his good intentions always disappointed by some one else antici- 
 pating him and doing what was wanted instead. However, he got 
 an opportunity in time, as the doctor presently said, "I wonder 
 if it's come. This is just finished." And he ran upstairs to see. 
 
 "There's none too much life in her," said the doctor, with his
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 25 
 
 finger on her mother's pulse. "But of course she'll be better in the 
 Infirmary than here." And then Mr. Jeff came back, having gained 
 status, Alice thought, by his decisive action in running upstairs to 
 see. It, whatever it was, had come; and her mother was to be 
 carried up to it. She was in the chair with arms, that she used 
 to spend so much of her time in a half -drunken sleep in when at 
 home, and was half -held up in it, half slipping down in a bundle 
 when the doctor finished his mysterious tailor's work, "We could 
 pretty well carry her up in the chair as she sits," said Mr. Heath. 
 But it was the suggestion of inexperience, and the maturer view 
 of the Inspector of Police was that we could go one better than 
 that. "There's a movable stretcher in the ambulance," said the 
 doctor. And a moment after something that bumped was being 
 brought down the kitchen stairs. Alice was getting very incapable 
 of distinguishing things, and could not quite make out how it was 
 managed, but she saw ultimately that mother was strapped on a 
 flat thing with handles like she was took to the station once on, 
 and carried away upstairs. Oh, how awfully white she looked ! 
 
 "We must go down now and see to that poor kiddy," said Mr. 
 Heath to his friend when the consignment to the interior of the 
 ambulance had been safely effected, and the inexplicable units 
 that always coagulate round a centre of excitement in London 
 whatever the time of night may be were left to discuss whether 
 the chief item of the entertainment was alive or dead. It was 
 a very uncertain point, and the doctor, when asked, was eva- 
 sive. "She'll be alive when she gets to the Infirmary," said 
 he. "You had better see to the child. I don't know that I'm 
 wanted any more. Good-night!" and departed with his case of 
 instruments, which he had put up while the stretcher was travelling 
 upstairs. "You'll find the child asleep," he added, as he walked 
 away. 
 
 He paused a moment with his latch-key in the lock, then with- 
 drew it, and turned as if to go back, then stood indecisive. "Per- 
 haps it isn't necessary," said he. "No, I suppose it's all right." 
 And this time he let himself in and was lighting a candle lamp 
 to go upstairs with when he heard feet running on the pavement 
 outside, and a man shouting. . . . 
 
 That was Mr. Heath's voice. What was it he said "Stomach- 
 pump, doctor ! Stomach-pump !" He shouted it before he reached 
 the door. 
 
 The doctor did not wait to let him in. Upstairs he went, two 
 steps at a time, and disregarding the "What is it, James?" of his 
 wife in a dressing gown on the landing above, made for a shelf in
 
 26 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 his consulting room, and fled with a second leather case. All the 
 while Mr. Heath was knocking at the door and pulling madly at 
 the night-bell. "Stomach-pump !" he shouted again from the out- 
 side as he heard the doctor coming, and again as he opened the 
 door, "Stomach-pump." The doctor showed the leather case, and 
 both ran. Mr. Jeff had come half-way, as a sort of connecting link 
 to lubricate events scarcely with any idea of showing the way 
 back. 
 
 But the stomach-pump was too late for use, except as a retro- 
 spective pump. For the journeyman tailor whom the two police- 
 men, left behind, were endeavouring to rouse anxiously enough, 
 for in fact they never ought to have lost sight of him was past 
 rousing. "It's really only a matter of form," said the doctor, "to 
 use the pump in such a case. However, we may as well know for 
 certain what poisoned him." 
 
 "Is it perfectly certain he's dead?" said Heath. 
 
 "Stone-dead. Cyanide. Here's the bottle. Here's the glass he 
 
 drank from. Dead an hour, I should say. However And 
 
 the pump was called into council, and supplied some particulars for 
 the Coroner. 
 
 "That poor little kid, Jeff!" said Heath. "We must do what we 
 can for her." And they walked away to the kitchen, one as pale 
 as the other. 
 
 Poor Alice ! Nature had asserted herself, and she was in a deep 
 sleep with her head on a stool. 
 
 "We can't leave her here," said Heath. "Is there no woman in 
 the house ?" 
 
 "Nobody at all, barring ourselves. Ground-floor's vacant. Sec- 
 ond-floor's vacant. Only me in the attics. Third-floor goes with 
 second-floor " 
 
 "We'd better put her back in her own bed, and then talk about 
 it." Which was done, and a police officer being officially in charge 
 of the premises under the circumstances, Mr. Heath left his 
 protegee with an easy conscience and went to bed. 
 
 And Alice slept, without a dream, the intense sleep of overstrung 
 nature. The noises of burst water-pipes, the discord of cats, the 
 clamour of a passing row outside disturbed her no more than they 
 disturbed the other sleeper in father's work-room at the end of 
 the long stone passage. And when Charles Heath waked up sud- 
 denly at half-past eight, and hurried on his clothes to run down- 
 stairs and see to the child, she was as sound asleep as ever, and it 
 seemed a pity to disturb her.
 
 CHAPTER rn 
 
 OF THE ANTECEDENTS OF ALICE'S BELONGINGS 
 
 TWENTY years before his mortal remains were left in charge 
 of that impassive police officer in that extensive basement with 
 cellarage, Samuel Kavanagh had been as prosperous and hopeful 
 a young tailor as ever rejoiced in a new wife and a new shop in 
 what was then the suburban district of Camden Town. Such a 
 handsome young couple as he and the former, when they were 
 married at Trinity Church opposite the burying ground, in Upper 
 Camden Street, were enough to make that dull structure inter- 
 esting for the moment, and even to soften the heart of its pew- 
 opener into concession of their right to compete with bygone rec- 
 ords. While, as for the latter, it went without saying that there 
 never was such a shop. In after years, when Samuel had been 
 obliged to give up this shop and hadn't taken another yet-a-while, 
 and when he was working for hard taskmasters to keep his much 
 too large family alive, his mind was still able to dwell with satis- 
 faction on the beauty of the cataracts of superb trouserings that 
 flowed in the window to fascinate the passer-by; of the convincing 
 twills that only needed inspection of a corner for you to see at 
 once that they would wear, and wouldn't show dust; of the numer- 
 ous portraits of the same young gentleman of property, as he 
 appeared in the whole of his wardrobe, including several uniforms 
 and hunting and shooting costumes; and the masterly inscription 
 over all that declared that Kavanagh, in Roman type, was a tailor 
 and professed trousers maker, in Italian lettering, though whether 
 the last was effrontery or modesty was a mystery. All these things 
 were so beautiful and so new, and the paint smelt so fresh, and 
 Samuel was so well able to say to himself that he had got value 
 for his money, that his regret for what he had lost never quite 
 destroyed the pleasure he derived from contemplation of its details. 
 This was not equally true of his memory of his young wife as he 
 looked back on those days. That would not bear thinking of now. 
 But at that happy time she was as beautiful and new as the shop, 
 or more so. 
 
 The shop was chosen from its proximity to the public-house 
 
 27
 
 28 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 kept by her father in King Street, Camden Town, from behind 
 the bar of which her fascinations had entangled the affections of 
 the young tailor. It would be unfair to Samuel to say that the 
 young lady's dot had influenced him; but, as he was no capitalist 
 himself, it certainly came in very conveniently, and made it possi- 
 ble to start in business on a much better footing than any he could 
 have achieved out of his own resources. In other respects, the 
 match was considered by gossips to be rather a rise in life for the 
 girl, and likely to withdraw her from her low associations. For 
 whereas Samuel was the great-grandson of a baronet (illegitimate 
 certainly but a baronet is a baronet) his wife had reg'lar rose up 
 from the dregs as you might say. And it was freely remarked that 
 the reason Hannah would not touch a drop herself, and wanted to 
 be Band of 'Ope only her father wouldn't let her, was that she 
 knew her mother died of drinking, and she was afraid she would 
 do the same if she admitted the thin end of the wedge. No doubt 
 also her father was not sorry she should rise above a barmaid. 
 So long as the rest of Europe drank itself to death, and paid sharp, 
 he had no wish that she should follow her mother's example. 
 Besides, young women were not scarce, and only mind you! he 
 did not say this to Samuel Hannah had a short temper. And 
 as for his future son-in-law, he seemed a likely sort of young 
 fellow, and if he did fancy a glarst of beer now and then, why 
 shouldn't he ? He, John Sharman of the Cock and Bottle, was not 
 the man to find fault with him for that. He wasn't, certainly! 
 In fact, all that could be said of Hannah's extraction on both sides, 
 was that the more thoroughly she had been extracted the better. 
 Whereas on Samuel's side the reverse was the case, and it was felt 
 that, in spite of an education and early associations little better 
 than his wife's, an outcrop of Baronetcy might reach the surface 
 if not in him, at least in one of his children. 
 
 But no drawback of inheritance showed itself in those days, in 
 Mrs. Kavanagh at any rate. Her husband was what her father 
 described him, and their acquaintance had begun in the course 
 of a succession of transactions across a metal counter, at intervals 
 which were now and then at first, and soon became very fre- 
 quently. He explained to the lady that he came for her only, and 
 not for half-and-half ; though a construction of that expression was 
 possible which might have an application to themselves. And when 
 they married, the liquor-clouds which may be said to have enveloped 
 their courtship vanished, and left a clear sky of voluntary renun- 
 ciation and respectability. And if you had seen them at this 
 time, you never could have anticipated the change that was to
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 29 
 
 come over them when the clouds re-gathered. Even a knowledge 
 of the possibilities of drink could hardly have foreseen a revival 
 of racial characteristics so marked as Goody Peppermint's ; though 
 a certain amount of degenerate speech and manner, such as her 
 husband showed, might have seemed possible and reasonable. 
 
 If in its first years of prosperity you had been attracted by this 
 modest and highly-respectable tailor's shop (for Samuel had re- 
 sisted the importunity of his scribe, who wished to write Emporium 
 and other stuck-up expressions over the door), and if you had been 
 tempted by it to entrust your legs to its proprietor that he might 
 show the value of his professions; and further, if, while you were 
 being measured, the young wife of that good-looking young tailor 
 had appeared bearing in her arms a very fine baby, probably you 
 would have come away with a pleasant impression, and would have 
 said that that young man and his young wife were having a good 
 time. So they were, but that was twenty years ago. 
 
 If at some time later on, having employed Kavanagh ever since,, 
 and recommended him to several friends, you had gone to his shop 
 to try on, because (for instance) as you passed the shop every 
 day and Mr. Kavanagh' was so busy there really was no reason for 
 his coming all the way (say) to Highgate, you might have noticed, 
 as you tried on, that the earth was getting rapidly replenished with 
 little Kavanaghs, and that none of these little parties was more 
 than one year older than its successor, while some were less. And 
 you would have come away shaking your head, and saying that 
 poor Mrs. Kavanagh must have her hands full, but that she must 
 be a good sort, to keep all those children looking so nice. But if 
 you saw her on that visit, you would probably have remarked that 
 she was looking worried. Still, you would have reflected that all 
 families were cares and burdens, and that at any rate Kavanagh 
 and his wife seemed happy and contented. So they were, but that 
 was (maybe) fifteen years ago. 
 
 At the end of another few years you would have seen a very 
 decided change. Mrs. Kavanagh would have begun more than 
 begun to look like a woman who must have been good-looking 
 once. Before she had all that swarm of children, your penetration 
 would probably add. One thing would have been clear that the 
 tailor's wife had lost all her looks, but that she was a nice respecta- 
 ble person for all that; and if she did say a sharp word to those 
 tiresome children, what could you expect with eight already and 
 another very soon ? And if asked why you thought it necessary to 
 feel quite certain she did not smell of spirits, you would have re- 
 ferred this certainty to the fact that she didn't. And you would
 
 30 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 have been uncandid in doing so, because your reasons for dis- 
 cussing- the point cannot have been entirely inside your inner con- 
 sciousness, without suggestion from without. 
 
 But it was a dozen years ago, anyhow. And perhaps it was not 
 more than ten years ago that you saw Mrs. Kavanagh again, and 
 were impelled to think and say that it was shocking to see how that 
 dreadful habit was growing on Kavanagh's wife, and that you had 
 always seen what would happen. And this was uncandid too, for 
 you wouldn't have, or didn't. 
 
 Neither did you predict then or at any time that in a year or two 
 Kavanagh would be sold up at the suit of a cloth merchant. But 
 he was, and then you and many others were found to have concealed 
 with difficulty your gloomy anticipations of the tailor's future. 
 And when he called upon you to explain the temporary nature of 
 his embarrassments, you felt it your duty to dwell upon the evils 
 of drink, and their invariable consequences. For by that time you 
 were in a position to feel convinced, not only that his wife was given 
 to spirits, but that he himself was too fond of beer. In fact, there 
 was too much liquor going in that house, and you were not sur- 
 prised. 
 
 Not having been surprised then, nothing that followed in the 
 next seven or eight years can have astonished you very much. An 
 intermediate stage, in a down-hill course, a foreman's situation at 
 a first-class shop, did not last a year, and would not have lasted 
 so long if a family of thirteen children had not been regarded 
 by his employers as an arbitrary whim of Providence; a very 
 unfair load, which it was the obvious duty of all kind-hearted folk 
 to lighten. And how could you wonder at any man for drinking, 
 with a wife like that ? What can you expect when the woman sets 
 the example? But we (the first-class shop in question) couldn't 
 stand this sort of thing, and we had to look out for a new foreman. 
 Of course we could give poor Sam Kavanagh plenty to do, and we 
 did. For we were a very good-natured firm. And we got places 
 for his elder sons and daughters removing them from their 
 parents as far as possible and five of the younger ones were so 
 kind as to die. So that, by the time Mrs. Kavanagh had taken 
 to coining drunk to our West End establishment and threatening 
 the cashier, and making police-removal necessary, there was only 
 the little girl Alice left. She was then a baby of two. And the 
 firm would not have lost sight of her at all, only our own affairs 
 at that time were giving a great deal of anxiety, and the partner 
 died who had known most of the family. And also we were influ- 
 enced by the fact that Kavanagh obstinately refused to get rid
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 31 
 
 of his wife, although we were legally advised that he might have 
 done so if he had chosen. So what could we do? Not very much, 
 certainly! And the Coroner at the inquest admitted this to be 
 the case, when we gave our account of Kavanagh from which the 
 above facts are cited. 
 
 The last few years of miserable degringolade are easily imagined. 
 Alice had scarcely known her parents in any character other than 
 the one they have appeared in, in this story. Nothing but drink 
 unqualified drink could have brought about the change in so short 
 a time. There were stages in the downward course at the end, 
 as there were at the beginning; but they followed each other more 
 quickly. The last had begun when the scraps of furniture and be- 
 longings bought by friends at the auction when the shop was sold 
 up, and given to the then homeless couple, were packed off from 
 the lodging that was the last fixed residence they had of their own, 
 to go to play its part in the inauguration of their career as care- 
 takers. This trek was Alice's earliest recollection. It was re- 
 sponsible for an idea in her small mind that her parents had once 
 lived in a palace a home of privilege and delights now unknown. 
 "Our shop" was known" to her only as a tradition of former great- 
 ness that she was too young, recent, and inexperienced even to 
 presume to think about. But she could remember, or could 
 remember remembering, when her father and mother dwelt above 
 ground; if not exactly in a 'ouse of their own, at any rate in a 
 portion of one. And it had a real front parlour too, what the 
 coffin was stood in when Alice's sister 'Arriet was buried that 
 died with the fever. Of course it had; and what's more she was 
 buried in a carriage that came up to the front door and knocked. 
 All which Alice must have recollected quite plain, or she never 
 could have said so to Polly Hawkins at Sunday School. For she 
 was a very truthful little girl. 
 
 But the departure of these Israelites into the wilderness of care- 
 taking occurred when she was so small that she now scarcely knew 
 herself in any other character than a dweller in basements a kind 
 of human rabbit, travelling from burrow to burrow. When a move 
 was in contemplation the question uppermost in Alice's mind was, 
 was there a front airey, and what were its qualities? Just as the 
 sons of Opulence that hire a property for the season are anxious 
 to know what the extent of the shooting is, and if there is a pack 
 of hounds in the neighbourhood so Alice would timidly ask her 
 father (never her mother) about the extent of this airey, and even 
 if there was a pack of cats. In the last of their encampments, 
 the Soho house of our story, the airey was of the greatest import-
 
 32 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 ance because of the door at the top of the kitching stairs so you 
 couldn't easy get in and out. When you could get out on the stairs, 
 it didn't so much matter if the rooms were locked up. Though 
 Alice would have felt far more grateful to the proprietors if they 
 had left one door unlocked, and the shutters stood open. Still, 
 there was always the great event when people came to see over 
 the premises, and Alice was able to follow unobserved. On such 
 occasions she would be aghast at the low opinion the investiga- 
 tors would have of the space available, the number of rooms, their 
 state of repair, their ventilation and sanitation; and would marvel 
 why they didn't go away at once, especially as they always treated 
 the rent with indignant derision. Also why her mother should 
 join chorus, when she ought to have argued gently but firmly 
 against each censure, and pointed out its fallacy. Instead of this 
 she denounced the house as a plague-centre in a region of epi- 
 demics; a structure so ruinous as to defy repair and call for 
 reconstruction on different lines, and preferably somewhere else; 
 and a blot on the character of the metropolis that "the Authori- 
 ties" ought to condemn in the interest of the public safety. It 
 never occurred to Alice that these views were other than philo- 
 sophical opinion. She did not analyse her mother's veracity, or any 
 of her qualities. She accepted her blindly and without question as 
 an example of a Mother, and perceived in every quality that was 
 repugnant to her an essential feature in that relationship. So 
 far as she noted that other little girls' mothers took less rum, were 
 less incoherent, less somnolent, more peaceable than hers, she 
 decided that they came short of the correct standard of Motherhood. 
 They were pleasanter certainly, but were they not poaching on the 
 domains of Fathers? Were they not non-conformists, dissenters, 
 innovators on a grand old tradition? 
 
 She had once been greatly puzzled by a conversation she over- 
 heard between her eldest brother, a young fellow of nineteen, who 
 had been got a very good place over Peckham way, in a 'olesale 
 Clothier's, and her father. The latter had said to his son: "It 
 wasn't always like this, Fred not when you was a little chap 
 
 why, you can recollect ?" And the son replied that he could 
 
 recollect, fast enough. And added: "It's your own fault, father, 
 for letting her have the liquor." And his father had not resented 
 this, as Alice thought he would, but had dropped his head in his 
 hands, and she thought he was crying, and went to him. And on 
 that he took her up on his knee, and said : "Good girl good girl 
 good little Alice." And then, turning to her brother, said: "I've 
 no fault to find with you for speaking, my boy, but it's not easy,
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 33 
 
 like you think." But this had not softened his son, who repeated 
 that it was the liquor, and nothing but the liquor, and all that 
 was wanted was a little decision and a better example. And Alice 
 didn't know what a decision was, little or big, and wondered 
 whether it was an instrument, or a drug, or an animal; but inclined 
 to the first, on account of scissors. Her father's reply threw no 
 light on this point. "You settle it off mighty easy," said he, "but 
 you're not the first young jackanapes that ever was born." And 
 Alice wondered who was. And then Fred said there was mother 
 coming and he should cut it. With whom mother had words in 
 the passage, and then quarrelled with her father for setting her 
 own son against her. So Alice's mind was left hazy about what 
 it was her brother could recollect fast enough; she puzzled over it 
 for all that, and would have liked him to tell her. But she knew it 
 was no use to ask him. He would only say she was a girl, and had 
 better shut up. His demeanour was always haughty, as it was 
 such a very large 'olesale Clothier's he had a place at. Alice con- 
 ceived of that Clothier as a sort of Pope of Peckham, and her 
 brother Fred as a confidential Cardinal. 
 
 It may be imagined that this son and her other brother "held off" 
 from their reprobate parents during the latter days the days 
 when caretaking had been accepted as a permanent condition, and 
 the notion of a domicile of any sort had gone the way of all dreams. 
 Not that the new shop that was to replace the lost one could be 
 said to have ever been definitely given up by Samuel Kavanagh. On 
 the contrary it always presented itself to him as a coming event, 
 the certainty of whose ultimate existence justified a nomadic life, 
 and emphasised its temporary character. During the days that 
 followed on the disappearance of the old shop, he would apologise 
 for every domestic shortcoming, every chaotic dereglement, by 
 referring it to the almost momentary nature of his encampment. 
 ''We'll ha' done with all this mess, and get some real order," he 
 would say, "so soon as I ever get my new shop." And he held on 
 to a vague belief in it, even when Alice was growing quite big, 
 and old enough to talk to. 
 
 It must be admitted that the change in twenty years, from the 
 prosperous and good-looking young couple, in their well-filled and 
 orderly shop, to the very doubtful journeyman tailor and his 
 drunken wife, in the basement of No. 40, seems almost incredible. 
 But ask any physician of the right experience I don't mean 
 ask him if he ever knew of a woman in Hannah Kavanagh's cir- 
 cumstances taking to drink and going to the Devil that would be 
 a coarse and unfeeling way of putting it but just give him full
 
 34 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 particulars and ask him if he ever knew of a case of Alcoholism in 
 the like plight, and see what he says. And as for beeriness well, 
 if poor Kavanagh had some tendency that way, it was no great 
 wonder. It was a very modest and unpretentious achievement 
 compared with Alcoholism, but it has its efficiencies as an agent of 
 the Devil. And the Coroner I have mentioned before, with the 
 whole of whose inquest the reader need not be troubled, ascribed 
 the blow that killed his wife to the insobriety of Kavanagh, not to 
 any bad disposition on his part. He added, as his own private 
 opinion, that the more beer a man could take without showing it, 
 the more liable he would be to sudden outbreaks of uncontrollable 
 ill-temper, amounting to fury under provocation. And of the 
 provocation in this case there could be no doubt.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 OF ALICE'S RIDE IN A CAB WITH THE FIRST-FLOOR. OF THE FIRST-FLOOR'S 
 BEAUTIFUL SISTER, AND HER PARROT 
 
 MR. CHARLES HEATH'S family resided in Hyde Park Gardens and 
 were very late for breakfast. This is all we want to know about 
 them for the moment ; which is, or was, given accurately, a quarter 
 past nine on the morning following the events of the last chapter 
 but one. There was nothing singular in either fact, for Mr. 
 Andrew Heath, Charles's father, was a partner in Heath & Pol- 
 lexfen, of London and Hong Kong, silk merchants; and, besides, 
 it was a very rich connection. If you know about silk merchants 
 and very rich connections, you will see that not only do they 
 account for people living in Hyde Park Gardens, but for their 
 coming down late for breakfast, even when breakfast is at nine. 
 They fully account for Charles Heath finding nobody down when 
 he arrived at nine-thirteen by the hall clock. But not for the 
 expression of dumbfounded amazement on the face of the young 
 woman who opened the door. Neither was this due to Mr. Charles 
 coming from his Studio at that time in the morning : that was com- 
 mon enough. In fact, Mr. Charles very often went home to break- 
 fast. As he seldom got to what he called work before half -past ten 
 or eleven, and it was only a twenty-minutes 'bus journey from door 
 to door, there did not seem any reason (as has been before hinted) 
 why he should not have always slept and breakfasted at home. 
 But then he would not have felt like an Artist. Art is a vocation 
 that must be prosecuted in earnest. It doesn't do to play fast and 
 loose with it. The Artist has to live with his work, and throw his 
 whole soul into it. So Charles Heath had decided when he adopted 
 the profession; and being supported by his mother as to the 
 necessity for four hundred feet super of studio and a top light, he 
 had succeeded in getting subsidised. For, the moment she found 
 his father inclined to dispute it, on the ground that the artist had 
 not painted a single picture, much less exhibited one, she threw 
 her whole weight into her son's side of the scale, and other mem- 
 bers of the family followed her. Her husband gave way, but then 
 he didn't pretend to understand this kind of thing, don't you 
 
 35
 
 36 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 see? And of course his wife and his son, and all the rest of his 
 family for that matter, naturally understood all about it. People 
 understand the Fine Arts when they have a firm conviction that 
 they do. If this were not true what would become of Art-Criti- 
 cism? However, it will never do to be led off into discussion of 
 so knotty a point while the second housemaid at eighty-nine Hyde 
 Park Gardens is waiting (as she is in this history) to have a fixed 
 and stupefied glare of astonishment accounted for. She remained 
 petrified until Mr. Charles, having dismissed his cabman, turned 
 to her and asked if Miss Peggy was up. To which she was able 
 to gasp that she believed Miss Peggy was up, but not down. 
 Further, she just found voice to ask should she run up and tell 
 her? And Mr. Charles he had the face to say to her so she 
 reported afterwards "Tell her what?" 
 
 "And there was that child hold of his hand all the while! Any- 
 thing to come anigh Mr. Charles, I never, Cook! Nor yet you, I 
 lay. And then he says to her, 'You come along, Miss Kavanagh, 
 and don't you be frightened!'" 
 
 For Mr. Charles, sorely perplexed at the situation, and longing 
 to get his poor little protegee out of the ghastly basement, with its 
 closed room under police guardianship, the contents of which he 
 would have to explain to Alice, and which would either be the scene 
 of an inquest, or give up its tenant to one elsewhere which, he 
 did not know and also longing to get as soon as possible to his 
 invariable confidante and counsellor, his sister Peggy Mr. Charles 
 had decided on giving Alice as few opportunities of asking ques- 
 tions as possible, and had simply told her when she waked that she 
 was to get up and come. Alice's faith in him had been so great 
 that even his "Never mind father, now," when she put some ques- 
 tion about father, had been accepted as containing a sufficient 
 assurance ; and as for her mother, she was being taken good care of, 
 and that was plenty, no doubt, for a little girl to know. Little 
 girls' positions had been too frequently defined for Alice to push 
 enquiry on any subject in the case of a reluctant informant. So, 
 when told to do so she got up and came. Mr. Heath was on tenter- 
 hooks all the while lest she should demand explanations, and even 
 speculated whether it would not be well to suggest that she should 
 bring Pussy, as being likely to divert conversation and help through 
 the cab-ride. But then it crossed his mind that removal of Pussy 
 might suggest not coming back and her inclusion in the party 
 might defeat its own object. So he had limited his precautions to 
 asking the policeman on guard to keep out of the way, and his 
 request was, so to speak, greedily complied with as savouring of
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 37 
 
 schemes and secrecy, and being professional. It may be said to 
 have given Zed-one-thousand passive employment something to 
 turn his mind to. 
 
 Alice having been once told to "never mind father, now," was 
 content to wait for the then when .she would be at liberty to mind 
 him; and this all the more readily because of the glorious novelty 
 of riding up in a cab, on the seat, beside a gentleman who seemed 
 to have a mysterious power of making Hansoms gallop. It was 
 very funny this one should go so fast, for Mr. Heath had only 
 mentioned to the driver that he wished to get to Hyde Park 
 Gardens before midnight, and he hoped the horse was fresh. And 
 the cabman had said Hyde Park Gardens was a long way, and 
 the road was bad, but he would try what he could do, to oblige. So 
 Alice was astonished when they stopped in about twelve minutes, 
 and was told by Mr. Heath that there they were. But then she 
 didn't understand the cynical tone of inversion in which the con- 
 versation had been conducted. 
 
 She had misgivings that she did understand the expression of 
 Caroline the second housemaid's face. She had seen it on other 
 faces elsewhere, and it had led up to monosyllables, such as brat, 
 or chit; and when it appeared on her mother's had preceded slaps, 
 spanks, or boxes on the ear. It could not lead to them here, because 
 had she not a protector; who would be as good as father, quite, on 
 that point? But she quailed a little before the second house- 
 maid, and held on tighter than before to Mr. Charles's hand. 
 
 "You come along, Miss Kavanagh, and don't you be frightened," 
 said he. And they went into the house. Oh, it was big! It was 
 clearly the largest house in the world. 
 
 Mr. Charles wasn't the least frightened himself. On the con- 
 trary, Alice had the impression that so far from being afraid of 
 the gentleman with a tray whom they met on the way, that gentle- 
 man was afraid of him: as he called him Sir whenever he spoke, 
 and she knew from Teacher at Sunday School that you ought al- 
 ways to say Sir. Not to every one of course, but when addressing 
 Olympus. This must be a case of Olympus. 
 
 "Nobody down now of course, Phillimore," said Mr. Charles. 
 
 "Well, no, Sir! At least not at present " And Phillimore 
 
 coughed respectfully, to apologise for presumption in seeming to 
 defend the Family. His defence seemed to be that though nobody 
 was down now, at present, many would be down now, very soon, if 
 you would only give them time. "I think that's Miss Margaret's 
 door," he continued, and his words received a meaning they would 
 else have lacked, from implication of sound noted afar.
 
 38 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 "You toddle in there, Miss Kavanagh. Nobody '11 bite you." 
 And Alice toddled into a front parlour with a pane of glass in a 
 frame on the rug before a beautiful fire, and a parrot walking about 
 on the ceiling of his cage, upside down. Alice felt glad that 
 nobody would bite, but for all that she wouldn't have trusted that 
 parrot. 
 
 "Minute anybody comes," said he, with perfect distinctness, "he 
 stops talking." And then he shrieked worse than the railway, and 
 afterwards said it again. Alice suspected him of not being in 
 earnest, from something in his manner. Then, she knew nothing 
 of parrots. 
 
 A dress that came down the stairs, and that would have rustled if 
 it had been silk, made a warm, soft sound instead, owing to its 
 material. It stopped, and whoever was in it appeared to kiss Mr. 
 Charles. 
 
 "What's the row?" said he. This couldn't be because he was 
 kissed, and it wasn't. 
 
 "Why, just look at you !" said a warm soft voice, like the dress 
 only, for all that, it filled the whole place so that you could hear it 
 quite plain when the parrot was quiet. He wasn't though, this 
 time, and said twice over: "The minute anybody comes, he stops 
 talking," and shrieked each time. So Alice didn't catch the rest 
 of the speech, but she began loving Mr. Charles's sister (which of 
 course it was) from the sound, before ever she set eyes on her. 
 
 "You shut up and I'll tell about it, Peg," said he. And then he 
 dropped his voice down low, and went on talking ever so long. 
 But when his sister's exclamations came in, Alice could hear them 
 quite plain "Oh, Charley how terrible!" "Oh, you good boy!"- 
 "But is the mother killed? Tell me all the ends first, that's a 
 dear!" Then Mr. Charles said something she would have heard 
 only for the parrot. Then came more exclamations at intervals. 
 "In the Infirmary?" "What was it a hammer?" and then after 
 a good deal of very earnest underspeech from her brother "Oh, 
 
 Charley, how awful! And he was actually poi " And then 
 
 Mr. Charles said hush, "because of her" and they were quiet a few 
 seconds. And then the sister said suddenly, "Poor little thing! 
 Where is she?" 
 
 "In here," said Mr. Charles, coming in. And oh how beautiful 
 his sister was, and how Alice did love her! 
 
 "Why, you poor little white, desolate baby," said she, stooping 
 to her and kissing her cheek, and then put her hair back off her 
 forehead, because it was so rough and untidy. And Alice was 
 afraid it might be a mistake, and when she saw quite plain she
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 39 
 
 might find out, and be sorry she had kissed her. But it was all 
 right; and actually, she kissed her again. "Afterwards will do," 
 said she, inexplicably. And the parrot said again as before, 
 "Minute anybody comes, he stops talking," but this time laughed 
 "Ho, ho, ho ho," and ended with a shriek. 
 
 "Isn't he a funny Polly, Alice?" said Mr. Charles. But before 
 she could answer, Polly said with great force and distinctness, 
 "Better cover him up or we shall get no peace." On which both 
 the brother and sister said in the same breath that that was Mamma 
 all over. But Mr. Charles, being told perhaps he had better cover 
 him up, did so. And Alice could hear Polly talking to himself in 
 an undertone a soliloquy which seemed to contain pathos, humour, 
 and expression, but no words. He was a funny parrot, there was no 
 doubt of that! 
 
 "Well what's to be done, Peg?" said Mr. Charles when Polly 
 was settled. Alice was getting very uneasy about she could not 
 exactly say what, and was beginning to feel for speech with her 
 lips, when the young lady, who of course knew what was right, 
 struck in with "Suppose we were to have some nice breakfast 
 first, and talk about it afterwards." This seemed to leave so many 
 openings, to deny so few anticipations, to be so replete with lati- 
 tudes and golden bridges of all sorts, that Alice's judgment ap- 
 plauded the verdict, which came naturally to an ill-fed infant. 
 Suppose we were! 
 
 Practical politics of the household dictated that on the whole 
 the safest course would be to call in assistance from another sphere. 
 "We'd better get Partridge, and explain," said Miss Peggy Heath. 
 And Partridge was got, was explained to out of Alice's hearing, 
 and was first revealed to Alice as her young mistress had been, as 
 a sort of Greek chorus to a narrative she wished she could hear 
 herself. There was something in it unknown to her that came in 
 at the end, and intensified "My goodness me!" "Well, now, I 
 declare!" "Well, I never .'""Only think !" into "Lord, have 
 mercy on us!" and "Gracious Heaven!" And this something 
 unknown was always told in a dropped voice that she could not 
 have heard in a colloquy outside the door even if Mr. Charles, 
 who remained in the room with Alice, had not said, "Let's talk 
 to Polly," and taken Polly's covering off. Polly was a great 
 egotist, and when he broached himself as a topic, there was but 
 little chance for anything else. He showed, however, a kind of 
 modesty in a new remark he made very frequently, "Such a 
 noise you can't hear yourself speak," said he, and then laughed 
 cheerfully.
 
 40 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 Mrs. Partridge was the housekeeper, and was a comfortable 
 body a great consolation and resource in all kinds of difficul- 
 ties. Alice didn't see her way to declining to breakfast with her, 
 perceiving in the arrangement a recognition of the distinction be- 
 tween breakfasts and breakfasts. She didn't feel quite sure how 
 she could breakfast with Olympus, whether she would know how 
 to set about it. She thought difficulties might be overcome if it 
 was only Mrs. Partridge. 
 
 And thus it comes about that at the end of this chapter Alice is 
 enjoying unheard-of luxuries in the way of breakfast in the house- 
 keeper's room at 89 Hyde Park Gardens, but is wondering all the 
 while what she is going to know about after. And she does not 
 know it is Death, which her experience, so far, has never intro- 
 duced her to in the case of grown-up people. Her sister that was 
 buried had died, certainly; but then she was a child, and didn't 
 know how to take care of herself, like father and mother. Also, 
 it was a very long time ago !
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 OF THE FIRST-FLOOR'S FAMILY, AND OF HOW HIS MOTHER SHOULD HAVE 
 
 BEEN TOLD 
 
 THE sudden springing of Alice in person on members of the 
 family less to be relied on than his sister would have been an 
 embarrassment to Charles Heath. So her provisional disappear- 
 ance into the housekeeper's room was welcome. Altogether things 
 had gone well with him, so far. But he began to see into the 
 difficulties of the position. However, so long as Peggy backed him 
 up that was the chief point. If a doubt had crossed his mind in 
 the cab about this, his sister's attitude about the child had dis- 
 sipated it. 
 
 "Oh, dear, Charley!" said she, as they began waiting for the 
 rest of the family to come to breakfast, "what a perfectly awful 
 business! We've never had a Murder before. And do you know, 
 now I come to think of it, I don't know anybody that has." 
 
 "We mustn't let it make us vain. But, Peggy dear, what's to 
 be done with the poor kid ?" 
 
 "She's the same you told us about that broke the beer-jug, and 
 had the awful mother?" The question seemed to imply that there 
 might be other quixotisms afoot on Mr. Charles's part, elsewhere. 
 
 "Goody Peppermint. That's what we called her, Jeff and I ' 
 
 "Oh yes Mr. Jerrythought." Peggy seemed inclined to laugh 
 at her brother's friend. 
 
 and as for the father (poor beggar) he wasn't very much 
 better." This was nearly said without the parenthesis; but the 
 recollection of the dead body in the grimy basement room, with, 
 on the bench near it, the last unfinished job of the tailor it had 
 been the poison-bottle and the whole horror shot across the 
 speaker's mind, and procured a passing acknowledgment. 
 
 "What can one expect with a woman like that? At least, that's 
 what people always say." Peggy made the meekest of protests 
 against vernacular currencies of speech. "Did you find out any 
 more about them after the beer- jug business?" 
 
 "Very little. I had a talk with the man one day. As for the 
 woman, I let her do the Studio out because there was no one else 
 
 41
 
 42 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 but she was awful! Quite unsteady. And the smell of spirits 
 enough to make one sick ! She told me a great many times that 
 she had had thirteen children " 
 
 "Oh," said Peggy. "Thirteen!" 
 
 " and that she and her husband had been unfortunate, and 
 
 come down in life. I thought she was lying, and that neither she 
 nor he could ever have been respectable tradespeople. But I sup- 
 pose some of it was true because the man told the same story." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "Said they had had a very good shop a good long while back 
 in Camden Town, and that her father had been very well off a 
 licensed victualler, which I suppose is a public-house keeper 
 
 "I suppose so. Perhaps that would account for it." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 "For the woman being such an awful drunken wretch as you 
 describe. Because it seems so odd that any woman who had been 
 the least respectable, or able to read and write, should slip down 
 to the level of a St. Giles's drunkard. However, I suppose drink 
 is enough to account for anything." Mr. Charles seemed to accept 
 this with reservation. 
 
 "There was a good deal wanted accounting for in this case," he 
 said after a pause. "Because her language didn't suggest a re- 
 spectable tradesman's wife, drunk or sober. However, they told 
 me the same tale at the big Clothier's shop where they knew him 
 he told me and I asked. Their Mr. Abraham would have done 
 anything to help the man, and in fact had got places for his sons 
 only it wasn't any use really they were best off, when they were 
 out of cash, and couldn't spend it on drink. Here's the Governor, 
 coming at last! I can hear him humming on the landing." 
 
 Mr. Charles was reclining in an Austrian bent-wood chair on 
 one side of the fire, with his sister's arms fitted round his neck from 
 behind as she leaned on the chair-back. "The little thing seems 
 rather a poppet," said she. "Only so silent!" 
 
 "You'd be silent, Peg, if the Governor had smashed your 
 mother's head and pizoned himself, overnight." 
 
 "I don't know! It might make me loquacious. But you're a 
 dear boy only always doing mad things. There's the earthquake." 
 
 The earthquake was the Governor coming downstairs. His six- 
 teen stone, or thereabouts, didn't prevent an almost brisk descent; 
 and, though slippers only were involved, it shook the house, and 
 seemed to lead up naturally to acres of broadcloth, pounds of gold 
 watch-tackle, old-fashioned seals thereon that seemed to murmur 
 responsibility, and a powerful nose-bridge made for a powerful
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 43 
 
 gold-rimmed double eyeglass that called aloud for a substantial 
 hair-chain as a birthright, and would have scorned anything sleezy. 
 It made you think, as you looked at it, of its owner's balance at the 
 Bank with its extra bit on the left, the same in both! This 
 weapon, a formidable one for use on Boards of Directors and 
 Committees, was in its scabbard as the earthquake entered the 
 room and caught up the last word of the conversation with the 
 express view of taking no notice of it. He always did this, Peggy 
 said, and prefixed it with the word Hey ! from three to five times. 
 This time it was the latter. 
 
 "Hey hey! Hey hey hey!! Always doing mad things? 
 Hey! Who's been doing mad things? What's this under here? 
 
 Kidneys, hm ! hm ! And poached eggs. And Don't care for 
 
 any of 'em ! Phillimore !" (this was the respectable man Alice saw 
 in the passage), "get me a savoury omelette, and tell cook to look 
 sharp. I can't wait. Got to be in Lothbury by five minutes to 
 eleven." And Mr. Heath Senior having gone through an episode 
 of salutation from his son and daughter (not without detection 
 of a flaw by the latter, "Shaving-soap, as usual, Pappy dear"), be- 
 gan his breakfast on a large stack of letters that awaited him. Most 
 of these he pushed unread into pockets that had a mysterious 
 absorbent power, some he merely flung towards the fireplace, and 
 took no further interest in. Phillimore picked them up and placed 
 them respectfully on the sideboard. Miss Ellen wished all circu- 
 lars kept, was his explanation. But after elimination of super- 
 fluities, there still remained letters enough to last through break- 
 fast, and Mr. Heath's thumb paused in the envelope of the first 
 of these, as soon as it felt confident of its rip, in order that its 
 owner might make a remark. 
 
 "Shouldn't kiss upside down, Peg ! It's unlucky. Hey, what ? 
 Pour me out my coffee, my child not too much milk yes, large 
 lumps. Where's all the rest of them?" But he ripped up his 
 letter, and didn't wait for an answer to the question. The first part 
 of his speech will be explained to a shrewd reader by a reference to 
 particulars in the narrative at the moment Mr. Charles heard his 
 father on the landing. Miss Peggy didn't know it was unlucky: 
 so she said. 
 
 "Hey to be sure! Of course it's unlucky. Everybody knows 
 that. Well, Charley boy, how's the Fine Arts?" And then with- 
 out waiting for an answer, "How's the Royal Academy? how's the 
 moist water-colours in tubes? how's the lay-figures? how's the 
 easels? how's the Landscapes with Cattle? how's the Portraits 
 of Her Majesty walkin' on the slopes?" But these enquiries were
 
 44 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 not questions in the ordinary sense, being only intended to show 
 the disparaging attitude of a superficial observer who accepted his 
 own exclusion from the Communion of Paints willingly, on the 
 score of more important engagements in other freemasonries. 
 They appeared to lay stress on an implication that shallow infor- 
 mation was its owner's choice ; pre-omniscience having decided that 
 enlightenment would not be worth having. 
 
 "Well !" said Charles. "The Landscapes with Cattle haven't got 
 on much this last day or two, and the Portrait of Her Majesty's 
 behindhand." But if he meant by this to suggest further enquiry 
 to his father, and to provoke his interest in the recent events, he 
 was mistaken. For the latter only said three times: "Her 
 Majesty! Her Majesty! Her Majesty!" And then added 
 reflectively: "Ah well! We're all very fine people. Aren't we, 
 Pussy-Cat ?" So Charles got no chance that time of disburdening 
 himself of his secret. 
 
 Then followed an irruption of the remainder of the family, every 
 one of whom insolently included his predecessors in a remark 
 which each made on coming in "I say, how awfully late we are !" 
 The only exception was Miss Ellen, the youngest, who said instead, 
 "Are the advertisements kept? Are you quite sure these are all, 
 Phillimore? Yes Mamma's coming down. Pll have tea and put 
 the sugar in myself." If you think a minute you will probably 
 recollect having heard equally fragmentary conversation from 
 young ladies even more than thirteen years old. 
 
 A certain enthusiasm about breakfast, and an indisposition of 
 the breakers to be in too great a hurry to decide what form it was 
 to take, combined with reviews on the part of each of all the 
 courses open to them, made the introduction of Charles and 
 Peggy's denouement difficult. Besides, the younger members of 
 the family and the Governess, Miss Petherington, had been at the 
 play last night, and a fierce discussion ensued about the heroine. 
 However, there was Mamma coming down. An opening was sure 
 to occur now for the natural introduction of Alice. 
 
 Were you ever in a situation in which, while you wished par- 
 ticularly to speak of something that interested you greatly, you 
 were made to feel the full force of other people's preoccupation? 
 Charles Heath almost wished he had come seldomer to breakfast 
 with his family. If he had been a rarer occurrence some one would 
 have been sure to say, "What brings you here this time?" It had 
 been so easy to give the whole story to Peggy on the stairs, and 
 to secure her immediate sympathy, but how on earth to set about 
 it now? What could be done, with his father well behind the
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 45 
 
 Times newspaper, buried in the Money Column, and only making 
 concessions to slight recrudescences of breakfast, such as, "Only 
 half a cup, mind ! And not too much sugar" ; and all this while 
 the fast and furious discussion of Cannibalism, on which the 
 interest of the Problem Play of the evening before had turned. 
 
 However, the majestic rustle of an approaching Mamma cli- 
 maxed, and Charles felt, as he kissed her, and she said, "Why, 
 Charles ! When did you come ?" that Hope was on the horizon. 
 
 "But I do not see" this with denunciatory emphasis from Ellen 
 the youngest "I do not see, and I never shall see, why a Cannibal 
 should not marry his Deceased Wife's Sister provided he hasn't 
 eaten his first wife." For no less difficult and intricate a question 
 than this had arisen from the discussion of the previous evening's 
 entertainment. 
 
 "My dear Ellen," says her mother, in tones of dignified reproach, 
 "what is all this noise?" 
 
 "Well, Mamma, it's all very well, but " 
 
 But her mother threw so decided a tone of moral influence into 
 her next "My dear!" that Ellen subsided. She left an impression 
 on her brother's mind that she recorded somehow that there was a 
 row if she so much as spoke. It may have been said sotto-voce. 
 A lull ensued, and Charles began to see his way to possibilities, 
 
 "There's been a very bad job down at the Studio " he began. 
 
 But he got no further. 
 
 "One moment, my dear," said his mother. "I'll hear you di- 
 rectly. I am obliged to speak to Phillimore." 
 
 But before Phillimore could be assuaged, Mr. Heath Senior sud- 
 denly decided that he had now seen the Times this morning, and 
 need see them no more. So he folded his newspaper with a mighty 
 rustling on to the top of a cold tongue, and looked resolutely at 
 his watch. But even as he kept his eye firmly fixed on it, as 
 though he suspected it of meaning to go wrong at that particular 
 moment, he showed that he had been keeping his eye also on the 
 conversation, with a view to ignoring it in detail later on. 
 
 "Hey?" said he. "What's it-all-about ? Why-y-y-y shouldn't a 
 Cannibal marry his Deceased Wife's Sister?" 
 
 "Provided he hasn't eaten his first wife," cuts in Ellen. "Now 
 do say I'm right, Papa!" 
 
 "Why-y-y shouldn't a Cannibal marry his Deceased Wife's Sis- 
 ter? Provided he hasn't eaten his first wife. Hey? That's it, is 
 it? Why-y shouldn't ..." And so on da capo, with an air of 
 judicial weight. And Ellen made helpless appeal to the Public. 
 "Oh dear! Isn't Papa aggravating?" Which he certainly was.
 
 46 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 And none the less so because he continued to keep his eye fixed on 
 his watch, as the lion-tamer on a possibly rebellious lion. It was a 
 gold hunting-watch with a lid, and as soon as its owner consid- 
 ered it would go along safely, he shut this down with a snap. "I 
 must be off," said he, with the trenchant decision of one who has 
 made up his mind. But he was intercepted and outflanked at the 
 door. 
 
 "I only want just one word with you before you go, my dear," 
 said his wife, meekly. Mrs. Heath's deadliest weapons were meek- 
 ness and patience. She wielded them with diabolical dexterity; 
 "and showed, in advance and retreat, the activity of a Cossack. 
 Her husband made a weak protest on this occasion; but the fact 
 that Mrs. Heath should have spoken before seemed a mere moral 
 maxim when confronted with the practical truth that she could 
 not make herself heard, backed by a certain assumption of failure 
 of voice after stentorian efforts. "I cannot get quiet," said the 
 
 good lady. "And I get no help " Mr. Heath knew perfectly 
 
 well when his wife's manner portended heart-failure; so he sur- 
 rendered at discretion. Especially as an attempt on his part to 
 get the communication made under pressure, by hinting that she 
 must look alive, as the City was yawning for him, ended in her 
 taking a chair to draw breath on. 
 
 "Very well now, that's enough !" was Mr. Heath Senior's final con- 
 clusion as he escaped after the just one word had spun out to a 
 hundred, or even a thousand. Charles Heath and his sister ex- 
 changed looks, to the effect that communications to that quarter must 
 stand over. However, the more important parent, the really influ- 
 ential executive, remained. She re-entered the breakfast scene with 
 the comment, "I always know it's that, when your father's atten- 
 tion goes wandering and I can't get him to listen for one moment." 
 
 "Always know it's what, Mammy dear?" asked her son. And 
 she replied, briefly, "Liver." Charles thought he had got his 
 opportunity. 
 
 "I've been wanting to tell you about this awful business last 
 night at the Studio " 
 
 "Another time, my dear Charles. Because that can wait. I 
 must write now to Lady Wycherly Watkins to say your father can't 
 make it the twenty-fourth. And it's the second time we've put 
 them off. And you can see what difficulties I have with your 
 father." A murmur that followed gave Charles the impression that 
 his mother had said, "Four grains of Blue Pill," in apposition to 
 nothing whatever. He suggested that Peggy could write to Lady 
 ,Wycherly Watkins, and Peggy said, "Of course I can. It's only
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 47 
 
 to say you can't go on the twenty-fourth I know " But her 
 
 mother dropped her hands on her lap with patient despair. "My 
 dear !" she said, in a voice that harmonised with the action, "oh, if 
 you would only he quiet one moment and let me arrange. It's 
 always hurry, hurry, hurry !" After suggestions of amended style 
 Peggy adjourned to write the letter, followed by her mother's 
 meekly triumphant "You see I can perfectly well arrange, if you'll 
 only let me." Then Charles, being also encouraged by a lull in 
 breakfast, which though reinforced by very late stragglers was now 
 drawing to a close, thought he would try again : 
 
 "I really should like, Mother dear, to tell you about this dreadful 
 affair at the Studio. You know those two people who were care- 
 taking at the bottom of the house who had the little girl that 
 broke the jug ?" 
 
 "Yes my dear Charles. Go on I'm listening. I can do this 
 
 too, while I listen. Little girl that broke the jug " And Mrs. 
 
 Heath marks off items in a list, and now and then murmurs to 
 herself, "Yes that's right." "No that ought to be a six." "I 
 must ask Partridge about the pillow-cases" and so on. 
 
 "They seem to have had a drunken quarrel, and the man struck 
 his wife on her head with a big hammer that had been used to 
 
 break the coal with " But Charles's method was not dexterous. 
 
 He should have said, "I want to tell you about the murder and 
 suicide last night," and then he might have procured a hearing. 
 As it was, his mother crossed the current of his story with a demand 
 for Phillimore, whose "Yes, Madam," in response, was met with, 
 "No, it's nothing! I can do," followed by, "Yes, my dear, I heard 
 you : Big hammer that was used to break the coal with. What is 
 it, Partridge?" For Partridge was engineering approaches in a 
 tentative way. 
 
 "All right, Mother!" said Charles, hauling down his flag. "It'll 
 do another time just as well!" And his mother replied with. resig- 
 nation, "Well perhaps it would be better, my dear. Presently. 
 Yes, Partridge ?" And Charles departed to capture his sister, that 
 they might go together to have a look at Alice, whom this history 
 supposes at this moment to have been continually eating breakfast 
 in Mrs. Partridge's room. 
 
 Partridge, the gag being removed, says she "wished to speak 
 about the little girl." And then repeats, "The little girl, Ma'am." 
 "What little girl, Partridge?" asked her mistress. 
 
 "Mr. Charles's little girl, Ma'am." This is in an of-course-you- 
 know kind of voice and Partridge went on "I thought, Ma'am, I 
 ought to mention to you that the child seems far from well, and
 
 48 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 has eaten almost nothing. Not that I suppose it to be anything 
 
 infectious but even measles " Partridge interrupted herself to 
 
 say, "However, I have not allowed any one else in the room. I 
 thought you would wish it." And then hesitates, in growing doubt, 
 at an expression in Mrs. Heath's face, which increases as its pro- 
 prietor sits more and more majestically upright. 
 
 "Pray explain, Partridge! Mr. Charles's little girl 
 The last four words come in instalments, with an accent on the 
 first syllables of the first three. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Ma'am, I thought you knew." And then 
 Mrs. Partridge, being a shrewd woman, perceives that the first 
 essential of her own position is that the little girl shall be talked 
 about between her mistress and herself, with a view to a sound foot- 
 ing of confidence in which even a temporary ostracism of Mr. 
 Charles or Miss Heath might be warrantable, for purposes of sta- 
 bility. So she forthwith gives all particulars of the case as known 
 to herself; and they are listened to with an expression of mute 
 self-command, righteously dumbfounded, but reserving severe 
 comment for judicial maturity. When Partridge has waded 
 through her prose epic which she prolongs as much as possible 
 from the feeling (shared by almost all of us, perhaps) that any 
 circumstantial narrative of events apologises for the share we 
 have had in them she is still conscious of not having quite suc- 
 ceeded in reaching a sound footing, and adds after a moment's 
 silence "I should have come at once to you, Ma'am, only I sup- 
 posed " and stops. 
 
 "I am not surprised that you should not have told me, Part- 
 ridge. But I am surprised that I was not told I ought to have 
 been told." 
 
 And Mrs. Heath entrenches herself in a dignified reserve, which 
 
 elicits a hesitating "I'm sure, Ma'am " from Partridge; who, 
 
 however, not having quite made up her mind what she was sure of, 
 was not very sorry to have her speech amputated. 
 
 "I am not attaching any blame to you, Partridge, in any sense 
 but I feel that I ought to have been told." 
 
 Whereupon Partridge coughs expressively and sympathetically 
 behind her hand. She endeavours to make this cough say, "I feel 
 that your son and daughter do not recognise to the full your posi- 
 tion in the house, nor the weight of cares and responsibilities that 
 beset you, nor the administrative skill of your domestic economy; 
 but I perceive that they are guileless, owing to the purity of their 
 extraction; and while willingly admitting that you ought to have 
 been told, venture to hope that a modus vivendi may be discover-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 49 
 
 able, and above all that I may be recognised as blameless, and 
 remain always your obedient humble servant." Perhaps she 
 hardly succeeds in making the cough say all that, but she feels it 
 was a good and useful cough, as far as it went. 
 
 And her mistress gathers up some debris connected with respon- 
 sibilities, and goes majestically upstairs.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 OF HOW ALICE COULD NOT GO BACK TO FATHER, AND WHY. OF HOW THE 
 DOCTOR CAME TO ALICE, AND ALICE DIDN'T GO TO AN INQUEST. AND 
 OF HOW IT CAME TO PASS THAT ALICE WAS NOT TO GO BACK TO 
 MOTHER 
 
 "WELL, Charley," said his sister when he arrived in the back 
 drawing-room to look for her, "I hope you've got Mamma told?" 
 But Charley shook his head ruefully. And Peggy continued: 
 "Then, as soon as I have finished Lady Wycherly Watkins, we 
 had better go down and see after Miss Alice she'll be getting 
 alarmed, and think we've deserted her." 
 
 Lady Wycherly Watkins's letter will go by post of its own accord, 
 as propitiatory offerings to brownies vanish in the night when no 
 one is looking. So it is left to itself, and Charles follows Peggy 
 downstairs. 
 
 When the brother and sister arrived in Mrs. Partridge's room, they 
 found Alice close to the door as they entered, probably because Mrs. 
 Partridge had gone out at it, rather than with any idea of going 
 out herself. She was very unsettled and could not be comfortable 
 anywhere, so the exit of her last protector seemed as good as the 
 hearth-rug, in spite Of the warmth of the fire. When she saw who 
 it was, she made for Charles's hand first, and then for Peggy's. 
 But she didn't find her tongue. 
 
 "What a funny little old-fashioned thing she is, Charley," said 
 his sister. "She never speaks, but she looks intelligent. Kiss me, 
 Alice dear; that's right. She's a soft little puss, but she might 
 be thicker." 
 
 "You can talk fast enough, Alice-f or-short, can't you ?" suggested 
 Charles. He was conscious that he should like his protegee to 
 justify him. The only apologies he could find for himself all 
 turned on the fact (or the assumption) that no other course was 
 open to him. So vivacity on Alice's part would not have been 
 unwelcome. 
 
 "What's that the little chick says? Say it again, Alice-for- 
 short?" And both brother and sister stooped down to hear. 
 Peggy's arm had gone back round Charles's neck after being used to 
 kiss Alice "Say it again, dear," said she. 
 
 50
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 51 
 
 "Mustn't I go back to father ?" 
 
 Charles was beginning to embark on some vague course of eva- 
 sion, with "Not just yet, Alice dear" when his sister, seeing with 
 clearer vision the many rocks ahead, stopped him. "You'll only 
 make matters worse, Charley darling," she said. And then added, 
 "I can do it best alone if you go. But he'll come back again, 
 Alice dear. Don't be frightened!" For Alice had shuddered 
 tighter on to the hand she held. She wasn't couldn't be fright- 
 ened of being left alone with the beautiful sister with the soft 
 golden hair and all her warmth and light; but then the gentle- 
 man in spectacles was her original protector, and her connecting 
 link with father. But if he was coming back, that was all right, 
 and of course the lady knew. "You'll come and sit on my knee by 
 the fire till he comes back, won't you, Alice? What's that, dear?" 
 And then the lady stooped down again to get at Alice's remark. 
 "You're too big ? No, dear ! You're not a bit too big. Cut along, 
 Charley. Come back as soon as you think." Which appeared 
 to be intelligible, as Charley accepted it and cut along. 
 
 Alice wasn't too big by any means in fact when her mother 
 had once called her a great hulking girl of six, she was only cor- 
 rect about the numeral. The lady didn't seem to find any diffi- 
 culty about taking her on her knee in fact her action seemed to 
 Alice to suggest her kinship with the strong arm that had picked 
 her up off the cold stones only last night, and it did seem such a 
 long time ! When she had Alice on her knee she felt her forehead 
 and her hands, and then said: "My child I'm afraid you're fever- 
 ish." As Alice didn't know what this meant, she didn't feel 
 responsible. 
 
 "When must I go back to father ?" said she. 
 
 "You can't go back to father, Alice dear," said the lady, with a 
 change of manner. Alice knew it was something new and strange, 
 but the words did not carry their meaning. The only plausible 
 explanations were that the road was stopped, or that the way would 
 be too difficult to find by herself and no one could come with her. 
 Her little hot hands pulled uneasily at the hand they held, and she 
 tried to prosecute enquiry, wondering all the while why the lady's 
 eyes were fixed on her so pityingly, and surely yes ! she was sure of 
 it the lady was crying. 
 
 "Mustn't the gentleman with spectacles take me back to father ?" 
 
 "Mustn't the gentleman tate you back?" said Peggy, imitating 
 her childish accent. "No dear child! The gentleman can't take 
 you back. Listen, dear Alice, and I'll tell you. If the gentleman 
 took you back, you wouldn't find father."
 
 52 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "Have they took father away to the station ?" 
 
 "No dear no ! Father's not gone to the stytion," echoing her 
 accent again. And a variety of difficulties presented themselves 
 to Peggy. Going to Heaven was obviously the standard resource. 
 But it was perhaps presumptuous to vouch for it. Then, a weak- 
 kneed testimony would introduce discussion of another place that 
 he might have gone to. Without Purgatory to make matters easy, 
 it would be much safer to shut the door on the lion of Hell-fire than 
 to let him in to see if we could turn him out again. It was no 
 use; Peggy saw that in the end she would have either to give her 
 personal voucher for Mr. Kavanagh's salvation, or to fall back 
 on plain death, with extinction. She could not look a live child in 
 the face and affirm the latter, which even a person who knows 
 absolutely nothing about the matter hesitates to swear to. 
 
 There was nothing for it but a frontal attack. She had time to 
 organise her forces for Alice sat gazing at her, still pulling rest- 
 lessly at her hand. She was trying hard to think where it was 
 they said mother was to be took to. And she was getting very 
 near the Infirmary by remembering how like she had thought it 
 to a word she had heard Mr. Jerrythought use on the beer- jug occa- 
 sion. It was, he said, infernally cold. If Alice could have thought 
 of this word she would have asked if father had gone to the 
 Infirmary as well as mother. But the lady took her attention off. 
 
 "Dear Alice, I am going to tell you where father has gone as 
 well as I can. Try and think what I mean. Father has gone to 
 Heaven." Alice only looked at her with large puzzled blue eyes, 
 and kept pulling uneasily at her hand. She was thinking 
 to herself, Alice was, what a strange thing father should be able 
 to go to Heaven before he was dead. Teacher at Sunday School 
 had distinctly told her that was impossible. And even if you were 
 dead, you didn't go there in any hurry. Father wasn't dead, of 
 course! The lady would have told her, or Mr. Heath with the 
 spectacles. 
 
 Alice, you see, was perfectly familiar with the fact of Death, 
 only she did not grasp its application to particular cases. She 
 knew that an elder sister of hers had died and had a funeral; but 
 she regarded her parents as entrenched in maturity, and certainly 
 safe for extreme old age. Owing to her early experience, her mind 
 could accommodate a huge infant mortality, but would have de- 
 manded strong proof of the death of a real grown-up person. Con- 
 sequently, it never occurred to her that if such an improbable 
 event as her father's death were to take place, there would be 
 any hesitation about telling her. She could not presume to set up
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 53 
 
 Teacher's testimony against this beautiful lady's authority, but she 
 could raise collateral issues, and perhaps get a side-light on her 
 meaning. 
 
 "Must mother go there too?" she asked. And Peggy, having 
 committed herself to the salvation of one perfect stranger, not 
 favourably known by report, thought she might indulge in another. 
 After all, it was no falser to say fifty people hadn't gone to Hell 
 than to say it of one. No number of empty purses will make up 
 a sovereign. 
 
 "Not yet, Alice dear. Mother isn't dead. We hope to hear that 
 mother is getting quite well at the Infirmary." Did we? Well! 
 we were not enthusiastic ; but we would hope a little, grudgingly. 
 
 "Then father is dead," said Alice, with a rapidity of syllogism 
 that took Peggy aback. As she folded the child in her arms, and 
 kissed her, she felt how the little thing trembled and shook. 
 "Yes," she said. "Poor little Alice! Father is dead." But she 
 could not see her way to verbal solace. She said to her brother 
 after: "At any rate I didn't talk consolatory to her. I squeezed 
 the poor baby up close and let her cry quietly." 
 
 A human poultice is the best cure for a broken heart. Alice 
 clung tightly to hers, and felt that it was good. But poor father ! 
 
 As Peggy sat counting Alice's sobs, which came at regular inter- 
 vals, and wondering when Charley would reappear, she noticed 
 that breakfast-samples, at choice, seemed to have been submitted 
 to Alice, and not appreciated. She reflected that six years old, 
 however much it may be harassed, generally has an appetite, and 
 felt also that her lapful was very hot and had a high pulse. She 
 was not sorry when she heard from afar a sound like Convocation 
 coming downstairs, and was conscious that it was accompanied by 
 an Archbishop, in the person of her mother. This might be trouble- 
 some, but after all the position required clearing up. 
 
 "Yes, my dear Charles," thus the voice of the Archbishop, "I 
 entirely understand all that. But what I say is, and I say it again, 
 is, that I ought to have been told. Had I been told, I could have 
 arranged. As it is, I am sorry. But you must yourself see, it has 
 been impossible for me to arrange. If you doubt what I say, ask 
 Partridge. Partridge knows what a house like this is, and the 
 difficulty of arranging " 
 
 Peggy cannot hear Partridge's sotto-voce, but appreciates its 
 value as a reinforcement to her Principal. She guesses that it 
 turns on the incompetence of youth, especially when male, to form 
 any opinion whatever about the burdens and responsibilities that
 
 54 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 fall to the lot of Archbishops; and that it glances slightly at the 
 readiness with which Master Charles and his like would acknowl- 
 edge themselves mistaken about everything if they suddenly 
 changed identity with their mother, or her housekeeper, and had 
 to form square to receive the Wash, and the Tradespeople, and 
 Cook. Peggy's imagination filled this in speculatively, but her 
 ears heard only a truncated peroration, of which the maturity 
 might have taken the form of a testimonial to the goodness of 
 Master Charles's heart. It related to something impressive that 
 Partridge always did say, and always would say, but which on 
 this particular occasion she failed to say, its relevance not sus- 
 taining itself after the entry of the conclave into the room where 
 Miss Peggy sat with Alice on her lap. 
 
 "I'm sure this poor little thing is very ill, Mamma," Peggy said, 
 with perfect confidence in her mother's kindness of heart, even 
 when her individualities were most conspicuous. That lady, how- 
 ever, was not inclined to give up her strong point, and placed it 
 on record again as she stooped over the child and felt her hands 
 and forehead. 
 
 "That, my dear, is only the more reason why I should have been 
 told. I could have arranged. As it is now, we must have Dr. 
 Payne to see her or if he isn't there we must have Dr. Herz."- 
 And Charley says he'll go and see about it at once, and leaves 
 the room. 
 
 When he had gone, the asperities of the situation acknowledged 
 the force of a living patient, and allowed themselves to be smoothed 
 over. Alice was evidently on the edge of a high fever, or some- 
 thing very like it. With her antecedents, it might be anything 
 infectious and terrifying. Mrs. Partridge and her mistress thought 
 of all the worst things they could think of. Lung and throat com- 
 plaints were ineligible for want of symptoms; but sickening for 
 smallpox and scarlet-fever were very popular and brain-fever 
 came in a good third. It was rather disappointing after piling up 
 the agony to this point to have Dr. Payne come in and say, 
 "Smallpox and scarlet-fever stuff and nonsense! Child's a bit 
 feverish been over-excited. Brain-fever? Children never have 
 brain-fever not when the brain's healthy. No such thing as brain- 
 fever! All imagination of scribblers. No no! give her some- 
 thing quiet and cooling, and make her sleep. She'll be all right in 
 twenty-four hours." 
 
 "How about the inquest, doctor ?" says Charles. For it appeared 
 that not only himself and Jeff, but even Alice, was wanted to 
 testify. "Surely she oughtn't to go out."
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 55 
 
 "Oh no ! oh no ! of course not. Child like that ! There's no 
 doubt about the facts, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not the slightest." 
 
 "Then I don't see what they want with witnesses." And then 
 the doctor, who had been talking exactly like a human creature, 
 suddenly became professional again "No! Quite impossible to 
 pronounce case of this sort symptoms haven't declared them- 
 selves case for caution I for one wouldn't take the responsibility 
 of sanctioning etcetera." And what Dr. Payne would not sanction 
 seemed to be anything and everything that was not welcome to 
 Hyde Park Gardens. Anyhow, the result was that Alice was put 
 into a bed as beautiful as anything you can see through plate 
 glass in Tottenham Court Road, and a feather mattress you 
 squashed down into so that the phrase to lie on it seemed inap- 
 plicable altogether. But the child was too bewildered and unhappy, 
 apart from the number of degrees of fever, whatever they were, to 
 be able to enjoy it properly. She acquiesced in everything and 
 held tight on to Miss Peggy whenever possible. Recognition of 
 what had happened to father was getting less and less, as her 
 power of making head or tail of anything diminished. 
 
 She was, however, equal to observing one or two things of inter- 
 est before a disagreeable period came on in which it would have 
 been difficult to say which was Teacher and which was Miss Peggy, 
 which was Pussy and which was that funny Parrot in the par- 
 lour. She was alive to the fact that Mr. Charles Heath either had 
 g-one, or was to go, to a thing called The Inquest, and that his sister 
 was sorry for him. That some news of an unfavourable sort came 
 about her mother, and that the doctor, who came again in the 
 evening, referred to this when he paused in some writing to reply 
 to a remark of Mr. Charles "Very doubtful, I should say con- 
 stitution undermined by drink blood in a bad state"; but that 
 what he added "Give her this last thing, and she'll sleep. She'll 
 be all right," had reference to herself. The last event she was 
 sanely conscious of was that a very important mass of something 
 human stood by her bedside and said in a prodigious voice, "Hey 
 then! That's where we are. And we're going on well that's 
 right !" and then seemed embarrassed by its position, and glad to 
 go. It might be absurd to say that Alice was aware of a certain 
 air of forgiveness towards Mr. Charles for importing her, which 
 was almost as effectual as condemnation where no penalty attached, 
 keeping him as it were constantly at the bar of public opinion. She 
 may not have defined this; but nevertheless have taken note 
 of a sort of rapport, of which she was the substratum, between
 
 56 ALICE-EOK-SHOET 
 
 Mr. Charles and all the family except his sister, who refused 
 to be sucked into it, and excused Charley through thick and 
 thin. 
 
 She and her brother made up their minds, with the unreasoning 
 alacrity of youth, that Alice was to be retained. By the time it 
 came to the final benediction of the little patient, who was enjoined 
 to be a good girl and go to sleep, it had been privately settled by 
 both that Alice had come to stay in some capacity to be fixed 
 afterwards perhaps, but certainly to stay. Neither would have 
 assented to the departure of a stray puppy or kitten. As for possi- 
 ble expenses or responsibilities involved dear me! surely Heath 
 & Pollexfen's shoulders were broad enough for anything. Their 
 respective views became a conspiracy, by mutual confession, in an. 
 interview, by the back drawing-room fire before dinner, both hav- 
 ing come down before everybody else. 
 
 "She's such a dear little thing," said Peggy, with her foot on 
 the fender, and an animated face in the firelight. For candles in 
 here had been averted by special appeal, as nobody wanted lights 
 to wait for dinner by, and we hated them, and the second gong 
 was directly, and if people wanted light they could go in the front 
 drawing-room. So Peggy and her brother were roasting themselves 
 before a steel fender and grate, with a monstrous piece of best 
 Wallsend in it, which would last all the evening if you would only 
 put that poker down and let it alone. 
 
 "Yes she's an engaging sort of little cuss," said Charles, con- 
 ceding the point about the poker, and putting it down. Because he 
 didn't really want to break the coal at all. Neither did he mean to 
 say "cuss" when he began to speak. But some mysterious influ- 
 ence unexplained made him put it in that form. It detached him 
 from human weaknesses and motives, and harmonised with a ten- 
 guinea dress-suit, which he had succeeded in getting into with- 
 out losing a shirt-stud, or splashing soap in his eye, or soiling his 
 shirt-front, or dropping his watch and he couldn't hear it going. 
 Any of these events would have taken his edge off. But nothing of 
 the sort having happened, Charley felt serene and lofty, ordered 
 Phillimore about, and called Alice a little cuss. 
 
 "She's a dear little thing," resumed Peggy, not noticing the sub- 
 stituted expression. "I do hope it's nothing serious. Brain-fever 
 or something of that sort " 
 
 "Doctor says not, anyhow. She'll be all right, Peg!" Charles 
 felt it his duty, as a Man, to reassure his weaker sister, and 
 accordingly vouched for everything, whether or no. 
 
 "Well ! Let's be hopeful then ! I wish I could feel comfortable
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 57 
 
 about what's to become of her when she goes home again. The 
 idea of her being left alone with that mother " 
 
 "Oh Lord !" says Charles. And he looked very uncomfortable. 
 
 "It's very easy to say, 'Oh Lord,' Charley dear, but what's to 
 be done to avoid it ?" 
 
 "The Governor wouldn't stand it. Perfectly ridiculous." 
 
 "But you heard what Papa said proper enquiry must be made 
 child's relatives must be found and all that kind of thing." 
 
 "Well that was the Governor, all over !" 
 
 "You mean you think he'll come round, and let her stop 
 here." 
 
 "Of course he will, if it comes to her going back to that old 
 cat. But the good woman won't recover. Look what they say at 
 the Hospital I saw the House Physician myself said she might 
 possible get through, if Pyaemia didn't set in. I hope Pyaemia 
 means to look alive " 
 
 "Oh, Charley! What a horrible thing to say! You know you 
 don't mean it " 
 
 "Don't I?" Charley nods truculently, as one who knows him- 
 self an Iroquois or Cherokee. "Besides, Poggy, you know per- 
 fectly well you'd be as glad as me, if Pyaemia did set in." Peggy, 
 or Poggy, as Charles sometimes called her, said nothing in reply; 
 it is just possible she had misgivings herself. When she spoke 
 again, after a little more animated contemplation of the fire-flicker, 
 she went off to another point. 
 
 "What other relatives has she ?" 
 
 "Nothing but brothers," said Charles, with a suggestion that 
 that is the same as nothing at all. Only his sister was inclined to 
 allow exceptions. "What sort of brothers?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh regular brothers. One's in a first-class Clothing Estab- 
 lishment, another in a first-class Ironmongery; another mongers or 
 mungs cheese, and another drysalts. Goody Peppermint told me 
 about them when she was doing out the Studio. Some more are 
 at sea or in the colonies there's such a lot of 'em I can't recollect. 
 The oldest in the Clothier's shop is only twenty. Then there was 
 a brood of daughters next to the youngest, who is twelve, and dry- 
 salts. This poor little devil as I remember her excellent mother 
 called her when first I made her acquaintance came in last." 
 
 "It's a queer story! Such a huge family, and this poor child 
 seeming to be left stranded in this way. What's become of all the 
 daughters ?" 
 
 "All dead five of them, I understand. But there must be other 
 relations, because the drysalter, she said, lived at an aunt's, at
 
 58 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Kotherhithe, and the cheesemonger has been boarded out at a 
 cousin's, at Stoke-Newington." 
 
 "What a lot you have managed to recollect 1" 
 
 "I've had it all twice over, and should have had it three times 
 if the woman had cleaned me out again. My own theory is that 
 every effort has been made to get the children away from their 
 parents, owing to their drunken habits, and that this one got over- 
 looked, being a small fag-end. There's dinner!" And they joined 
 the party in the front drawing-room, everybody else having been 
 slowly accumulating during this conversation. But not before 
 Peggy had removed any veil there may have been over her actual 
 wishes about Alice, by saying to her brother, "Well Charley dear 
 I, for one, hope she won't be allowed out of this house until we 
 know she'll be properly seen to and not neglected." And he 
 had replied, "Exactly my idea!" Each spoke with very little 
 confidence in any haven awaiting Alice at any of her relations, 
 or elsewhere. 
 
 It requires great experience of the world, and a profound insight 
 into its manners and customs, to know what is, and what is not, 
 a dinner party. For the assembly of fourteen persons of both 
 sexes that were gathered on this occasion in Mr. Heath's front 
 drawing-room could not have been a party, as the six persons out- 
 side the family who had been invited that evening had been 
 asked to come and dine quite quietly, and the invitation had had 
 "No party" written carelessly in after the writer had begun to 
 remain the reader's sincerely, and was supposed to be panting for 
 a reply. One lady, an invited one, was even accused of "dressing" 
 contrary to instructions; and to the male mind she appeared to 
 differ from her friends in no respect whatever. She hadn't even 
 got less clothes on, which we believe to be a recognised form of 
 dressing more. 
 
 As Charles and his sister entered the front room the last 
 obstacle to pairing off was removed by the announcement of the 
 invariable late guest, whom you won't wait for any longer: but 
 you do. In this case he was a friend of Charles's, whom we have 
 seen before, and who caused him to remark as he entered the 
 room, flanked by the reproachful countenances of Phillimore and 
 an accomplice, that there was Jeff in white kids, which was 
 absurd! Poor Jeff! He was destined to a disappointment. For 
 Mrs. Heath addressed him thus: "Will you take Miss Pethering- 
 ton, Mr. Jerrythought ?" And when she got to the first two letters of 
 the lady's name he thought she was going to say the rest of Peggy, 
 and she said "-therington" instead, and it was the governess ! For,
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 59 
 
 you see, Mr. Jeff didn't know enough of Society to know for cer- 
 tain (as we do) that no lady would ever speak of her daughter as 
 Miss Peggy. 
 
 But an exaltation was awaiting him. The great theme of the 
 evening was of course the incident of the previous day, and it had 
 to be told over and over again, none of the six new-comers arriving 
 exactly on the beginning, of a repeat. So a partial assimilation of 
 the last half was always followed by a new recital, subject to a 
 good deal of interruption from its audience, which took excep- 
 tion to the accuracy of the second narrative, and even laid claim to 
 a sort of independent knowledge of the facts. Mr. Kerr-Kerr, the 
 gentleman who was going to be responsible for Peggy's safe arrival 
 in her family's dining-room, was so convinced of his powers as an 
 interpreter, that he got on an explanatory platform, and con- 
 stituted himself an official news-purveyor. As thus: "What an 
 extraordinary and shocking affair this was yesterday at Mr. 
 Charles Heath's studio, etc., etc.," and was then plunging steadily 
 on into narrative, when Peggy interrupted him with "This is 
 Mr. Jerrythought, who was there all the while " and then, feel- 
 ing that so cruel a communication required softening, added, "like 
 the man who was at the Battle of the Nile." Mr. Kerr-Kerr meanly 
 endeavoured to make the laugh that was due on this account into 
 the end of a chapter of the conversation; and began the next 
 chapter with an unfounded statement that he had met Mr. Jerry- 
 thought at the Eumford Punches. But he hadn't! Peggy was 
 not sorry when dinner was really ready, this time, and we could 
 go down at last. And Miss Petherington, who had remained in 
 abeyance, got taken a little notice of. 
 
 Papa was in his best form, genially patronising to the half-dozen 
 outsiders, for even Sir Walker Kerr-Kerr, Mr. Kerr-Kerr's father, 
 who was to take Mamma, of course, because of his Sir, was open 
 to patronage; it appeared in fact that he was nothing particular. 
 Papa pursued his usual method of social intercourse, picking up 
 fragments of other folk's talk, repeating them once or twice weight- 
 ily, and then neglecting them, always with a certain implication 
 that he was conferring a boon on Society by considering them at 
 all. He was not even to be trusted not to reproduce fragments 
 of long past conversation in this way, giving an impression that 
 he must have been thinking profoundly. But he never disclosed 
 the fruits of his reflections, and his hidden treasure of thought 
 seemed all the more valuable on that account. 
 
 The banquet was far advanced, and Peggy was quite unaware 
 that her father had taken any notice of her words, when he sud-
 
 60 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 denly resuscitated her illustration about the Battle of the Nile; 
 which came from a rhyme she had heard, but of which she knew 
 neither the authorship nor the meaning, if it had any. 
 
 "Hey? What was that? At the Battle. Of the Nile. Who was 
 at the Battle, of the Nile? Hey?" 
 
 "Papa ! Don't you know ?" said Peggy "Oh yes of course you 
 know that! At the Battle of the Nile I was there all the while, 
 at the Siege of Quebec I had like broke my neck." . . . 
 
 "Hey, what a rate! Now let's have it again, easy! At the Bat- 
 tle. Of the Nile. Hey?" And Peggy is under the necessity of 
 repeating it again all through, much slower, with repetitions and 
 corrections. After which Mr. Heath repeats it all once more in a 
 confirmatory tone, and ends up with "That's it, is it? Well 
 we're all, very, fine, people !" Peggy knows perfectly well that her 
 father may go on repeating it indefinitely; and what does happen 
 is nearly as bad. For the old boy has a desire to say something, 
 when he really has nothing to say, and propounds in his most 
 extensive way the enquiry: 
 
 "But what I want to know is who was it who was there all the 
 while?" 
 
 And then Charles, who was more than half-way down the table 
 on the other side, thinking that his enquiry referred to the previous 
 conversation in the drawing-room, which he had overheard, said 
 "Jeff," meaning that Mr. Jerrythought had been a witness of all the 
 tragedies of yesterday. That gentleman, thinking himself spoken 
 to by name, replied, "Yes, 'Eath." And Charles replied, "Shut 
 up, Jeff! I didn't mean you. At least, I did mean you. I meant 
 you were in the house all along, and saw the doctor patch her 
 head up." 
 
 What an amazing capacity for confusion there is in a large 
 party of persons, all talking at once, down each side of a long 
 table! On this occasion, and at this moment, it chanced that Mr. 
 Jerrythought, after a triumphant time at the beginning of dinner, 
 owing to his connection with the current tragedy, had been tem- 
 porarily thrown into abeyance by Materialisations, which were 
 being exposed by Sir Walker, established beyond question by a 
 gentleman at a great distance off, and investigated by scattered 
 units in the spaces between them; all of whose shoutings from 
 afar intersected reasonable conversation at reasonable distances, 
 and qualified valuable remarks by the introduction of foreign mat- 
 ter, before they could reach their hearers. A political sub-section 
 also was, in serious undertones, hinting at the triviality of all else, 
 but occasionally getting overheard and misinterpreted in the next
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 61 
 
 compartment. Mr. Jerrythought, however, when Charles made 
 his last remark, as above, discerned in it opportunities for resurrec- 
 tion. A modest disclaimer, in a raised voice, of his share in the 
 matter seemed the surest road to a permanency in public opinion. 
 
 "Stood lookin' on! Couldn't be any use. You made yourself 
 useful, 'Eath." This has two effects. The speaker's generous 
 altruism procures popularity, but brings down a shower of testi- 
 monials on his friend; this is a sort of Nemesis of establishing a 
 claim on Europe, and it makes him very uncomfortable. 
 
 "Charley ain't bad at that sort of thing," says a younger brother 
 whom we have had no occasion to notice. His name was Robert, 
 and he was called Robin or Bob, at choice. He was not a brilliant 
 genius, and generally clothed his thoughts, when he had any, with 
 some one else's ready-made remarks. In this case he was quite 
 vague about what his brother had or had not done. But he sus- 
 pected his comment might be plausible, and risked it. It had the 
 very painful effect of causing a chubby genial little Mr. Batley, one 
 of the six outsiders, who had come to dinner to make himself 
 pleasant, to go so far as to drum applause on the table with his 
 knuckles, and say, "Bravo, very good, Mr. Charles!" And his 
 example was followed by other outsiders, who had no idea 
 whatever what they were applauding. This was agreeable for 
 Charles. 
 
 But perhaps he would be allowed to lapse? Yes! The discus- 
 sion of Materialisations, which had flagged for two seconds while 
 its Pros and Cons contributed plaudits in absolute ignorance of 
 their object, revived with savage energy, as though Time had been 
 called. 
 
 "I tell you, I had tight hold of both her hands, and the Judge 
 had tight hold of both her ankles, and Lady Penthesilea had both 
 her arms tight round her waist." This was very loud, from the 
 representative of Belief. Impartiality followed, with "And, if I 
 understand you rightly, Mr. Kettlewell, the Materialisation was 
 
 all this while scattering flowers out of season about the room " 
 
 But was interrupted by Incredulity in the person of the brother, 
 Robin or Bob, who said that was nothing to Maskelyne and 
 Cooke. 
 
 Then the conversation got very broken, and it was difficult to 
 make out who said what. It will, therefore, be no more than a 
 healthy realism to omit the speakers' names in the text. 
 
 "Hey, what's it all about? Hey Peggy? You make 'em tell us 
 at this end." . . . "My dear Madam, Mr. Heath's a practical man, 
 and I'm sure he'll agree with me that when a Judge has hold of a
 
 62 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 little slight woman by the ankles ..." "Oh dear, Papa, please 
 don't; it does bother poor Charley so." . . . "Don't think anything 
 of her putting the red-hot poker down her back. Maskelyne and 
 Cooke '11 sit on a blazin' coal fire ..." "Reaction, of course, is 
 what we have to fear. Look at that increased majority at Green- 
 wich." . . . "But I want to hear what the rumpus is all about." . . . 
 "I am sure your father would agree with me (you ask him, Peggy) 
 that where we have to find fault with Charley is not ..." "We 
 must rely on Gladstone." . . . "Poor Charley! Do let him alone, 
 Mamma!" . . . "As for Lady Penthesilea's Well! things then 
 being found on the medium, that's nothing at all ! Maskelyne and 
 Cooke will ..." "My dear, I wish to speak, but I cannot be 
 heard. All I was saying was that it is Charley's judgment that 
 is in fault." . . . "And then we have Tammany at once." . . . "But 
 his feeling is always the right one I am sure your father ..." 
 "How do I think they do it? why, by 'ocussing the sitters, of 
 course. I know a gurl," etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Our reason for putting the foregoing on record is that it was a 
 matrix from which emerged a conversation of great moment to our 
 little Alice, who remained unconscious in Mrs. Partridge's room, 
 sleeping off the feverish attack, which was at any rate to have one 
 good result, in preventing her going as a witness to the inquest 
 next day to testify about her father's death. 
 
 For as soon as the talk turned on Alice's affairs and Charles's 
 judgment, the excellence of his heart and so forth, it became a 
 battledore-and-shuttlecock business between the host and hostess, 
 and gradually abated, by its strong moral force, the Materialisa- 
 tions and the Politics. The last went on in a steady undertone, as a 
 theme of moment that could make no concession, but the former 
 was weakened by the defection of Sir Walker, who plunged, so to 
 speak, at the passing shuttlecock, and stopped it flying, with the 
 question : "What do you propose to do with the child, Heath ?" and 
 without waiting for an answer, fixed that gentleman with his eye, 
 and proceeded to sketch out the principal courses that were not open 
 to him, while his hostess on his left made the responses, sotto- 
 voce: 
 
 "You can't turn her out in the street." 
 
 "That is what / say, Sir Walker " 
 
 "You can't let her go back to her drunken mother." 
 
 "And you are most unreasonable to propose to do so." 
 
 "You can't hand her over to the Authorities." 
 
 "And however you can entertain such an idea for a moment 
 I cannot imagine."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 63 
 
 "And you cannot be expected to provide for the child perma- 
 nently. What course shall you adopt then ?" 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Heath, feeling that his position as Jupiter was 
 at stake, balanced his Banker's account over his nose, and leaned 
 back in his chair with his thumbs in his waistcoat. He closed his 
 lips tight first, and frowned, to forestall the great decision of his 
 speech, and then published an edict: 
 
 "Proper enquiry must be made into the character and circum- 
 stances of the family. But (speaking as one of her Majesty's 
 Justices of the Peace) I may say that nothing would warrant the 
 detention of the child against its parent's consent unless, indeed, 
 that parent stood convicted of a criminal offence. I may be mis- 
 taken, Sir Walker, and no doubt you will correct me if I am wrong" 
 this with ponderous deference "but I am not aware, at present, 
 that drunkenness is in itself a statutory offence. How is that ?" 
 
 Sir Walker does not get the opportunity to show his knowl- 
 edge, if he has it. For the lady of the house becomes clothed with 
 a halo of superior sanctity, without provocation. 
 
 "I am a mere weak woman, my dear, and far from a Justice of 
 the Peace. But I am sure Sir Walker will agree with me, that even 
 a Justice of the Peace may always remember that he is a Chris- 
 tian." . . . 
 
 Poor Mr. Heath was too dumbfounded with the suddenness of 
 this attack the more because he had rather than otherwise sup- 
 posed that his wife would be no readier than himself to incur 
 new responsibilities that he was not able to riposte with alacrity. 
 The consequence of this was that his defence was taken up all 
 along the table with such vigour that he was hardly able to con- 
 tribute to it. 
 
 "Come, I say, Mother, draw it mild! Fancy saying the Gov- 
 ernor's not a Christian." 
 
 "No Mamma you shouldn't! If Papa isn't a Christian, I 
 should like to know who is." 
 
 "Dear me ! What's that what's that ? Who is saying Mr. Heath 
 isn't a Christian?" This last comes from one of the politicians, 
 suddenly roused from a pleasant dream of hexagonal electoral dis- 
 tricts, and Saturday plebiscites, or something of the sort. The 
 rest of the table joins chorus on the same line. 
 
 "I trust," says Mrs. Heath, whose meekness at this juncture 
 passes description, "that nothing I have said, or could say, would 
 ever bear such an interpretation. Sir Walker will tell you I am 
 sure, although my children attack me all at once, what it was I 
 really did say." And Sir Walker testifies that her remark was to
 
 64 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 the effect that Christianity was compatible with being on the 
 Commission of the Peace. Nobody notes the fact that there was 
 no obvious connection between this truth and anything else in the 
 conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Heath probably feels that in spite of Sir Walker being noth- 
 ing particular, she has scored; and begins pulling on her gloves, 
 and ripening for an exodus. Perhaps, also, she is conscious that if 
 this diversion is effected before her husband has time to recover 
 and protest, he will be at a disadvantage later on. So she gets 
 away with her flock, and leaves Man at liberty to throw away his 
 serviette, and sit sideways on his chair, or change across tc 
 some one else's, or anyhow. 
 
 As soon as Man is left alone, sudden reason dawns on the conver- 
 sation, and does much to explain its precursor. 
 
 "Sorry your mother's so hard on me, Charley boy," says the old 
 gentleman, who is a kind-hearted being, if he is a bit pompous. 
 "I'm sure / should be glad enough for the poor child not to go 
 back to that awful mother of hers. But I really thought it would 
 be a great trouble to your mother to know how to dispose of her 
 she's got her hands pretty full as it is." 
 
 "I hope, father," says Charles, seriously, "you don't blame me 
 very much think me a great fool, I mean for bringing the poor 
 little party home here. She hooked on to me and held on like a 
 limpet, and I really didn't see what else I could do. I didn't feel 
 like leaving her to the Police " 
 
 "No, my boy, I don't see what else you could have done. What 
 are you drinking, Sir Walker ? That's Port that's Claret. What 
 are you drinking, Mr. Batley? ... If you want a mild one, try 
 one of the short ones. They're the mildest. . . . When's that 
 coffee coming?" And so on; until, being satisfied that every one 
 is being properly pampered, he feels he may talk to his son, yet 
 not be rude to his guests. In fact, they are ignoring and neglect- 
 ing him. Sir Walker, after throwing confidential money-market 
 murmurs across the table to Mr. Batley, has walked round to him, 
 and said he wouldn't mind saying eleven and three-quarters ex div., 
 and Mr. Batley has said that we might be able to get you that. Mr. 
 Kettlewell, having lost his politician, who was a lady, is morose 
 and reserved. Mr. Kerr-Kerr has been forgiven by Mr. Jerry- 
 thought for his mistake in the drawing-room, and they are talk- 
 ing about early Bristol in what may be called a ceramicable man- 
 ner. Robin and somebody else are talking about the Drama, and 
 making a great noise. 
 
 "No I don't see what else you could have done, Charley. If you
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 65 
 
 had come home here and told us all about it, without her, your 
 mother would have been shocked at you. / shouldn't have been 
 
 allowed a word. Hey? " But Charles wasn't going to take 
 
 any exception to what his father said. He was contemplating 
 a mean and cowardly use of Peggy's name to advance the scheme 
 for the retention of Alice, in some capacity. The fact is, a gen- 
 eral disposition to this end existed in all quarters, but every one 
 of these quarters wanted somehow to make a scapegoat of some 
 other quarter. Mrs. Heath wouldn't say honestly what she really 
 favoured, but was ready to bring it about, if she could utilise 
 a latent irreligion she ascribed to her husband, and hold him up to 
 public reproof. He for his part wished to capture the position of 
 having given way to a whim of his wife a benevolent one, but still 
 a whim. Charles felt sore, on reflection, at his own Quixotism 
 and tried to put it on his sister. After all, she was a woman, and 
 need not feel awkward and gauche about doing a kind-hearted 
 action. He had to remember his dignity as a man. Young men 
 approve and disapprove of themselves for the oddest reasons, and 
 they are all tarred with the same feather. 
 
 "Oh no! That's just what I thought myself. She never would 
 have stood my leaving the child to the Police. And now neither 
 she nor Peggy will at all like her to go back to that wretched sot 
 of a mother of hers." Observe the meanness of both these gentle- 
 men, sitting there smoking cigars, and trying to shift off responsi- 
 bilities on their womankind. They smoke through a short spell 
 of silence. 
 
 "Try a glass of Benedettino, Jeff. Didn't you ever have any?" 
 For Mr. Jeff had lost his presence of mind at so long a word, and 
 refused to partake, and was sorry. "Take the liqueur back to Mr. 
 Jerrythought, Phillimore." 
 
 "Suppose this terrible old mother goes to a better hey, Charley ? 
 What then? However, we shall have to think it over and talk 
 about it." Whereupon Charles in the most casual way makes his 
 insinuation about his sister : "Peggy's quite taken a fancy to the 
 child!" he says. And his father replies (slightly varying his pre- 
 vious remark) that they will have to talk it over and think 
 about it. 
 
 It's pretty clear the chances are against Alice being handed back 
 to Goody Peppermint, even if Pyaemia doesn't set in. 
 
 The sequel of the foregoing, so far as it concerns this story, may 
 be summed up as follows: 
 
 Charles, accompanied by his friend Jeff, attended the inquest on
 
 66 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Samuel Kavanagh, and was censured by the Coroner for allowing 
 the deceased to go out of his sight. "As if," said he afterwards 
 to Peggy, indignantly, "everybody ought to be able to guess that 
 a man who breaks his wife's head has a bottle of Cyanide of 
 Potassium in the next room!" His laxity would evidently have 
 been prevented if Mr. Jerrythought, who contrived to figure as his 
 guardian genius, had not gone upstairs (though most praiseworth- 
 ily) to open the street-door to the doctor. The Coroner spoke 
 highly of Mr. Jerrythought's presence of mind throughout. But 
 he was rather indignant at the absence of Alice, under the shield 
 of a medical certificate to the effect that she was quite unfit to give 
 evidence, even if he himself came to the house to take it. However, 
 inasmuch as it was not clear that a little girl of six, who saw no 
 more than she was known to have seen, could add any force to 
 the inference that her father died of the Cyanide that was found 
 in his stomach, Alice was left in peace. "The Jury wanted to get 
 home, and found accordingly," was Charles's report of the verdict. 
 
 And with that verdict Alice's father vanishes, leaving to his 
 child the only memory of her babyhood she can look back to with 
 happiness : but a memory destined very soon to become dim in the 
 dazzling surroundings she has been translated to by the merest 
 accident. For had Charles Heath failed to hear the disturbance 
 that night ; or, hearing it, concluded that it was some family mat- 
 ter outside his personal range, Alice would probably have been 
 transferred to some relation after a temporary sojourn with the 
 police. As it was, he luckily for her as it turned out came to the 
 conclusion that the person who was calling "Murder!" might not 
 be doing so for fun; and then, hearing the policeman's knock and 
 voice down the area, decided on enquiry. Now, suppose he had 
 been sound asleep !
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 OF PUSSY'S MILK, AND OF THE LADY WITH THE BLACK SPOTS 
 
 THUS it came about that Alice Kavanagh, who made her ap- 
 pearance in this story less than a month since as a small waif 
 carrying home a beer-jug through a London fog, became an object 
 of concern and sympathy to very opulent friends. You will be 
 quite right if you infer that she must have been a pretty and at- 
 tractive little girl. She certainly was that, with her clear blue eyes 
 and pale brown hair, and her appearance of observation and re- 
 serve of keeping silence about something she was all the while 
 making mental notes on. For you may have noticed that Alice 
 has so far said very little to any one. If you are an imaginative 
 person you may have heard, at the suggestion of this narrative, a 
 small voice by itself, in the dreary basement of No. 40, communing 
 with a small kitten, which is held out at arm's length two arms' 
 lengths by the stomach, to be talked to, and now and then throws 
 in a woe-begone squeak, which Miss Alice interprets in any sense 
 that suits her best. But she has said very little since she last spoke 
 to Pussy did in fact say almost nothing at the Heath mansion; 
 until, a day or two after her arrival there, during which her silence 
 was accepted as natural in a timid child under her circumstances, 
 she suddenly petitioned to be allowed to go home to Pussy, and 
 likewise to take some milk in a bottle to give to Pussy and her 
 family. 
 
 "I declare I never thought of Pussy, Partridge!" said Peggy, to 
 whom this application was made. "I hope she won't starve." 
 Partridge didn't seem the least concerned. Perhaps she knew 
 more than her young mistress about the resources of a London cat. 
 And perhaps didn't care. 
 
 "Poothy had a thawther of milk quite full up," said Alice. She 
 lisped a good deal, and Peggy repeated "saucer" after her and 
 laughed. "Does she mean to have a full saucer every day?" 
 Partridge really had no special insight into Alice's meaning, but 
 she had arrogated to herself powers of interpretation, partly be- 
 cause the child was sleeping in her room; partly because of the 
 position she occupied, half-way in the social gap between Alice and 
 Peggy, which enabled her to understand both. She vouched for 
 
 67
 
 68 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 Alice's meaning, this time, a saucer of milk every day. But Alice 
 shook her head with continuous emphasis, and appeared to be 
 formulating a report in silence. 
 
 "Wasn't it that, Alice?" said Peggy. "What was it then ?" And 
 when Alice stopped shaking her head (which wasn't immediately) 
 she drew the longest possible breath, and started the following 
 speech on the top of it: 
 
 "Poothy had a thawther of milk quite full up becawth father 
 thaid Poothy should have another thawther of milk vethy thoon 
 
 becawth I froed it over and mother thaid no " And by this 
 
 time Alice had got to the end of the breath supply, and paused to 
 take in a new one. Partridge stepped in to assist the communica- 
 tion: 
 
 "And mother punished you for spilling the milk ?" But Alice 
 evidently had some other tale to tell, for she entrenched herself 
 behind a long head-shake of denial to prepare and concentrate it. 
 
 "Didn't mother punish you, Alice dear?" said Peggy. And 
 Alice, in whom there was a trace of reserve towards Partridge, as 
 compared with her bearing towards Peggy, immediately paused in 
 the head-shake, and said without stopping to draw in the requisite 
 air-supply "Mother never heated me only when I was naughty." 
 
 "Then didn't mother think you naughty for spilling the milk?" 
 asked Peggy. Alice shook her head. 
 
 "Mother didn't heated me," said she. And that was clear proof 
 that she couldn't have been naughty. For a mother has to work 
 hard indeed to destroy a young child's belief in her infallibility 
 and truthfulness. Goody Peppermint had assured her daughter 
 that she never beat her unless she was naughty; item, that she 
 should always beat her if she were; ergo, not having been beaten, 
 she couldn't have been naughty. The logic was irresistible, but on 
 the other hand the prima-facie naughtiness of spilling milk was 
 obvious. Peggy suspected some other reason for Alice's immunity. 
 "How did you spill the milk, Alice?" she asked. Alice's answer 
 provoked still further enquiry : "Becoth of the lidy," said she. 
 
 "But why did you spill the milk because of the lidy ?" Alice be- 
 came communicative. 
 
 "Becoth the lidy had black spots. I could thee them. And the 
 whilst I was theeing them, I putted my foot down on Poothy and 
 Poothy went in the milk. But Poothy got the milk motht of it, 
 off of the pivement. Only the thawther was broken in pieces 
 free pieces. And mother come out of the kitchen " 
 
 "But, Alice dear, who was the lidy who had black spots ? Lidies 
 don't have black spots "
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 69 
 
 "On her veil, Miss Peggy, no doubt," says Partridge, the inter- 
 preter. But Alice is too sharp for her. 
 
 "She hadn't got no vile. Teacher has a vile " 
 
 But Alice stops in her narrative and becomes reserved. Perhaps 
 she is feeling exhausted after such a prolonged effort. Peggy 
 resumes her enquiry. 
 
 "Tell us, Alice, who the lidy was won't you?" But Alice only 
 shakes a speechless head, and looks puzzled. 
 
 "Law, Miss Peggy!" says Partridge. "The child's romancin'. 
 Don't you listen to her stories !" 
 
 "No, Partridge, be quiet! I want to know about the lidy with 
 the black spots. Come and sit on my knee and tell me that's 
 right!" Alice complies with a readiness that suggests that mis- 
 givings about Partridge's powers of belief, or proneness to dis- 
 belief, may have had something to do with her reticence. Once 
 established on Alice's knee, she becomes loquacious again, but 
 with a slight tendency to saw backwards and forwards in harmony 
 with the rhythm of her narrative. 
 
 "The lidy hadn't got no vile. She come down the stairs, but 
 not froo the door. Becoth the door thqueakth." 
 
 This is a difficult word, calling for emphasis and a species of 
 pounce, as well as the incorporation of the sound of a door's hinges. 
 Peggy relinquishes the door for the present, as too difficult, and 
 recurs to the spots. 
 
 "But tell me more about the lidy's spots, Alice. What were they 
 made of?" An ill-framed question; that makes Alice speechless 
 again. She puzzles about in her mind for an answer, and none 
 comes. Then she sees her way plainer, and introduces a new ele- 
 ment. 
 
 "One of 'em was here and one was here and one was 
 here." 
 
 "Take care of my eyes," says Peggy, laughing. "Ridiculous 
 little finger!" For Alice has been indicating the exact where- 
 abouts of each spot on Peggy's face, with great decision. 
 
 "How many were there altogether, Alice ? Three ?" 
 
 "There wath thix free on one side, two on the other " 
 
 "That makes five." From Partridge, with didactic severity. 
 But Alice repulses her, with loss. 
 
 "And one in the middle of the thin." She places the ridiculous 
 little finger accurately under Peggy's dimple. Who says "Oh, you 
 funny little thing, how you tickle ! Now do sit still, dear, and tell 
 us more about the lidy." For Alice's successful arithmetic has 
 produced a sort of discharge of fireworks on her part.
 
 70 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 ''Where did the lidy go ?" continued Peggy. "Into the kitchen ?" 
 Alice's reply is almost reproachful. 
 
 "Mother was in the kitchen !" 
 
 "But didn't mother see the lidy ?" Apparently no ! Alice was 
 again distinguishing herself as a logician. If the lidy had gone 
 into the kitchen, mother would have seen her. But mother had 
 never seen her. Therefore she went somewhere else. 
 
 "Where did she go then, Alice dear ? Do try and tell us ! Don't 
 you know where she went ?" For Alice merely shakes her head and 
 closes her lips. 
 
 "Where did you see her last?" Peggy varies the question and 
 elicits a statement. 
 
 "I thee her go froo the airey door out in the airey past the 
 coalth past the dutht " 
 
 "Yes, dear, and then?" says Peggy, who is feeling very curious. 
 But Alice entrenches herself in mystery, or can tell nothing more. 
 
 "Law, Miss Peggy," says Partridge. "What did I tell you ? The 
 child's only romancin' !" And adds to herself that Alice may only 
 turn out a story-telling little hussy, after all! However, there is 
 no public speculation on this point, for the door opens, and Charles 
 appears. He has been to the Hospital to see about Goody Pepper- 
 mint. And reports, rather ruefully, that she is going on well. In 
 fact if Pyaemia doesn't set in, there doesn't seem much chance of 
 our being delivered from her so, we will dissimulate, and appear 
 to rejoice. 
 
 "That's nice," says Peggy, courageously. "Mother's going to be 
 quite quite well again, Alice." But Alice looks doubtful. Charles 
 meanly leaves the rejoicing to Peggy is even not ashamed to mur- 
 mur something to himself about where his sister expects to go to. 
 But he reaps the advantage of a relief from embarrassment, and 
 shelves the topic. 
 
 "Well, that is a smart new frock, and no mistake, Alice-for- 
 short!" says he. Alice deserts her patroness's knee and makes for 
 Charles's hand; his claim of priority is growing fainter, but has 
 not died out yet; perhaps it won't. She recites the deed of trans- 
 fer of the new frock, that she may not seem oblivious. "I wasn't to 
 spill anyfing over it," she says. And Peggy explains it still 
 further "One of poor little Trix's that hadn't been given away." 
 Trix was a sister next above Ellen, who had died eight years 
 since. Charles's face pays a tribute to her memory he has a flexi- 
 ble and expressive face and needn't say everything. "Then, when 
 we want something to spill anything over, what's to be done ? Eh, 
 Miss Kavanagh ?" says he. Partridge sees her way to a moral lesson.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 71 
 
 "That's what I've been saying to her, haven't I, Alice? If she 
 wants to make a mess, she'll have to have her old frock on again." 
 Partridge requires small certificates to her position at intervals, 
 and writes them for herself. 
 
 "I must have my old flock on when I'm took back to " and 
 
 Alice comes to a standstill. She began her speech heedlessly 
 forgot that she couldn't end up with "father" now, and had only 
 a qualified enthusiasm about mother. Peggy heads the subject 
 off, and supersedes it with a suggestion she might not have made 
 at all if it had not seemed to her likely to act as a lubricant. 
 
 "Alice is to go home first before mother comes, Charley. Pussy 
 hasn't had any milk, so Alice and I are going to take her some in 
 a bottle. Aren't we, Alice?" 
 
 "If you pleathe, Mith," says Alice, and turns her head to the 
 commissariat. "Poothy never has more than a farvingsworf at a 
 time." 
 
 "I may come too, I suppose, Miss Kavanagh ?" says Charles. To 
 this there appears to be no objection. So an expedition is ar- 
 ranged for next day to No. 40, as all seem to agree to call the 
 house. 
 
 The remainder of this conversation was a resume of the story 
 of the lady with the spots, for Mr. Charley's benefit. Alice stuck 
 tight to her tale, including the sudden appearance and mysterious 
 disappearance of the lady. She added to it that after the lady 
 was gone she felt frightened, and mother came out, and then 
 father, and both said there hadn't been no lidy. And then all went 
 out in the airey, and Alice showed her father where she saw the 
 lidy last "by the grite big iron gite in the airey." Mr. Charles 
 said that was a funny story, but evidently only half believed in it, 
 and Alice felt mortified; however, she resolved to prove it all true 
 by showing the gate in the area, so that there should be no doubt 
 on the matter. Then the brother and sister had to go, but Alice 
 would see them again to-morrow, quite for certain. And when 
 they had left the room Mrs. Partridge said Alice was a funny little 
 pitcher for sure, if ever there was one, and took her down into the 
 kitchen, where she found many things of surpassing interest. 
 
 "Only one thing I do stipulate for," said Peggy to her brother 
 as they went upstairs together. ' "No Mr. Jerrythought." 
 
 "Poor Jeff! Why mustn't he come? ' He'll be awfully cut up 
 if he hears we explored the basement and him upstairs all the 
 time " 
 
 "Then he'll have to be cut up," said the young lady, unfeelingly. 
 "Because I draw the line at Mr. Jerrythought."
 
 CHAPTER VIH 
 
 OF THE PSYCHICAL RESEARCH INTO THE LADY WITH THE SPOTS. OF A 
 CERTAIN TABLE. AND OF HOW ALICE CRIED IN THE DARK. HOW MR. 
 HEATH CALLED HIS SISTER TO SEE MR. JOHNSON. HOW ALICE WAS 
 TOLD THAT THAT WAS MOTHER. HOW MR. HEATH'S SISTER KISSED 
 MOTHER, AND WHY. OF A PAWN-TICKET, AND HOW DR. JOHNSON 
 WROTE A PRESCRIPTION WRONG 
 
 A NEW caretaker had been discovered to live in the basement of 
 No. 40 and show the extensive premises. She was Mrs. Twills, and 
 gave the spectator an impression that she was all on one side. A 
 very long tooth seemed to start somehow from the root of her nose 
 and support her upper lip. It made attempts at speech inef- 
 fectual, and appeared in fact to transfer the seat of articulation 
 to the right-hand upper molar, if any. She was also so deaf as to 
 be unable to receive communications except by conjecture; and so 
 ill-informed or reticent as to be unable to impart them under any 
 circumstances. Her redeeming features were her temporariness, 
 and an alacrity in the distribution of cataracts, while insulated on 
 pattens, that was inconsiderate to bystanders perhaps, but service- 
 able to cleanliness. It would have been beneficial in every way 
 if it had not envenomed the nature of its promoter, and made her 
 look upon her fellow-creatures as incarnate fiends for dirtying 
 her steps. 
 
 Mrs. Twills, having been installed as a substitute for Goody 
 Peppermint, had instinctively proceeded to do out the first floor, 
 unopposed. Whether any intelligible instruction had reached her 
 mind, Charles certainly did not know; but he had accepted Mrs. 
 Twills as his lot, considered as a first-floor. It was part of her 
 nature to pay no attention to humanity as such, and to ignore its 
 wants. But considered as first-floors, second-floors, or offices, she 
 did it out. And this official position of Mrs. Twills made it easy 
 and natural for Peggy and Alice 1 , accompanied by Charles, to 
 penetrate the subterranean regions, without explaining to her that 
 the nicely dressed little girl that came with the first-floor's sister 
 in a carriage was the child of the previous caretaker, now in the 
 Hospital, and a father who had poisoned himself on the premises. 
 In fact nothing that occurred during the visit threw any light on 
 
 72
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 73 
 
 what Mrs. Twills knew either of the tragic story of her predeces- 
 sors, or of anything else. 
 
 Peggy felt as they drove up to the door how ghastly were the 
 whole of the circumstances, but was glad of one thing at any 
 rate that the child could only have the vaguest notions of the 
 cause of her father's death. She could not quite make out how 
 much, and was afraid to talk about it to her. She had assured her 
 that her mother was going on well in the Hospital, and that she 
 should soon go and see her. The assurance was not welcomed with 
 rapture, and the subject had dropped naturally. She was relieved, 
 on getting to the house, where her brother came down to meet 
 them, at Alice making no reference to her parents, but going 
 straight to the consideration of Pussy and the milk. This was of 
 course the ostensible cause of the excursion the real one, as far 
 as Peggy was concerned, being to get a repetition on the spot of 
 the story of the mysterious lady. 
 
 So, as soon as Pussy, who certainly was the most uncomely, woe- 
 begone, and green-eyed little black thing ever seen by man, had 
 been introduced and provided with the farthing's worth of milk 
 stipulated for, Peggy revived the subject of the lady. But in- 
 directly, having had some experience of the upsetting effects of 
 direct examination on Alice. 
 
 "We shan't break the saucer this time, Alice, shall we? Because 
 this time there's no lady with spots coming downstairs." 
 
 "There was, before," said Alice, with emphasis. She was rather 
 up in arms to protect her story from doubts that might be cast 
 on it ; perhaps seeing through a certain amount of pretence in the 
 general acceptance it had received, and suspecting, without putting 
 the suspicion into words, that she was being treated like a child. 
 Of course she really was a great, grown-up girl of six. 
 
 "And she came right through that door at the top of the stairs, 
 that swings both ways?" Peggy remembered perfectly that the 
 contrary was stated, but thought this a good way of getting a re- 
 peat. She was right. Alice shook her head a long time, and then 
 discharged a denial, like a gun. 
 
 "I thed NO! Becoth the door becoth the door becoth the 
 door " 
 
 "Yes, dear, because the door what?" 
 
 "Becoth the door thqueakth!" 
 
 "I see ! Of course it always squeaks when it's opened. And this 
 time it didn't squeak, so it wasn't opened ?" Alice nodded a great 
 many times to this, rather as approving its clearness of statement, 
 as well as confirming its truth.
 
 74 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Poothy didn't hear it, neever," said she. And Charley burst 
 out laughing. "What a funny little tot it is!" he cried. "As 
 grave as a judge!" 
 
 "Hush, Charley, don't!" said his sister. "Do be discreet, or we 
 shan't get any more " 
 
 "She doesn't understand " 
 
 "Oh doesn't she? she's as sharp as a razor " And then 
 
 addressing Alice "Never mind him and his nonsense, poppet 
 he's only laughing at us. You'll tell me another time how the 
 lady came downstairs, won't you?" Alice nodded. "And how 
 
 she went out into the area ?" More nods. "And how she went 
 
 right up the area steps and out into the street ?" 
 
 The vigour with which Alice shook her head threatened disloca- 
 tion. She drew a tremendous breath to supply her denial with 
 force. 
 
 "I thed the lidy went past the coal-thellar, and I thed the lidy 
 went to the grite iron gite acrost the airey and I thed " here 
 some confusion came in "No! I didn't thed there wathn't no 
 
 lidy And Poothy theed there wathn't no lidy And 
 
 father came out " 
 
 The slight inflection of the child's voice as she said "father" 
 contained its tribute to his memory and was more expressive than 
 an epitaph. Had her brother not been there probably Peggy 
 would have made her talk about father, and she could have had a 
 good cry. But in such a connection the old "Two is company and 
 three is none" is more than ever true. So it was best to turn the 
 conversation. 
 
 "Why, Alice, I thought you said the lady went up the area- 
 steps ?" 
 
 "There wath no lidy this very emphatically. "Poothy theed 
 there wath no lidy " 
 
 "You mean she disappeared?" Alice wouldn't commit herself 
 to hard words, but was inclined to invest in this one on specula- 
 tion. She sanctioned it with a short nod, and her two hearers 
 glanced at each other. 
 
 "Are there any area steps?" said Peggy. "I didn't see any 
 
 And this was true, only Peggy hadn't looked. Alice's blue eyes 
 opened wide and indignant at the suggestion that there were no 
 area steps. "Come out and thee them," said she. 
 
 "It's horribly dirty out there," said Charles. 
 
 "This old rag of a thing won't hurt," said Peggy. "I put it on 
 on purpose." And Alice wondered about the "old rag." She had 
 been thinking how beautiful it was, all the way in the carriage.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 75 
 
 But the area outside was a grizzly and a filthy place, and we 
 shuddered at its damp and drip and mouldy slime. The coterie 
 of cats that exploded and fled as we emerged into their disagreeable 
 perfume were uncanny and monstrous cats, unfit to live and al- 
 most incapable of death. Surely witches the worst witches had 
 been changed into them a hundred years ago; and now, when 
 Peggy in all her youth and beauty, and the old rag that wouldn't 
 hurt, stepped out into their preserve and sent them flying, may not 
 one of them have said, as she flung a curse back at her "I too 
 was young and beautiful once, like you ! But I gave myself to the 
 Devil, and this is his gratitude!" You may feel inclined to 
 exclaim : "This is an entirely unwarrantable speculation, based upon 
 no data; a neotheosophical reincarnationism without so much as 
 a single Himalayan Brother to back you up ! Justify your absurd 
 imagination by the production of adequate and substantial evi- 
 dence, or proceed with your story without raising irrelevant issues, 
 and giving your reader the trouble of finding out how much, he 
 may skip with safety" that is to say, if you are in the habit of 
 indulging in long exclamations. Should you do so our reply is: 
 if you think our surmise about London cats so very absurd, study 
 them more, and note the effect on your opinion. 
 
 However, it won't do to leave Peggy standing in that grimy door- 
 way, in that filthy area, while we sift this question to the 
 bottom. She didn't stand there more than just long enough for 
 the cats to disperse; and then emerged guided by Alice, who kept 
 tight hold of her hand. "The coalth ith in there," said she, 
 "and the dutht in there" and pointed to two vaults in which only 
 persons of iron constitution could have enjoyed a long imprison- 
 ment for life. "Theethe ith the area steps," Alice explained, 
 touching one to make quite sure. 
 
 "Then," said Peggy, "where is the great gate, or grite 
 gite?" 
 
 "That's round the corner," said Charley, who was following in the 
 rear. "Miss Kavanagh must have seen the lidy through the win- 
 dow " 
 
 "Froo my bedroom window," says Miss Kavanagh. "And mother 
 
 come out and father come out. And there wathn't no lidy " 
 
 and Alice goes on shaking her head with a wistful expression, 
 dramatically indicative of fruitless search. They went round the 
 corner to the great gate. Peggy and Charley looked at one another. 
 "You go inside, Charley," said she. "See if you can see me here 
 from the passage I'll stop outside the window " He went in- 
 side and presently returned. "Miss Kavanagh's all right," he
 
 76 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 said. "You can see quite plain from where Pussy was drink- 
 ing the milk." "And Poothy could thee too," said Alice, who 
 seemed to appreciate the testimonial to her accuracy. 
 
 "Well it's a funny story !" said Peggy, and both gave it up as a 
 bad job, and turned to go indoors. 
 
 "But I did thee the lidy!" cries Alice, appealingly. 
 
 "Of course you did, dear! By the bye, you've never told us 
 what father and mother said. What did father say?" 
 
 "Thaid I was deamin'. But I wasn't deamin'. I was awike " 
 
 "And what did mother say ?" 
 
 "Thaid I wath a little liar! " And Peggy felt that her 
 
 wishes for that good woman's recovery became more difficult. She 
 changed the subject. "I wish," she said, "Mrs. Twills is she? 
 would leave the boys alone. They weren't doing us any harm." 
 For the party had not been twenty seconds in the area before 
 Ishmaelites began agglomerating against the airey-palins above 
 them, offering their services with confidence, and volunteering 
 useless information. They also threw each other's hats down 
 through the palins, and then denied having done so. Mrs. Twills'a 
 attempts to disperse them were well-intentioned, but ineffectual. 
 It was time we went in, clearly. So we did so, and perhaps the boys 
 went away. And probably the cats came back. 
 
 "It wouldn't be such a dreadful place if it were clean," said 
 Peggy. And Charles mentioned that Mrs. Twills meant to do it 
 out as soon as there was Time. But there was a note of uncer- 
 tainty in his voice, and both appeared cautious about going into 
 details. After all, it was the landlord's business. Where was it 
 "it" happened? This was Peggy's question to her brother, at a 
 moment when Alice appeared absorbed in Pussy. They passed 
 through into the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Twills was always a phase, and never a permanency; and 
 she had left behind, at her own 'ouse, a superior class of furniture 
 to that she found on the premises. So the Kavanaghs' goods re- 
 mained for the time being undisturbed. Until it was certain 
 that the woman was not going to recover, action was paralysed or 
 rather action didn't want to be bothered, having plenty to see to 
 elsewhere. So the House Agents who had charge, and who 
 represented action in this case, availed themselves of the fleeting 
 nature of Mrs. Twills as a stop-gap, and stood it over for a week or 
 so, till we could see our way. Mrs. Twills's attitude, so far as it 
 could be understood, seemed to be that of premature resentment 
 against assumed allegations of interference on her part. It 
 was surmised that she said that everything was left just as it was
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 77 
 
 she wasn't going to meddle with anything. She left an impression 
 of having censured the human race for a vice of interposition in 
 each other's affairs that she was nobly exempt from. She can 
 hardly be said to have spoken on the subject. She withdrew after 
 producing an effect of having done so, and went upstairs with a 
 pail. 
 
 "It was in here," said Charles. "No! not the poisoning the 
 row. Here's the hammer." Peggy shuddered. It was an awful, 
 large cast-iron hammer, with a sharp corner on the square front. 
 It had come out somehow on the Inquest that it had been used 
 by some previous tenants to break coal, and had been forgotten 
 and found in the cellar. "No wonder it took the scalp nearly 
 off," said Charles. "Poor fellow!" 
 
 "Poor woman, 7 should say !" said Peggy. 
 
 "Poor woman of course, but poor fellow too!" But both were 
 really most sorry for him there was no doubt of itl 
 
 "I wonder what's in here," said Peggy, prying into the drawers of 
 a table that had a strong appearance of having seen better days. 
 It had been a wedding present, twenty-odd years ago, and was one 
 of the two or three things the couple had held on to. Charles 
 remarked on his sister's invasion of sacred privacy; and she said 
 she didn't care, and it couldn't do any harm. She pulled out 
 a portfolio, or what seemed like one. But it wasn't a port- 
 folio. It was a series of pictures on millboard flaps, folding like 
 a screen it was the young gentleman of property who had adorned 
 the glorious shop-window in the years of hope and youth long 
 gone. He had been carefully preserved, and was still smiling 
 cheerfully and immovably in all his costumes. But could he 
 have appeared now in the flesh, it never would have done to clothe 
 it in coats and trousers of that cut. Pall-Mall would have 
 disowned him, and Piccadilly would have cast him forth. But 
 his portraits had been treasured by their owner, in whose heart hope 
 had never quite died out that they should one day reappear in 
 their splendour, before it was quite too late for them to be the 
 fashion. Of course poor Kavanagh knew latterly they were 
 as extinct as the Pharaohs, but he clung to them mechanically, and 
 kept them clean. To throw them away or burn them would 
 have been to admit that there never no ! never would be a new 
 shop again! 
 
 Of course Peggy and Charles did not grasp this relation of the 
 coloured prints to the ruined life of their late possessor. They 
 only said "Some of his tailors' costumes," and how funny they 
 looked nowadays ! "Only look at his tight trousers and his absurd
 
 78 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 stick-up collars," said Peggy, and pushed them back in the drawer 
 and shut it. 
 
 "And then," said she, "he went away and swallowed the poison 
 in the other room ?" 
 
 "Quite away at the end of the passage," said Charles. "We 
 can go there, but it's very dark." For the afternoon was becoming 
 the evening, and February can be very dark at half -past four in a 
 London basement. Mrs. Twills had lighted the gas in the kitchen. 
 Charles secured the box whose matches, when they decided to ignite, 
 didn't care what they did it on, and led the way out. Peggy 
 called Alice, but got no answer. 
 
 "Where is that young person ?" said she. 
 
 "Most likely along there the room she slept in," said her brother. 
 So they passed along the dark passage, past the inexplicable bulk- 
 heads and cisterns and pipe-agglomerations, leaving Alice, as they 
 thought, behind. Charles lighted a match or two on the way to 
 help them forward. "Here's the room," said he. 
 
 "What's that?" said Peggy. And what was what? asked 
 Charles in return. "It's the child crying," she continued. "I'm 
 sure it is !" And so it was, for when they went into the room, there 
 was poor Alice, who had found her way there in the dark, to cry 
 by herself in the room where father died. "Oh, you poor little for- 
 saken scrap!" said Peggy, picking her up and giving her a good 
 long kiss. Alice indeed needed consolation. "Was father 
 really died here?" she said between her sobs. She hadn't been 
 frightened of the darkness; in fact she seemed to have thought it 
 was still light. In a true Londoner this singular belief in daylight 
 after the fact is not uncommon; and leads to refusals to light the 
 gas, in deference to ipse-dixits to the effect that we can see to 
 read. And we can't, and we know we are putting our eyes out. 
 If such things be in upper stories, what can we expect in base- 
 ments? Perhaps too Alice had lived so much in the dark that it 
 didn't terrify her as it did us in our childhood. 
 
 "May I have Poothy to tike to the big house?" said Alice. 
 Children of six don't cry for ever, and the recurrence of Pussy, a 
 good deal too full of milk, and quite hard like a bullet, supplied the 
 context for a new paragraph in Alice's life. Yes! She might 
 bring Pussy, but Pussy was not to be allowed on the cushions of 
 the carriage. 
 
 When Mr. Charles and Miss Peggy and Pussy and Alice reached 
 Hyde Park Gardens (about which journey we may remark, in the 
 &>rm of a conundrum, that our first and our second execrated our
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 79 
 
 third, who was not allowed on the lap of our fourth), they found 
 a visitor awaiting them, who was Dr. Johnson, Sir. "It's not the 
 Lexicographer, Pog," said Charles. "So you needn't look so 
 frightened!" It was, in fact, a young doctor from the Hos- 
 pital, whom Charles had made some acquaintance with on his 
 recent visits. He was passing quite close, he said, and had 
 called to tell Mr. Heath that the patient he was interested in was a 
 good deal better, and if Pyaemia didn't set in, etc. But the 
 said patient was fidgeting about the little girl. She had been 
 told about her husband well ! it couldn't be helped of course her 
 deposition had been taken as soon as she was fit to make one 
 you see she might have gone delirious, and died, any time first 
 interval was taken. Dr. Johnson thought it might be well for her 
 .to see the little girl. 
 
 Mr. Heath thought not. He did not like to set up his judgment 
 in opposition to that of others better qualified to judge. "But 
 really, my dear Sir, the woman was such an awful woman " 
 
 "A what sort of an awful woman? What did she seem like to 
 you? How should you describe her?" 
 
 "A regular Jezebel a drunken virago just on the edge of 
 delirium tremens. A horrible hag!" 
 
 "Curious ! Still, one does meet with these cases." 
 
 "But why curious? Doesn't she seem like that to you 
 now ?" 
 
 "Not the least. I believe she was different when she first came 
 in. I didn't see her. The House-Surgeon and the Nurse had 
 your impression of her though " 
 
 "Do you mind my calling my sister? I should like her to hear 
 your account herself." 
 
 "Not at all." And really when we come to think of it, there 
 was no reason whatever why Dr. Johnson should object to Mr. 
 Heath calling his sister. Especially as he thereon heard her say 
 in the distance, "Yes please, I should like to if I may." If he had; 
 made any objections perhaps he would have withdrawn them on 
 hearing Mr. Heath's sister's voice. It was one that caused imme- 
 diate curiosity to see its owner. 
 
 "Very well, then! I shall expect to see you to-morrow at half- 
 past ten at the Hospital." It is Dr. Johnson who speaks, and we 
 have skipped a great deal of unnecessary interview. "I anticipate 
 from what Mr. Heath has been telling me that you will be rather 
 surprised. Dear me, is that seven o'clock? I must hurry. But 
 really you are so awfully jolly, and your hair is so beautiful and
 
 80 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 soft, and your nose is such a perfectly satisfactory nose, and your 
 mouth is so absolutely right in all respects whether it speaks or is 
 
 silent, while as for your voice ! Really I must run ! 
 
 Good-night, Miss Heath! Good-night, Mr. Heath! To-morrow 
 at the Hospital at half -past ten " 
 
 And that young doctor runs and catches a cab, and tells it to 
 get along sharp. He does not know yet that his life has just 
 been sliced into two distinct halves, like B C and A D, by his 
 chance visit at the great big house where he left the first gong 
 ringing for dinner; and where the girl he had been talking with 
 said to her brother as she went away to dress "What very nice- 
 looking young doctors they have at that Hospital! Can't you 
 fetch me a few more, Charley?" And Charley replied that one 
 was enough. 
 
 Perhaps I ought to mention that the portion of what the nice- 
 looking young doctor said between the words hurry and really I 
 must run was not said audibly, nor in fact said at all. But he 
 thought it just the same for all that. 
 
 At half -past ten next morning Alice found herself standing by 
 something on a bed in an enormous roomful of beds, with Miss 
 Peggy beside her, telling her that that was mother. For Alice 
 found it hard to make out what was that colourless figure with the 
 head bound up in bandages, like a sort of mummy, that lay so still 
 and spoke so low. And then presently she saw that it was mother 
 sure enough, though she spoke unlike her, and very slowly, and 
 never moved her head, only her eyes. 
 
 "Is that Alice?" 
 
 "Please, Mother, yes," said Alice, and was frightened at the 
 sound of her own voice. 
 
 "It was drink " The woman got thus far then seemed to 
 
 stop less for want of something to say than from not knowing 
 exactly to whom she was speaking. Peggy detected this, and 
 sitting down by the bed placed her hand on the colourless hand that 
 lay outside the coverlid. It moved slightly towards her in re- 
 sponse and her eyes followed the movement. 
 
 "I don't know, Ma'am, who " she began, and Peggy supplied 
 
 the information she was framing her speech to ask. 
 
 "Mr. Heath's sister, on the first floor " Peggy was colloquial, 
 
 but people are, in real speech. It is only in books they talk like 
 books. 
 
 "Mr. Heath in the spectacles kind to Alice I was not." 
 
 "Alice hasn't said so, Mrs. Kavanagh. Alice says you were
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 81 
 
 often very kind." This was quite unwarranted, but Alice con- 
 firmed it with nods. 
 
 "Mr. Heath was kind," says her mother, avoiding the point. 
 "He was kind when Alice broke the jug the jug we found in the 
 little cellar is that him ?" 
 
 "No. This is Dr. Johnson." For it had been decided Peggy 
 and Alice should go alone. Too many would do no good. Peggy 
 thinks it would be best to let her talk of easy things, and rather 
 welcomes this jug. She wants to avoid the husband and the poison. 
 "Where did you find the jug, Mrs. Kavanagh?" 
 
 "There was a kind of place in the wall, a sort of hole going low 
 down. Samuel that was my husband, Miss cleared it out. It 
 was clay and sand like, and the jug buried in it, stood right in 
 under the pavement and covered over." 
 
 "Wasn't it broken ?" 
 
 "Not broke oh no! We thought to keep it for the beer. 
 It was wrote over with verses morals and pictures." 
 
 "Was there nothing there but the jug?" 
 
 "Just the jug." But a moment after she continued: "No 
 Miss. I won't tell any untruth. When we come to look, there 
 was a ring. In the jug." 
 
 "Did you keep the ring ?" 
 
 "Took it to the pawnshop." Peggji, glancing round for grown- 
 up sympathy, meets the eyes of the young doctor, who elevates his 
 eyebrows with a slight "Of course" nod. "You don't know about 
 pawnshops, Miss?" 
 
 "Oh dear, yes, I do!" 
 
 "I'm fearing the ticket may be lost. Out of my dress-pocket. 
 This gentleman " 
 
 "I see, Mrs. Kavanagh. You mean it was in the dress you had 
 on. Will you enquire, Dr. Johnson?" No doubt about that, any- 
 how ! Dr. Johnson goes away to enquire. The voice of the woman 
 drops, and Peggy stoops to catch what she is saying. She speaks 
 with much effort, but clearly and consecutively : 
 
 "You will wonder, Miss, but I would like to tell you." Peggy 
 nods go on. "It was the drink it was all the drink. My mother 
 was good, but she died of it. It was one story alike for her and 
 for me." She paused a second. Best not to hurry her, thought 
 Peggy. "She'd had six," she went on. "And she wasn't the strong 
 woman I was, at the first go off." 
 
 Peggy felt the whole tale was told, for both, but she let her finish 
 it her own way. 
 
 "I had been a total abstainer, Miss, from fear of it. And
 
 82 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT, 
 
 Samuel, I made of him a total too, or near upon it. It made him 
 some happy days, and made me." 
 
 "But what was it made you give it up?" 
 
 "What can a woman do, Miss, when her strength is not enough ? 
 And when the doctor comes and says, 'You must drink stout' 
 
 'You must take port' ? It began so with her it began so with 
 
 line ! And what could you hope from a man, but follow on ?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Kavanagh! I am so sorry for you. I see it all so 
 plain !" The woman dropped her voice to a whisper. "Does the 
 child know ? Does Alice know ?" 
 
 "About her father? I don't know. She knows he is dead." 
 
 "When she is old enough to understand, will you tell her all ?" 
 
 "You mustn't talk like that, Mrs. Kavanagh. The doctors say 
 you will get up, and be yourself again." 
 
 "Not to trust to, Miss. Much best the other way. Much best." 
 Dr. Johnson returns. He has found the pawn-ticket. The patient 
 understands and says: "Give it to the lady to keep for Alice." 
 Peggy hesitates a minute, then puts it in her purse. The doctor 
 goes away to another bed. 
 
 A nursing sister comes up, and thinks the patient has talked 
 enough. Her temperature will go up if she talks any more. 
 Peggy says "Kiss your mother, Alice," and facilitates her doing 
 so. And mother feels like a bit of cold wood to Alice. And then 
 Alice thinks she must be dreaming. For the beautiful young lady, 
 the incredible being who has come like a strange revelation into 
 Alice's life, herself stoops and kisses the cold wooden image, and 
 says, "Good-bye, Mrs. Kavanagh, God bless you!" And the 
 image repeats, "God bless you, Miss. Tell Alice." And then 
 they go away. 
 
 They are met by the young doctor, and Alice's dream con- 
 tinues. In it she and he and Miss Peggy are driven to a 
 strange street, not very far off, and there he gets down and is a 
 long time in a curious shop. He brings with him when he comes 
 out a little packet which he hands to Miss Peggy. "I'm not at 
 all sure," he says, "that you have any legal right to it," and she 
 replies, "It was given to me, anyhow, and I shall keep it for 
 Alice until its rightful owner claims it." 
 
 That sums up all Alice saw. But we, who know all things, can 
 assure you that that young doctor went away in a turmoil of 
 conflicting emotions, and had a narrow escape of killing a patient 
 that afternoon by writing a prescription wrong!
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 OF THE NEW TENANTS AT NO. 40, AND HOW MR. HEATH MADE THEIR 
 ACQUAINTANCE. OF THE CATS* BONES, AND OF DR. JOHNSON'S INFATU- 
 ATION. 
 
 THE ground floor and basement at No. 40 did not find occupants 
 very quickly. The landlord was able to wait for his money, and 
 naturally preferred waiting for a large sum to waiting for a small 
 one. A trait of this sort makes us feel that landlords are human 
 too, as well as tenants. For no doubt the latter, if they could 
 sleep with comfort in the gutter, would wait for small rents, by 
 choice. 
 
 Pope & Chappell, the stained-glass window makers in the next 
 street were able to wait until midsummer, when they had received 
 notice to quit, as the house was coming down. But they were not 
 prepared to go to a hundred and twenty for the premises at No. 40. 
 Chappell was of a weak and timorous nature, and in view of the 
 exact suitability of those premises, would fain have hurried mat- 
 ters and at once secured them. But Pope, who was astute and far- 
 sighted and wiry, and had a wall-eye, refused to listen to the 
 whisperings of pusillanimity, and pointed out his reasons to 
 Chappell, whom he called too cautious a bird by half. 
 
 "I took stock of 'im," said he, referring to the landlord of No. 
 40, after an interview in which he had offered 60 a year, on con- 
 dition that he, the landlord, should put everything into startling 
 order, reconstruct most things, and paint all surfaces except the 
 window-panes with four coats of good oil paint, two flat and two 
 round. 
 
 "I took stock of 'im, Mr. Chappell, and you mark my words! 
 We shall get those premises for three, five, or seven at ninety-five, 
 lawful wear and tear dooly permitted, and knock 'em about just as 
 we like." 
 
 And Mr. Pope went on touching up a head with tar-oil and a 
 stippling brush, while his partner (who couldn't paint) busied 
 himself on a working drawing of lead-lines. The advantage of 
 having something to do while you talk is that you take time to 
 think of what you are going to say, and pretend it is because you 
 
 83
 
 84 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 are grappling with a crisis. Mr. Chappell took so much time that 
 Mr. Pope, who was able to paint the right-hand thief in a three- 
 Jight crucifixion and talk at the same moment, spoke again before 
 he found anything to say: 
 
 "This landlord chap he wasn't born yesterday. I as good as 
 heard him say to 'imself, 'These two Johnnies '11 come back a week- 
 before Lady-Day and make me a 'andsome offer.' Do you suppose 
 he don't see we want the place ? Of course he does ! / took stock 
 of 'im." Mr. Pope, like Mr. Jerrythought, dropped his aspirates. 
 But never as if he did it in fun. It was always plain that he 
 couldn't help it. Jeff, on the contrary, seemed to think it humorous. 
 
 Mr. Chappell pretended the leads were easy, just this minute, and 
 asked his partner what he made of that ? 
 
 "Only this: he thinks he can rely on us for one-twenty. So 
 the next Johnny who comes for the crib he'll say one-thirty to. 
 Twig ? Safe for one-twenty ; try for one-thirty, says he !" 
 
 "But suppose his new man takes them at one-thirty ?" 
 
 "Naw feeah!" Mr. Pope gained force for this expression of 
 faith in the next Johnny's worldly prudence by speaking through 
 his nose, which he placed slightly on one side for the purpose. 
 
 "But why let this landlord chap see we want the place ? Where's 
 the sense of being so transparent?" 
 
 "To advantage it, Mr. Chappell. Have you got the idear ?" 
 
 "No, I haven't." 
 
 "Well, but it's like so much daylight. Just you go on (in your 
 innocence and simplicity) meaning to give one-twenty, and last 
 minute change your mind. Just the end of the quarter you see ! 
 Only mind you you must play fair, and really mean it because 
 folk are that cunning and suspicious, you can't foxy 'em without 
 resortin' to honesty." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Pope, we must hope you're right. But you're head- 
 strong you're headstrong! I should have said close with one- 
 twenty, with immediate possession, and get out of this as fast as 
 we can. We shall have it down on our heads " 
 
 "Not we," said the astute one. "Spring Gardens ain't con- 
 demning these premises because they're ruinous, but because they 
 can compel to set back, and get the line of the street, on rebuilding. 
 Spring Gardens ain't so green as you'd think judging from the 
 name !" 
 
 Whether Mr. Pope was right or wrong in his views about Munic- 
 ipal Government at that date is no concern of ours. We merely 
 record what he said. Our reasons for giving the conversation at 
 all are not quite clear to ourselves, because all we want is to know
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 85 
 
 that Pope & Chappell took the basement and ground floor of No. 
 40 on a lease at a rental of 110 annually, and that the workmen 
 came in at Lady-Day to do it up, Messrs. P. & C. having under- 
 taken to put the place in thorough repair, and keep it so, in return 
 for a year rent-free. 
 
 But having written out this conversation, it may stand. For 
 you may be interested in observing that had it not been for Mr. 
 Pope's far-sighted policy just after Christmas, when due notice 
 came to clear out at Midsummer, the stained-glass firm might have 
 taken possession forthwith, and Alice might never have gone for 
 the beer from that house at least and then Hyde Park Gardens 
 would have known nothing about her. See how this thing hangs 
 on that, and that on t'other; and then moralise if you think you 
 will be any the wiser for doing so. We don't! 
 
 Pope & Chappell stipulated to be allowed to place a furnace for 
 glass-firing in the vaults, wherever convenient, and to utilise an 
 external flue on the side of the house. This was not done without 
 the sanction of the Insurance Office, who sent a guileless and in- 
 experienced youth, who evidently knew nothing about fire, and 
 little about other subjects, to inspect and report. They departed 
 from the wholesome practice of declining to insure unless there was 
 no risk of fire but then the landlord of the premises was a Direc- 
 tor. So in the early days of April after the January in which we 
 began, Charles Heath and his friend Jeff found ingress and egress 
 difficult owing to agglomerations of planks and pails and trestles 
 in the entrance-hall of the house. Positive assurances that they 
 wouldn't be in your way didn't carry conviction to a mind in- 
 volved in a forest of trestle-legs, solicitous for the preservation of 
 its owner's clothes from a cataract of whitewash, and apprehensive 
 of the worst consequences to his hat from the selfish preoccupation 
 of persons overhead. It was small consolation to know that strip- 
 ping and clear-coating would be done by Thursday, when our 
 natural satisfaction at seeing the last of such cheerless operations 
 was to be blighted by a revelation of the time the painting itself 
 was going to take afterwards. 
 
 "It's all very fine, Jeff," said Charles, after eliciting figures 
 from the builders' foreman "but you look in Vasari. I'm sure 
 Michael Angelo didn't take as long as that over the Sistine 
 Chapel." 
 
 "You ain't countin' for the difference between oil-paint and 
 fresco, 'Eath. Only one coat in fresco." But this was only Mr. 
 Jeff's pleasantry. 
 
 When Pope & Chappell came, in earnest, they burst out on the
 
 86 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 front door as an eruption of black letters on a brass plate. It was 
 splendid, and you could find out what it spelled by asking the name 
 of the Firm at the Office on the ground floor. But it was as dif- 
 ficult to read as Oscan. 
 
 A rubric in the Vulgate was legible, and said Office-Bell, in a 
 corner at the bottom. For a fiction existed that trade was not 
 tolerated in that house, based on some clause in the lease. This 
 could only be known to people great enough to communicate with 
 the Estate an Isis behind a veil, to whom she of Sais was publicity 
 itself. Even the Landlord's eye had not seen her, nor his ear 
 heard, and he could only communicate with her through her solici- 
 tor, who would give you a receipt for money, but would reveal 
 nothing. 
 
 Mr. Jeff, being a free and easy sort of fellow, soon picked up 
 acquaintance with the Firm. Charles Heath showed reserve, and 
 was condemned by Mr. Pope as stand-offish. Perhaps he was. But 
 then when you have an impression that a person is a howling cad 
 whatever the exact meaning of that expression may be and 
 say so, no one will be surprised that you do not court his 
 society. 
 
 "He ain't exactly that, 'Eath," said Jeff, the tolerant "His 
 game isn't your game but he ain't a bad chap." Jeff levelled 
 everybody up and down, and was secretly of opinion that his friend 
 Heath was given to riding the 'igh 'orse. Possibly he was. He 
 didn't dismount on this occasion though. 
 
 "What is his little game, Jeff? Have you made that out?" 
 said he. Whereupon Jeff took time to consider, and didn't seem to 
 consider quickly. And Charles repeated "What is his game? 
 That's what I want to know." 
 
 Jeff evaded the point -"Of course he's not a Royal Academy 
 Artist. Moddles and 'og's-hair brushes and screw-up easels and 
 things. It's a sort of trade kind of Drapery business. I say, 
 'Eath, such a rummy start!" And Charles relinquished his en- 
 quiring about Mr. Pope's game, to hear about the rummy start. 
 "What is, Jeff?" said he. 
 ' "Pope's a Protestant and Chappell's a Catholic!" 
 
 "Well, of course it ought to be the other way round Pope ought 
 to be a Catholic and Chappell ought to be a Protestant But 
 Jeff didn't understand points of this sort. 
 
 "I found out why and all about it," said he. "It's because of 
 the trade. According to the shop the order comes from. When 
 it's a Catholic, Pope turns Chappell on. When it's a Protestant, 
 versy vicer!"
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 87 
 
 "I see! It's so much more conscientious for both." But Jeff 
 couldn't understand it on those lines. 
 
 "It's like the 'Appy Family in a cage in Endell Street," he 
 said. "I should have thought they would burn each other alive, 
 like Guy Foxes !" 
 
 "Why don't you write a short comprehensive History of England, 
 Jeff?" 
 
 "Well you know they used to cook each other, like steaks, 
 once." And Charles thought he could see in this a memory of 
 Mr. Jeff's childhood, with a detail misunderstood. The latter 
 continued: "Chappell receives the Catholic customers. Pope does 
 all the other sorts." 
 
 "Have they got plenty of work on hand ?" 
 
 "Heaps and heaps! Don't know which way to turn! Didn't 
 you see that window -light stuck up outside last week?" 
 
 "Yes, I thought it looked as if it didn't know which way to turn ! 
 Staring straight at you, like Electro-biology. What about it?" 
 
 "Well ! That was for her Majesty." 
 
 "I wish her joy of it, I'm sure." But for all Charles was so 
 high and mighty and scornful, he felt a sort of curiosity about the 
 stained-glassmongers. 
 
 Jeff's account of them was correct as far as it related to their 
 division of labour. The fact is that the Dissensions of the 
 Churches among themselves, and the further dissensions of Dis- 
 senters, are an embarrassment to the Ecclesiastical decorative 
 artist, who is reluctantly forced to take the numerous creeds of his 
 clients into consideration. If it were not for the Variety of 
 Treatment for which they afford openings he would wish them all 
 at Jericho the creeds, not the clients. 
 
 Mr. Jeff's having made acquaintance with the ground-floor and 
 basement tended to bring the first floor also in contact with them. 
 But as time went on another attractive force presented itself, in 
 Alice's associations with this scene of her early childhood. At 
 Hyde Park Gardens the child became more and more a favourite 
 with the household; which, without definitely announcing its in- 
 tentions, made up its mind not to part with her. A vague purpose 
 of sending her to some sort of school, not yet discovered, hung 
 about the responsible seniors, but seemed capable of indefinite 
 procrastination. Peggy took her education in hand, and the 
 household generally considered it had a mission to make her make 
 herself useful. She was very apt and clever, and we may assure 
 readers that in this story there is no fear of Alice suffering from 
 mental or moral neglect. It may even be questioned whether her
 
 88 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 moral culture might not have been allowed to lapse at intervals 
 the whole household having combined (so it seemed to Alice) in 
 bringing to bear on her a heavy fire of maxims a phrase which 
 strikes one somehow as familiar. But these were the old-fashioned 
 sort, such as "Little girls should be seen, not heard." "Speak 
 when you're spoken to do as you're bid." " 'Waste not, want not,' 
 was the title of the book." And so forth. Peggy had no gun, or 
 never fired it. Therefore she was the natural recipient of con- 
 fidences which of course never would have been given to Partridge, 
 who was very good and kind, but for all that never to be relied on 
 not to improve you. Now Alice could always talk to Peggy with- 
 out fear of amelioration. Consequently she told a great deal of 
 her old life at No. 40, and at previous domiciles. And however 
 nonsensical or fictitious her narratives seemed, Peggy always 
 listened to them patiently, rather hoping she would hear something 
 further about the lidy with the spots. But this story seemed to 
 have been told complete, the first time she heard it, and no new 
 light came. 
 
 There was, however, a frequent reference to the cellar-door be- 
 yond the grite iron gite. It was Alice's first experience of the grisly 
 mystery of the subterranean of the sort of romance that belongs 
 to the Catacombs of Paris and the dark arches of the Adelphi, and 
 (with less of soil and horror) to the crypt of St. Paul's or any 
 great Cathedral; to rock sepulchres or the heart of the Pyramids, 
 even to the endless cavern that swallows Alph the sacred river and 
 leads to a sunless sea. All of us have felt the fascination of the 
 underground, and Alice's imagination went back and back to this 
 dirty door in the back area. "But I never theed anything come 
 out," she said, in reply to a question asked "they all thtopped 
 inthide. Yeth!" And Alice nodded impressively to her ques- 
 tioners, who were Charles and Peggy. "Well, Miss Kavanagh," 
 said the former "one of these days we'll have 'em all out, and 
 get a good look at 'em." Alice thought him rash, but courageous. 
 
 This was before Pope & Chappell came on the scene. When 
 they first took possession it looked as if the idea of exploring this 
 repulsive cavern must be given up. But when Charles, glancing 
 one summer morning down into the area, saw workmen actually 
 going in and out of this very vault, of which they had daringly 
 broken through the barriers, he resolved in spite of his dislike for 
 the howling cad, and his not too favourable impression of the new 
 tenants, to court their acquaintance to the extent of obtaining an 
 ingress into the basement, and to remount the high horse after- 
 wards if it seemed necessary to do so.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 89 
 
 "Goin' in for bein' f orgivin', are we, 'Eath ?" said Mr. Jeff, when 
 one day Charles expressed an interest in stained-glass windows, 
 and said he shouldn't mind seeing what those chaps downstairs 
 were doing. 
 
 "You'll have to explain, Jeff, that I don't want to put up a 
 memorial window, and that I know no one that does. Make 'em 
 understand that I and all my family circle wish to be forgotten, 
 if possible." Mr. Jerrythought gave a knowing introspective 
 nod. "I'll attend to it," said he. 
 
 "And I say, Jeff, look here. I think you might give them a hint 
 that what interests me is the firing and the sticking together, and 
 all that. Because I don't want to have to admire their blessed 
 designs !" 
 
 "You let me alone I'll fix you up, 'Eath." And Charles had 
 to be contented with that much safeguard. 
 
 When Mr. Jeff introduced his friend to the partnership below, 
 he did it with perspicuous candour, and no small amount of what 
 may have been tact, as it seemed to work very well. Whatever it 
 was, there was plenty of it. 
 
 "'Here's my friend 'Eath first floor ! He don't want to put up a 
 memorial window, Tie don't! He's a reg'lar artist, color-tubes, 
 tones, middle-distances, light and shade that's his gag! Eoyal 
 Academy Artist. Now you two customers, I take it, are quite 
 another pair of shoes. Dim religious light dignity simplicity 
 avoidance of vulgarity devotional feeling that's your gag! All 
 right, old cock! I know. I got it out of the noospaper you lent 
 me. It's all right, I know." And Mr. Jeff felt that he was doing 
 justice alike to pictorial and monumental Art. 
 
 "'Appy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Heath!" said Mr. 
 Pope. "Our friend is pokin' his fun! I don't mind him, if you 
 don't." And Mr. Chappell observed that everybody knew Mr. 
 Jeff ! But there was a trace of dignity in his tone. 
 
 "Mustn't let me disturb you, Mr. Chappell," said Charles ad- 
 dressing Pope by his partner's name; Jeff's correction "This is 
 Mr. Chappell" cutting across his error. We daresay this seems 
 to you almost too trivial a thing to notice in a narrative. But you 
 are mistaken if you think so for it made a considerable differ- 
 ence in Charles's attitude to Mr. Pope. His chivalrous nature 
 felt that compensation was due to that gentleman for calling him 
 out of his name, and he became proportionately civil to him. We 
 believe there are stolid philosophical lives that are quite uninflu- 
 enced by minutiae of this sort but we have not had the luck to 
 lead one of them ourselves. Charles was really intensely suscepti-
 
 90 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 ble on such points, although for working purposes he always 
 affected a Spartan fortitude. In this case the result was the dis- 
 appearance from his next speech of a faint trace of loftiness and 
 condescension shown in his first. 
 
 "It's rather a shame of me and Jeff to come and break into your 
 daylight. But then I thought we shouldn't see well later, and 
 Jeff said you had a big bit of work completing, so we came down." 
 The concession made here was that Charles had contemplated 
 bald indifference to the hierarchy, and had schemed to get to the 
 cellar as soon as possible under pretext of yearning for technical 
 information. Now that he had put himself in Mr. Pope's debt, he 
 would liquidate it by deference to the aesthetic side of decoration. 
 Pope and Chappell mused a moment before either replied reflect- 
 ing as a Firm reflects when its counsels are harmonious. "Canon 
 Shuter's window, I suppose." "More likely Dr. Creed's." "Which 
 is Dr. Creed's ?" "That three-light lancet, for Bishopskerswell." 
 
 "One I saw was for her Majesty," struck in Mr. Jeff. Mr. Pope 
 smiled benignly. 
 
 "We don't aspire to that heikth," said he. "What you gentle- 
 men saw on the staircase was what we professionally term a 
 Majesty not her Majesty, you see, like Mr. Jerrythought misun- 
 derstood it. We were referrin' to the figure itself not the client. 
 Oh, I assure you, Mr. 'Eath, the difficulties of dealin' with this 
 
 class of subject, especially in telegrams " Chappell interrupted 
 
 Pope at this point. 
 
 "I've got to go downstairs," said he "I'll tell Joe to bring all 
 three lights up. Oh yes, they're ready! He was just sawdusting 
 off the face of the middle one when I was down an hour ago," 
 and Chappell departed, and in due course Joe's footsteps came 
 outside, and segments of window were introduced and deposited 
 to wait for more. 
 
 "My partner he's particular," said Pope, to explain Chappell, as 
 he seemed to think he needed it. "And yet he ain't a family man 
 like me." And went on to narrate how difficult he found it to 
 explain sacred symbolic imagery to his little boy Kit, four years 
 old, who asked questions. And presently when the great work was 
 being held up, Charles perceived the drift of this conversation, as 
 no doubt you have done. But he wondered at the humility of Mr. 
 Pope's tone, about his range of patronage, as contrasted with his 
 range of portraiture ! 
 
 A certain amount of inspection of results was unavoidable, to 
 pave the way for an approach to the interesting means by which 
 they were attained. In all the technical or applied Arts it is neces-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 91 
 
 sary (or at any rate politic) to affect a satisfaction we do not feel, 
 and don't believe the Artist feels either, at the final outcome of so 
 much patience and effort. If some pretence of this sort were not 
 kept up where would be the raison d'etre of all our cottage indus- 
 tries; all our art needleworks, and ceramics; all our unmitigated 
 training-schools, and disgraceful exhibitions? Unless somebody 
 sometimes did the enjoyment, how could the rapid conversion of 
 the whole population into Art-Students, Art-Teachers, Art- 
 Artists generally be justified? If it were to be candidly admitted 
 that nobody cares twopence about Art-Arteries when they are 
 completed, yet boldly affirmed that everybody wants to have a hand 
 in making some more, how would it be possible to convince spare 
 cash that it ought to purchase Art-Objects ? Would it not snap its 
 fingers at Art-Apologists, and turn its attention to the prosaic 
 realities of life motor-cars or beef -extract, tenement-dwellings or 
 chemical food, dynamite or two-hundred- ton guns? Something 
 really useful? 
 
 Whether Charles dissected his own mind when he affected rap- 
 tures at Pope & ChappelPs windows, who shall say? He may 
 have said to himself that it would be illogical to wish to examine 
 a kiln in the contents of which he felt no interest whatever, unless 
 he first contrived an atmosphere of justification for them, a sanc- 
 tion of factitious enthusiasm. Or it may have been simply the gen- 
 erous impulse of youth to admire, that is so apt to develop when 
 the producer of an achievement is actually in the room with it, 
 and can be talked to. We rather think it was this, ourselves, and 
 that Charles was (not to be too philosophical) a good-natured 
 chap who saw it gave pleasure to the perpetrators thereof when he 
 admired the beastly rot of Messrs. Pope & Chappell. For that 
 was what he called it in confidence afterwards to Mr. Jeff. 
 
 However, he no doubt succeeded in giving full satisfaction, for 
 he and his friend went downstairs into the old basement to investi- 
 gate the mysteries. Limewash, paint, and window-cleaning had 
 done wonders; so had new sashes where necessary; so had new 
 woodwork where not necessary, but only costin' a few shillins more, 
 as the sayin' (unknown) was, than breakin' up and puttin' to- 
 gether: sim'lar, you had to take account of carriage. Sim'lar, 
 you take an old bench with nails drove in, and spile a plane, and 
 there you are , You don't save nothin' in the end. So, as in this 
 case, you decide on many squares of yellow deal, and unlimited 
 carpenter; and whatever your bill is, you smell, delightful, and 
 feel antiseptic. 
 
 The great gate, or grite gite, had been ruthlessly opened, and
 
 92 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 been done Brunswick black, cheval-de-frise and all. The myste- 
 rious door was off its hinges, which were rusted through, long 
 ages ago; as were the bolts and chain that had curbed the liberty 
 and baffled the evil desires of so many fiends and goblins, and 
 kept them for so many years from getting at inoffensive persons' 
 toes in ill-tucked-up beds. Who could be safe, now they were gone ? 
 The vault inside was spacious; had been some sort of wash-house 
 or laundry, and had for some reason had its window built up. 
 The windows had been replaced, but it was a glorious greenish 
 window now, filled with what some called bottle-ends, and others 
 German rounds, in those days; so that you expected a profile of 
 Elaine or Enid, and didn't get it. There had been a stove or fur- 
 nace of some kind in former years, as a flue crossed the area to 
 the house. This was being utilised for the temporary small kiln 
 that had come from the old shop. But a much larger one was 
 coming, and the floor was taken up in one corner to make a foun- 
 dation and get a clear start. 
 
 "I suppose you found plenty of cats in here," said Charles to 
 Pope and Chappell. The latter had come with them into the 
 vault, and then had to attend to something. Pope, though he had 
 been so hard at work as to be unable to relinquish his mahl-stick, 
 and had come away with a brush in his mouth, seemed to have 
 indefinite leisure at his disposal. He took the brush out to answer 
 Charles's cat-remark. 
 
 "Rather!" said he, sardonically. "But you should ask 'Aycroft. 
 Eh! 'Aycroft? This gentleman was asking if you'd 'appened 
 to see any cats?" 
 
 Haycroft was the bricklayer, who was busy with his footings. 
 He cast about for some form of speech which would allow of the 
 development of a grievance, as is the manner of his kind. He 
 considered and spoke: 
 
 "I don't know what you call cats. I should have called 'em 
 cats, myself; but there's no tellin', nowadays!" 
 
 "How many were there, Mr. Haycroft?" 
 
 "Wot the number of them ? Well, Sir, as to countin' of 'em, I 
 left that to them as can find time for countin'. I've got my 'ands 
 pretty full here, I can tell you. It wouldn't do for me to stand 
 still, to be countin' cats. All I see of 'em I tell you. And 7 should 
 have called 'em cats myself. But as I say, there's no knowin' !"- 
 Charles's innocent attempt to make conversation had been mis- 
 interpreted, and he felt hurt. His friend Jeff, with more insight 
 into bricklayers, pursued the subject: 
 
 "Two 'undred, 'Aycroft? Will you let 'em go at that?" He
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 93 
 
 dropped his la's ostentatiously to get on a sympathetic level with 
 Mr. Haycroft. 
 
 "Couldn't say, Sir. Near about, I should think. How many 
 should you reckon run out, Greasy, when we broke open the door?" 
 As the labourer addressed did not look like an Italian, the 
 natural conclusion was that his name was as we have spelled it. 
 He gave his mind to a conscientious reckoning. 
 
 "Rather better than half-a-dozen, Mr. Haycroft. I should say 
 seven, but I might have said eight. Likewise there was a tabby 
 hid in the copper 'ole, and a black torn went away up the flue and 
 
 never come down " 
 
 "Wot did I tell you?" said Mr. Haycroft, triumphantly. "Any 
 number of 'em! And the whole place as full of dead 'uns as ever 
 it'll hold." 
 
 "I don't see any dead cats." But Mr. Haycroft scorned to reply 
 directly to this remark of Mr. Pope. He turned to Greasy. 
 "Where have you put all them cats' bones?" said he. 
 
 "On that ledge behind your elber," said Greasy. "No ! Higher 
 up! Eight you are." And Mr. Haycroft, with a passing com- 
 ment on the ledge, as a specially ill-chosen place to put away cats' 
 bones on "Where any one might chance to knock 'em down, any 
 minute" held them out in the palm of his hand as a conclusive 
 proof of accuracy wrongly impeached. "Cats' bones like what I 
 said !" And turned again to measurement as one who had testi- 
 fied truly, and was now called away to other duties. 
 
 The positiveness of Mr. Haycroft's tone, and his contradictious 
 attitude, cast a glamour of controversy over the conversation which 
 Charles had not had any intention of provoking. He now felt him- 
 self so entangled in cats as to be somehow bound to examine the 
 bones held out to him by the bricklayer. He held them in his hand 
 looking at them longer than Mr. Jeff thought the occasion re- 
 quired. Possibly it was the doubt whether he should hand the 
 bones back, which seemed ridiculous; or throw them away, which 
 seemed contemptuous. Mr. Jeff did not guess at any other 
 reason. 
 
 But, Mr. Chappell returning at this point, the talk turned away 
 to other matters, such as the structure of kilns, the relative advan- 
 tages of coke and gas, and so forth. Presently Charles recurred 
 quite suddenly to the cats' bones, as if he had been thinking of 
 them. "Where did you say you found the bones, Mr. Haycroft?" he 
 asked. And so much did he seem to ask as though he really had 
 some motive, that his question absolutely received a direct answer. 
 The bones had come out of the ground when it was opened. "Just
 
 94 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 under where I'm standing," said Greasy, the labourer "as if the 
 cats had been a-burying of 'em," he added. 
 
 "This brick floor's been took up, one time," said Haycroft. 
 "And it ain't maiden ground underneath. It's made ground. It's 
 been took up and filled in. Whoever filled it in might have thrown 
 in a dead cat, as easy as not." Having committed himself to the 
 view that the bones were cats', it was necessary to fit all other 
 facts to the theory; and, although cats, if they did inter their rela- 
 tives, might not remove a brick floor to do it, that could never be 
 allowed to stand in the way. Mr. Haycroft, having inferred the 
 dead cat from the live cats, had to imagine some means of getting it 
 through the pavement, and did it accordingly. Mr. Pope per-* 
 ceived a difficulty, and advanced a new theory to meet it. 
 
 "Dogs' bones, Mr. 'Aycrof t ! That's what they are, clear enough ! 
 Lady's pet dog. Wanted it buried in the 'ouse. No yard nor 
 garden. Gave it to the butler to bury, and he put in here. Little 
 King Charles span'l, with long flop ears. Nothin' more likely ."- 
 And the details of this groundless romance recommended it 
 strongly. But expert testimony from the bricklayer came to shake 
 public opinion. 
 
 "If you was to ask me," he said, "I could tell you and mind 
 you! I ain't talking about what I don't understand. Well! If 
 you was to ask me, I should say no man in his senses I don't care 
 if he was a butler or the master of the 'ouse! would go to take 
 up a 'erring-boned brick floor when he could raise a stone in the 
 airey with a 'arf the labour; and it would just put itself back 
 again, as you might say. Instead of which, you're askin' him to 
 'amper himself with packin' a small barrer of brick, 'arf of 'em 
 broke gettin' of 'em out, and makin' good breakage, and gettin' 
 well shet o' bats and closures all what's come out this time's 'ole 
 
 bricks, and so I tell you " And so forth, until Mr. Chappell, 
 
 who at first had welcomed the lap-dog theory, rounded on Mr. 
 Pope, and relieved the butler from the troublesome job he had 
 assigned him. His inventor wouldn't give him up, though ! 
 
 "I stick to dogs' bones," said he ; then feeling that a compromise 
 might be possible "Perhaps it wasn't the butler. They could 
 have had somebody in. Odd-job man! Stableboy! Anythin'!" 
 Mr. Pope's imagination faltered at the coachman. He was too 
 majestic. 
 
 Mr. Chappell had a theory, but it was a weak one and soon 
 rejected. He suggested as sufficient that the bones were accidental 
 bones, out of the kitchen or anywhere, that had got dug in acci- 
 dentally. He went back to the workshop the kitchen where
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 96 
 
 Kavanagh had struck his wife and Charles went with him. It was 
 used now for cutting glass and leading up lights. A mishap had 
 occurred that took attention from the bones, which Charles had 
 slipped into his pocket. A diamond had been lost, having flown, 
 from its setting, and a search was on foot for it. When this 
 occurs in a glazing shop everything is swept up and sifted through 
 a mesh large enough to let the diamond through. The product is 
 again sifted through a mesh large enough to retain the diamond, 
 and then evidently what comes off the last sieve must contain it, 
 and sometimes it is so small a quantity that an hour or so with a 
 microscope will recover the lost sheep. This amused Charles and 
 took his attention off the bones for the time being. But when he 
 went back to his room to change his coat to go home to dinner (for 
 it had got very late) he remembered to wrap them in paper and 
 put them in his other pocket to take with him. 
 
 When Charles, six months before, decided on what seems to us 
 the very needless and premature step of taking a large expensive 
 Studio that would have suited a fashionable portrait-painter in full 
 practice, he was not an absolute beginner in the literal sense of 
 the words. He had been an Academy student for a couple of 
 years, and had very nearly got a medal. He had attended the 
 painting schools and learned a new system of painting flesh every 
 month, as each new visitor came. Whatever innate ideas on the 
 subject of oil-painting he possessed, had been disorganised and 
 carefully thrown out of gear by the want of unanimity, or presence 
 of pluranimity, in his instructors. But he had been an attentive 
 student according to his lights, and one department of his edu- 
 cation had "caught on." He had profited by his anatomical 
 lectures and demonstrations on dead and live corpses perhaps 
 because he really had more turn for such studies than for the 
 Arts, for which his capacity was doubtful, and his bias probably 
 imaginary. 
 
 Therefore, when Mr. Haycroft produced the alleged bones of 
 cats, he at once detected the mistake. He was perfectly familiar 
 with the human skeleton, and at once saw that if these were not 
 man's bones, they were monkeys'. Probably the latter, thought 
 Charles. Because people don't bury deceased persons under floors 
 in laundries. Perhaps the recent occurrence at No. 40 made it 
 seem unlikely that a murder should have taken place there and 
 been concealed. Didn't seem likely, did it, that anything of that 
 sort should occur twice in the same house? So Charles decided 
 on the monkey. Howeveir, he would be seeing Johnson, and would
 
 96 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 ask him. He felt pretty certain lie would soon see Johnson, and 
 he was right. 
 
 When he got home he found that his mother had tickets for an 
 interesting Lecture. The subject was (as reported by himself to 
 Peggy) "Anticipation in its Relation to Realisation." But then 
 he was not always to be trusted. Peggy had a slight face-ache and 
 the night-air might do harm, so she thought she wouldn't come, 
 Charles remarked that she didn't look very bad, but perhaps it was 
 as well to be on the safe side. He would take his mother to the 
 Lecture. For he was always a good son, was Charles. Now on this 
 same evening his father (according to him) had to dine with the 
 Cashmongers' Company, and Robin and Ellen were going to help 
 at a big children's party with Miss Petherington the governess. 
 "You'll be very dull all by yourself," said Charles to his sister, as 
 he and his mother departed. "No I shan't," said she, "I've got to 
 finish 'The Mill on the Floss.' " 
 
 When Charles and his mother got home again, at about eleven 
 o'clock, none of the absentees had returned, and there was a gentle- 
 man in the drawing-room with Miss Heath. Thus Phillimore be- 
 lieved ; he was reluctant to admit knowledge of the gentleman's 
 identity Thomas had shown him up. But the drawing-room was 
 empty. Phillimore then confided to his mistress that he thought 
 it possible that Miss Heath and the gentleman had stepped out 
 into the garden. "It must be your cousin Frank, Charley," said 
 Mrs. Heath, and opened a letter and read it, and then went on, 
 some time after "Hadn't you better get them in ? She'll make her 
 face worse" and then opened another letter and said oh dear! 
 the Selvidges couldn't come. Phillimore's back, as he manipulated 
 blinds and shutters, was fraught with reticence and discretion. 
 But, for all that, he had just said to himself, as so old a retainer 
 could speak freely and confidingly to so respectable a butler: 
 "Cousin Frank, indeed!" 
 
 Charles walked out into the big garden that is neither at the 
 back nor the front of the big houses, but is a typical nondescript, 
 common to all of them. It was a glorious July night with a nearly 
 full moon, conscious of a flaw from London smoke, for which one 
 might, if one chose, have imagined the murmur of the traffic to be 
 a long-sustained apology. An insufficient apology but any con- 
 trition is better than none. So thought Charles as he lighted a 
 cigar and sauntered along in what he thought the best direction 
 to take. He came upon Dr. Johnson and Peggy in a quiet part 
 of the garden, and was no more surprised at finding who the gen- 
 tleman was than you will be at his sudden appearance in the narra-
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 97 
 
 tive, if you have been keeping an observant eye upon it. He, 
 however, was surprised but it was a very flaccid form of surprise 
 that Peggy and her companion were walking towards him appa- 
 rently saying nothing. Also that the young doctor seemed grave 
 downcast perhaps? Peggy seemed to think her brother wanted an 
 explanation of something, which was not the case. What she said 
 was, "I had something I wanted to say to Dr. Johnson, so we came 
 out here." But her manner distinctly added, "I don't want to be 
 asked questions now I will tell you some time." Charles did not 
 see what the saying could have been that could make the coming 
 out necessary, but he held his peace, and behaved discreetly. 
 
 They rejoined Mrs. Heath in the drawing-room. That lady's 
 demeanour, on seeing that it wasn't Cousin Frank, was one of fore- 
 bearance under suppressed astonishment. She could wait. Mean- 
 while, courtesy ! But of course without a suggestion that there was 
 any reason why Peggy should not take Dr. Johnson for a walk in 
 the garden. Nevertheless, her daughter understood something from 
 her way of not suggesting it that made her say, at a moment when 
 Charles was taking the doctor's attention off "I know, Mamma; 
 I wanted to talk to Dr. Johnson, so I took him in the garden. . . . 
 Oh, my face-ache? That's gone." 
 
 "What do you make of 'em, Johnson?" said Charles. "What's 
 the verdict?" He was showing the bones from No. 40. 
 
 "Are they off your skeleton?" for Charles had an articulated 
 one, at the studio. 
 
 "Never you mind what they're off! What do you make of 
 them?" 
 
 "I want to know where you got them." 
 
 "Shan't tell ! I want to know what they are." . 
 
 "The bones of a woman's or a boy's instep hardly large enough 
 for a full-grown man's. I should say a woman's." 
 
 "Metatarsals that's right, isn't it?" Charles trots out his little 
 bit of scientific nomenclature is even inclined to cavil a little at 
 his friend for calling them loosely bones of the instep. What is 
 an instep, exactly ? However, Charles tells the whole story. 
 
 "That is a most extraordinary and ill-fated house," says the doc- 
 tor. "What o'clock shall you be there to-morrow?" 
 
 "Why? Do you think it's a murder?" The attention of the two 
 ladies is caught by the word, and they have to be taken into 
 counsel. But the doctor isn't inclined to jump at murder. "More 
 likely," says he, "medical students' or artists' skeletons. These 
 alarms are very common. But if the floor is an old floor hm! 
 What o'clock shall you be there, Heath ?" And ten o'clock is fixed
 
 98 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 for next day the objective of the movement being a further ex- 
 amination of the ground in the vault possibly not easy of attain- 
 ment, as it will involve undoing some bricklayers' work, always a 
 troublesome affair, requiring tact and force of authority combined. 
 
 As Dr. Johnson said good-night to Peggy, Charles caught some 
 words that made him say to himself: "Oh, well! I suppose I shall 
 hear all about it some of these days " He was a little inquisi- 
 tive, but could quite well wait, as brothers can wait, and do, when 
 their sisters' affairs are concerned. It isn't that they are really 
 indifferent about their welfare, so much as that it is impossible 
 for us men to take these things au grand serieux. However, even 
 if Charles had heard every word, he wouldn't have been much the 
 wiser. This was the conversation: 
 
 "Now, Dr. Johnson, you'll have to forgive me! You must for- 
 give me ! I said it all for your own good " 
 
 "What can I do to show that I forgive you?" 
 
 "Be a reasonable man. Go on coming to see us to see me, if 
 you like to put it so. Be my friend. Only do be sensible, and put 
 nonsensical ideas out of your head about " 
 
 "I understand. I can't. Good-night." 
 
 This was every word, and Charles would not have been much the 
 wiser for hearing it. Of course he knew that, during the past four 
 months, the young medico had been a very frequent visitor at the 
 house. We know this now, and being much more sagacious than 
 Charles was in matters of this sort, we infer a great deal about that 
 interval. We see in it a young man of good abilities and fault- 
 less antecedents, decidedly handsome and a great favourite with 
 his friends but, if you please, in a high fever; to all intents and 
 purposes, mad. Like so many lunatics he is singularly able to 
 counterfeit sanity indeed if it were not for an occasional pre- 
 occupation you would notice nothing in the least abnormal. But 
 could you see into his mind you would be struck first by an ex- 
 traordinary rapport that seems to exist between him and Hyde Park 
 Gardens. To you, no doubt, as to ourselves, these Gardens are a 
 splendid residential property overlooking Hyde Park, a few min- 
 utes' walk from the Marble Arch, and so forth. To this young doc- 
 tor they are the Hub of the Universe the centre pivot on which 
 all other created things revolve. Streets that lead neither to nor 
 from Hyde Park Gardens are stale, flat, unprofitable thorough- 
 fares; those that lead there are glorified, considered as approaches 
 to Hyde Park Gardens, but sinister in so far as they go in the 
 opposite direction. You would find that whatever he may be
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 99 
 
 employed on, whether he is writing a prescription or using a 
 stethoscope, he always has in his own mind an image of himself 
 in his relation to Hyde Park Gardens. He always locates himself 
 mentally as east, west, north, or south of Hyde Park Gardens. He 
 appears to himself to be mysteriously connected with it by a wire- 
 less current, but he is not able to express it so, as such currents 
 are not yet discovered or invented. If you add to this that he 
 sleeps badly, owing to the influence of this current; that he has 
 an almost idiotic habit of re-reading a few notes Peggy has written 
 him, relating to coming to dinner, and so forth; and that when he 
 comes, as may happen, on the word Margaret, or the word Heath, 
 in print, in any connection, he becomes as it were transfixed and 
 remains gazing at the magic letters until workaday life jogs him 
 and reminds him that really this won't do if you ascribe to him all 
 these qualities and attributes, you will not have an unduly exag- 
 gerated picture in your mind of what he had become through 
 not refusing to see Charles Heath's sister when Charles proposed 
 to bring her in to talk about Alice's mother. Of course had he 
 been a prophet, and a prudent one, he would have asked Charles 
 to keep her out of the room; or, when she came in, would have 
 shut his eyes tight and stopped his ears. It was too late now. 
 The face of her had come into his heart, and her voice into his 
 ears, and both had come to stay.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OP THE DISTRICT SURVEYOR. OF THE NEW KILN-FOUNDATION AND WHAT 
 WAS FOUND IN IT. OF ALICE'S FATHER'S DREAM. HOW ABOUT THE 
 LADY WITH THE SPOTS? OF MISS PEGGY'S ADORERS 
 
 WHEN Dr. Johnson arrived at No. 40 at ten o'clock next morn- 
 ing, excitement was already turbulent in the ground floor and base- 
 ment. He went straight to the Studio, where Charles and Jeff 
 were reviewing the position, and heard from them that Pope & 
 Chappell were bristling with indignation at the idea of having 
 to move a single footing in order to dig up a mine of dog's bones, 
 just on the word of mere anatomists ! Haycrof t was furious, espe- 
 cially as he had liberally surrendered cat's bones, for strategical 
 purposes, and adopted the King Charles Spaniel; and then, here 
 you were, asking him to change again, and make it man's bones! 
 He hated being minced about; and as for undoin' finished brick- 
 work, it went against him. "Take it all down of course, if you 
 like!" he said, "but not if you listen to me you won't do any such 
 thing!" And went on to point out that if we gave way to the 
 weakness of paying attention to persons, circumstances, or things, 
 there never wouldn't anything get done. However, we were to go 
 our own way HE wouldn't say anything 1 
 
 "They are all in a fine stew downstairs, I can tell you," said 
 Charles. "Haycroft, I believe, is laying bricks at a reckless rate in 
 order to make it more difficult to decide on undoing it. Pope is in 
 favour of consulting a lawyer goodness knows on what line! 
 Chappell, as far as I understand him, thinks the bones are too 
 small to be worth making a fuss about. Besides, if it was a mur- 
 der, it must have been such a long time ago ! He seems to believe 
 in some Statute of Limitations. If you kill a sufficiently small 
 person, and then wait long enough, it don't count !" 
 
 "I see," said the doctor, "but shall we go down and talk to them ?" 
 Accordingly, down they went; but into the office, not feeling they 
 would be welcome, necessarily, elsewhere. 
 
 In the office, prolonged discussion. The attitude of Pope, that 
 meddlin' was contrary to his own nature, that his ancestors had 
 been strangers to it, and that he never could abide it in others. 
 
 100
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 101 
 
 Of Chappell, that we had very little to go on, as really the bones 
 were quite insignificant; not as though it had been a whole foot, 
 in which case he would at once have advocated a further search. 
 But he thought a line should be drawn. These bones might have 
 got there by the merest accident. And it was not only the cost 
 of taking down and rebuilding, but the delay in the completion of 
 the kiln. The castings were invoiced from the foundry in fact 
 were on the way now and we were losing money every day from 
 the delay in the construction of this kiln. Surely Mr. Heath and 
 Dr. Johnson would not think us bound to throw our work back 
 on the strength of these miserable little bones! Chappell's con- 
 tempt for the bones was beyond his powers of language. 
 
 Charles was most contrite about his own share in the matter, as 
 far as it occasioned disturbance and trouble to the Firm. He 
 could not allow them to be put to any cost, as really had it not 
 been for him, the question would not have been raised he would 
 willingly cover the expenses involved. This conciliated Pope. 
 As for Mr. Jeff he chorused approval of everything that sounded 
 plausible, and said that that was his idea ! 
 
 Dr. Johnson's contribution to the discussion was the important 
 one. He couldn't say for certain what the legal obligation was on 
 a medical man (or any one else) to whose knowledge the discovery 
 of a human bone came. If a complete skeleton were found buried 
 from which the integuments had evidently fallen away by decay, 
 the duty of immediately communicating with the authorities was 
 obvious. But if the police were sent for every time a human 
 bone turned up, life wouldn't be worth living in lodgings which 
 medical students or artists had occupied. It must depend on cir- 
 cumstances. Perhaps this time it was all a fuss about nothing. 
 (Chappell looked consoled. Pope nodded the nod that has said so 
 all along.) After all, we really didn't know who had lived in the 
 house an Egyptologist perhaps, and some bits of mummies had 
 got mislaid. (This theory was almost noisily welcomed, and every 
 one laid claim to having thought of it.) Might we go down and 
 look at the place? But it seemed it was all covered in now, and 
 we shouldn't be any the wiser. Well then, might Dr. Johnson 
 personally hear the account of the first finding of the bones from 
 the bricklayers? Certainly. 
 
 Mr. Haycroft's account amounted to a denial of having seen 
 anything whatever himself, the bones having been picked up out 
 of the hole by the young man, known as Greasy; but really Tod- 
 hunter, if you came to that. He had gone off the job yesterday 
 evening, owing to words. Could he be got at? Well of course it
 
 102 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 would be easy enough to send for him, provided you knew his 
 address nothing easier! But Mr. Haycroft didn't know his 
 address, unfortunately. "There's his family," he added, "only, of 
 course, they live down in Worcestershire." In short, Mr. Hay- 
 croft had made up his mind to obstruction, and we really had to 
 choose between going to the authorities with a tale of suspected 
 foul play, on the strength of two detached metatarsal bones, or let- 
 ting the matter alone. 
 
 "I should think twice about it before making a rumpus, Heath," 
 said Johnson. "We shall look very foolish if the story falls 
 through, for any reason. Besides, they wouldn't turn the Coroner 
 on again (to the best of my belief) about an affair that might 
 easily belong to last century." 
 
 "Well then," said Charles, "I vote we let it alone." And Hay- 
 croft went back to work triumphant, and in a few days was ready 
 to connect his new block of brickwork with the flue the tom-cat 
 had run up and never come down. 
 
 But, alas, for the uncertainty of things! Tribulation, as Uncle 
 Remus says, is waiting round the corner for all of us, and in this 
 case sad trouble awaited Pope & Chappell. For there is in Lon- 
 don an awful Functionary, called the District Surveyor, and it is 
 written that without his sanction no brick shall be laid. No mat- 
 ter whether it is a portion of a building in the ordinary sense of the 
 word or not, a notice has to be given to him, and then he will 
 inspect you, and finally measure up your premises, and charge a 
 fee according to their area. Pope & Chappell had not, sad to 
 say, made any communication about their new kiln with their 
 motives we have nothing to do. They were legally in the wrong 
 in this omission, though of course a cube of solid brickwork six 
 feet high is not a building at all, and therefore ought to be free 
 of the Building Act. 
 
 Now had it not been for the incident of the bones, Mr. Hay- 
 croft would not have had words with Greasy and sacked him off the 
 job. For that was what had happened. And these "words" had 
 been artificially fostered with a view to the sacking of Greasy, 
 which had actually been determined on by Mr. Haycroft the mo- 
 ment he suspected that a search might be instituted for more bones, 
 under his footings. After all, the evidence turned on his testi- 
 mony, and Greasy's. Left to himself, he could lie as he liked. 
 There was security in loneliness. Therefore, Greasy was sacked, 
 on pretence of words, and another young man put on the job. 
 
 Greasy got another job, on a chimney-stack at No. 26. This job 
 was at loggerheads with the Surveyor; and acting from informa-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT . 103 
 
 tion brought by Greasy, twitted the Surveyor with unfairly wink- 
 ing at serious irregularity at No. 40, and bearing hard on mere 
 errors of form at No. 26. "What job at No. 40 ?" said the Surveyor, 
 in the person of his clerk. "We've no job going on at 40, up at 
 the office." "Ask him !" said the job at 26, nodding over its shoulder 
 at Greasy. And so it fell out that a few days after Charles and 
 Johnson had the interview we have recorded above, the Surveyor, 
 in propria persona, descended in wrath on No. 40, and walked 
 straight into the vault without so much as asking leave. 
 
 The remainder of the story is sad. Let us shorten it. Pope & 
 Chappell were summoned before the magistrate for contravention 
 of the Building Act. They were fined and admonished, and the 
 structure itself condemned as irregular, having two courses of 
 footings instead of three. Its owners were in despair; but there 
 was nothing for it. Down it had to come and down it came. 
 Haycroft said it was enough to make a man take pison, but he 
 only took an extra pint of beer, which he did not account as poison- 
 ous, but the reverse. 
 
 "Think of all them bats cut to waste !" he said. Because when- 
 ever he wanted a bat or closure he always cut a whole brick, and 
 therefore regarded them as waste when once thrown aside. But 
 what must be must, and however reluctantly Mr. Haycroft 
 started on the afternoon of the magisterial decision to undo all 
 his work, and clean off the bricks for a fresh start. 
 
 "I'm sure," said Charles, an hour or so later, to Pope and Chap- 
 pell, "no one can be more sorry than I am for whatever share I 
 had in it. And you really must allow me to do what I can to make 
 up for it " And was going on to propose that he should con- 
 tribute, in a princely fashion (as one does when one's father is 
 a reckless cheque-writer), to the expenses incurred, when Chap- 
 pell interposed (rather to Pope's disgust, Charles thought) and 
 said, with more vitality than he usually showed, that that wouldn't 
 be at all fair, as really the bone business had nothing to do with the 
 number of footings. 
 
 "On the other 'and, Mr. Chappell," said Pope, "the number of 
 footins bad nothin' to do with the slatin' we've got over it. What 
 this Official 'Umbug really objected to was that he was losin' a 
 fifteen-shillin' fee. Do you suppose he'd not have passed those 
 footins if he'd had notice? He's been slatin' us to keep up his 
 salary. That's what we've been slated for! And do you suppose 
 that magistrate feller won't get his commission off the job? Of 
 course he will! I know 'em. They're all alike. 'Appen to know 
 the expression 'fishy,' Mr. 'Eath? Meanin' untrustworthy, doubt-
 
 104 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 f ul, unreliable. Well of course you do ! But you don't know the 
 entomology of it ? It's short for official, that's what it is." Charles 
 hadn't known this; and Mr. Pope continued, as a relief to his feel- 
 ings : "But I'm havin' my revenge on him 1 See this 'ead I'm paint- 
 in'? Well I'm makin' it as like that District Surveyor as ever 
 I can get it." Charles said he'd been looking at it, and won- 
 dering who it was so like, and now he saw, and it was quite 
 wonderful ! 
 
 "'Ead of Judas Iscariot. I like the idear !" And Mr. Pope was 
 evidently very happy about it. "Come in !" 
 
 "Beggin' your pardon for knockin' " It was Haycroft who 
 
 had done so, seeking an interview. "Excusin' the interruption. 
 Along of that heikth I mentioned to you, Mr. Chappell " 
 
 "Oh yes!" said Chappell, "Haycroft thinks the kiln would have 
 been such a lot better with a few inches more clear of the ceiling, 
 on account of the flue " 
 
 "And it ain't for me to say anything," interposed the bricklayer, 
 "but now the work's all down to the footings again we could get 
 the heikth by taking out a bit more ground." 
 
 Pope assented. "Do just as you like, Mr. Chappell," said he, 
 and went on with Judas Iscariot. Chappell said, "I'll come down 
 and have a look, Haycroft," and said good-day to Charles, and they 
 went away together. 
 
 Charles remained a short time chatting and then returned to his 
 Studio, a thing he was always doing with a fierce resolve to make 
 up for lost time. He passed a pleasant hour or so walking to and 
 from touching distance, and looking alternately at a suit of stage 
 armour and its replica in his picture, and messing the paint about 
 indecisively toning, he called it, and getting quality. He was 
 beginning to feel quite meritorious over his industry, and when 
 he recognised the footstep of Jeff descending the stairs, which 
 was the harbinger of tea (a truly Bohemian meal when it is near 
 six o'clock) he had the effrontery to pretend to himself that he was 
 sorry; and that it must be early, and that he'd no idea it was so 
 late. 
 
 The nine days' wonder of the kiln had been exhausted, and Jeff 
 and Charles had talked it over, and in and out, and up and down. 
 So the conversation turned on the Fine Arts. The two young men 
 were of different schools. Charles classified Jeff as a clever 
 chap at a small water-colour sketch, and decidedly good in 
 black and white got a very good quality in some of his work 
 shouldn't wonder if he turned out some good eaux-fortes, if 
 he stuck to it and so on. His friend on the other hand per-
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 105 
 
 ceived in Charles, with some admiration, a high-flyer Royally 
 Academical 'Is'try Mythology fine bold treatment of the human 
 figure, and so on. They had, however, a common interest the 
 permanency of pigments. But the topic, which lasted through the 
 second cup of tea, was not to be exhausted this time. For a hur- 
 ried footstep ran upstairs and a hurried tap came at the door. 
 
 "May I come in?" It was Chappell, perturbed. "Excuse my 
 running in in this way. I want to ask I thought you two gentle- 
 men had better step down if you don't mind." Oh no, we would 
 come by all means! What was it? But Mr. Chappell is out of 
 breath from running upstairs, and also has to collect himself. 
 
 "Mr. Pope thought you had better come down too while it's 
 only just uncovered." 
 
 "While what's?" Both ask the question at once. But then, 
 oddly enough, don't wait for any answer, and all go down together, 
 Mr. Pope calling out from below to ask are they coming. 
 
 They make straight for the vault, excited. Outside the door, in 
 the area, stands the bricklayer, watching for his employer's re- 
 turn. "I've not uncovered any more," he says, and Chappell 
 replies, "Yes, quite right !" And then they all go into the vault. 
 
 It has been one of those strange summer days one gets, now 
 and again, in London that make one feel what a beautiful city 
 it might be if it were not for the filth of the atmosphere, and its 
 deposits on the buildings. A wondrous afterglow is going to come 
 in the west, when the sun, now on its way to setting, has ceased 
 to bathe the world in a stupendous glory of golden flame; and 
 against that afterglow the street-lamps mean, when they are 
 lighted, to show as emerald stars. And, though the sunlight cannot 
 reach the vault at No. 40 itself, it has a strange power and faculty 
 for negotiating reflections and gleams into all dark corners and. 
 hidden ways; and such a gleam strikes in through the window 
 made of German rounds; and as the party pass inside, it illumi- 
 nates for a moment the spot where the ground is being taken out 
 afresh. And we see at once that what it shines on the thing 
 of which Haycroft has not uncovered any more is a thing that 
 sun shone on once to its delight, and has never reached till now 
 for it may be a hundred years, when this reflected ray caught 
 upon it and showed us the shadow that is left of the flowered silk 
 dress it once wore; and the substance, such as it is, of the woman 
 who once wore it. Something is left, be sure, over and above mere 
 bone, inside that stocking and that one shoe that still keeps its 
 form. And when we have carefully removed the ground that hides 
 the face on a body that seems to have been pitched headlong into
 
 106 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 an ill-dug grave, so that the feet at first sloped up and projected 
 at the ground level, we may find, as we think with shuddering 
 curiosity, some trace of that face, some record, some one little 
 thing at least that will show us what this woman was that was 
 forgotten so many years before we were born, even the oldest of us. 
 
 "They chucked her in here in a 'urry," says Haycrof t in a voice 
 fallen to the occasion, "and they never dug deep enough. That's 
 how that shoe come off. After they'd covered her in, she stuck 
 out. So they pulled off the shoe, and 'ammered the toes down, for 
 to get the bricks flush. That's how them cats'-bones we found 
 come off separate." Charles can hardly help smiling, through the 
 grisliness of the whole thing, at the sort of claim (in defence of 
 his infallibility) made by Haycroft that the bones were intrinsically 
 cats', though occurring on a human skeleton. 
 
 "Go on getting away the ground gently gently," says Chap- 
 pell. And is so solicitous for gentleness as hardly to allow of any 
 removal at all. Haycroft kneels down and slowly clears with his 
 fingers round the head, or where we expect to find the head. 
 "There's something covering over it," he says. It appears to have 
 been a lappet of the flowered silk dress, thrown back over the face 
 to hide it. Pope cannot resist the temptation to exhibitions of 
 shrewdness and insight. "You mark my words!" says he, "the 
 murderer he couldn't abide to look at it. So he just chucked up the 
 skirt to 'ide the face. Force of conscience!" And he gives short 
 nods, of superhuman sagacity. Public opinion thinks his theory 
 on the whole plausible, though premature. 
 
 "The hair's all clogged up, a sort of pickle," says Haycroft. 
 "There's a rare lot of it though. It's all in a sort of white muck." 
 Jeff suggests hair-powder. Probably right. 
 
 "Are you coming to the face, Haycroft?" It is Chappell who 
 asks the question. He is feverishly excited to see what is coming ; 
 but also bursting with caution about the means taken to arrive at 
 it. "Easy does it, Sir," says Haycroft, and goes on at his own rate. 
 
 And now it is all clear, so far as it is safe to touch it ; and Hay- 
 croft, assuming always a rather superior tone, as one professionally 
 intimate with the bowels of the earth, and not easily surprised at 
 anything that comes out of it, remarks : "It won't look so well as it 
 does now, to-morrow morning, anything like." And we others 
 accept this not because we think the speaker knows, but because 
 we have no knowledge to contradict him on. 
 
 "Are you sure there's no ring on the fingers?" asks Charles. 
 "Quite sure," is the verdict. "See 'em at once if there were. But 
 stop a bit! There was a necklace, sure enough. And the beads
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 107 
 
 are off the string, and all fell down underneath." 'TDon't you touch 
 'em, on any account," says Pope, and Haycroft answers that he 
 ain't a-touchin' of 'em. Pearls is what they are! He can see that 
 pretty plain. 
 
 How about leaving "it" for the night ? A hazy impression hangs 
 about that some one ought to stay to watch "it." This is not rea- 
 sonable, considering all the long years that "it" has been unseen 
 and forgotten. Some earth has been removed that is all the 
 difference. Speculation is afoot about possible molestations dur- 
 ing the night. How about cats? Haycroft renounces his previous 
 position about cats, and only allows that one exists the one up 
 the flue that never come down. He can be stuffed in with a sack, 
 and that'll keep him quiet enough. Rats? There ain't any, in 
 the manner of speaking. Been too many cats about ! Boys ? Well 1 
 of course you can't do anything against boys they are all- 
 powerful and all-destructive. But then they don't know! Be- 
 sides, they'll soon be in bed Haycroft will rig up the door tempory 
 on its 'inges, and he can get a small pad that'll do for a shift, 
 and see it all fast afore he goes. So all disperse, and carry 
 away, each one according to his susceptibility, more or less of 
 horror. Haycroft is probably at one end of the scale, Charles at 
 the other. The former in fact has a strong set off, in a kind of 
 sense that he has distinguished himself, though it is not so clear 
 why. It is true that he assumed the position, so to speak, of Master 
 of the Ceremonies, as soon as ever "it" made a recognisable appear- 
 ance above ground. But then, on the other hand, he had done his 
 best to keep it under, and would have succeeded but for a succes- 
 sion of accidents. He was, however, one of those strong characters 
 that go steadfastly on their way, however much they are in the 
 wrong, and snap their fingers at confutation. 
 
 Charles was, as may be imagined by whoever has read his char- 
 acter rightly in this narrative, very much impressionne, even more 
 so than with the recent suicide. In that, the whole of that occur- 
 rence had been explicable and free from mystery. It was Drink, 
 and that settled the matter. It was shocking and repulsive, but 
 it was vulgar and degraded a thing to be forgotten, not specu- 
 lated on or analysed. In this, the gruesome silence of a century, 
 more or less, since the murdered woman was thrust under ground 
 and covered in, to be seen no more the thought of the body lying 
 there unsuspected while the living world passed incessantly to 
 and fro above it the slightness of the chain of events that had 
 led to its discovery, any failure in a link of which would have left 
 the secret still unrevealed all these appealed both to feeling and
 
 108 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 imagination. And Charles was so harrowed that he felt he would 
 really be glad when he got home, altogether clear of No. 40, and 
 could relieve his mind. He could tell the story to Peggy. He was 
 so sorry for Jeff for having to stop in the place that he invited him 
 home. But Jeff didn't mind, Lord hless you! Besides, he was 
 going to the Gaiety to see Nellie Farren, with old Gorman, and 
 Charles (he pointed out) had better come too. He would be too 
 late to dress, and it would be very uncomfortable not to have a good 
 wash and a clean shirt after all that corpse. So the two young 
 men set off to meet old Gorman at Cremoncini's ; and then after a 
 merry repast, Charles cried off the play and started to walk home. 
 But he thought better of it. It was so late. He signalled to a cab 
 and as the doors shut his legs in of their own accord, he thought of 
 how he had ridden home with Alice. Rum little Alice! thought 
 he. And what a nice little party she was getting to be and how 
 she would stare at the story of the la 
 
 Charles's thought stopped with a jerk ! It stopped exactly where 
 we have stopped it, in print. And it left him with a puzzled face 
 all the way from Wardour Street tp Bond Street. Then he ap- 
 peared to pass through a phase of relief, and to breathe more 
 freely, after remarking to himself that probably it was only a 
 coincidence. 
 
 For the thing that Charles had recollected, that this time-hon- 
 oured panacea for all the Unaccountable had been invoked to coun- 
 teract, was Alice's story of the lidy with the black spots. But 
 of course it was a coincidence ! How could he be so foolish as to 
 connect the two things together? This frame of mind lasted all 
 the way to Hyde Park Street. Then it gave way to a compro- 
 mise: "An awfully queer coincidence, for all that!" But he 
 wouldn't make any suggestions when he told Peggy the story he 
 would be good and Scientific and Philosophical, and research psy- 
 chically. He should like to see how it struck Peggy when no hints 
 were given. 
 
 He was just in time to join his father and brothers on their way 
 up from the smoking-room, but he did not begin his story until his 
 audience was complete. It took some time in the telling. When 
 he had got quite to the end he was a little disconcerted at the 
 perfect calmness with which Peggy said, "Of course it's Alice's 
 lidy with the black spots." 
 
 Charles wasn't going to be caught out. Amour propre stepped 
 in. "Of course!" said he. But a trifling indecision in his voice 
 betrayed him. 
 
 "There now !" exclaimed Ellen the youngest, who was dining down
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 109 
 
 as there was no company, "I don't believe Charley thought of it 
 till just this minute. I don't! That I don't!" 
 
 "Not a bad shot for a thirteener," said Charles, who was truth- 
 fulness itself. "But I had thought of it I thought of it in the 
 cab." 
 
 "One often thinks of things in cabs," said Archibald, the eldest 
 brother. He was not considered a genius, so he had been assigned 
 a position of responsibility in his father's business. Mrs. Heath 
 always bore in mind that Archibald had been her first achievement 
 in the way of a human boy, and she felt that his intelligence ought 
 to do her credit. But when he failed to bring his ideas up to 
 concert-pitch, the end had to be attained by interpretation. On- 
 this occasion she leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed, 
 and spake as one who reflects on Philosophy internally : "I do feel 
 that is so true what Archie says" and proceeded to show grounds 
 for a belief that the human intelligence, in cabs, is enlarged and 
 expanded. She got through this without more interruption than 
 a sotto-voce from Ellen "What stuff Mamma's talking. / shan't 
 listen" and a remark from Robin that little girls should be seen, 
 not heard, followed by a riposte from Ellen "Just as if I was 
 Alice!" This is interesting, as showing that Alice was an estab- 
 lished institution. 
 
 When Mrs. Heath had done, Peggy resumed "What do you 
 really think, Charley ?" said she. 
 
 "About the ghost? Of, of course, that's an accidental coin- 
 cidence at least, I don't know what to think " 
 
 "Make your mind up !" thus Peggy, ruthlessly. 
 
 "Well really Pog! you know that kid has told us a whole 
 budget of stories about No. 40. Just look at those romances about 
 her father and the man in a .wig that was in the kitchen well ! 
 yes, of course the father may have had a touch of D. T., and that 
 story might be true. But think of that one about how the lidy with 
 the spots was dressed in the drawing-room window curtains !" 
 
 Peggy didn't look less thoughtful over this rather the con- 
 trary. But she put off what she had to say ; Mr. Heath, according 
 to his usual practice, having cut into the conversation with revival 
 of a retrospective arrear. He had heard Archie's remark about 
 the cab; and he, also, had a joint interest in the justification of 
 that young man's intelligence : 
 
 "Hey ! What's that Archie says ? Thinking in cabs, hey ! Why, 
 I do all my thinking in cabs. No time anywhere else, hey ! Who'8 
 been thinking in a cab?" But his wife was not properly grateful 
 for this rally on her behalf.
 
 1 1 o ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "It's all this nonsensical story of Charley's about something 
 they've dug up, and a ghost oh dear ! Tell your father I can't 
 
 raise my voice " And Mrs. Heath shows symptoms of syncope, 
 
 in an indecisive way. So the tale, which the august head of the 
 house had thought fit to pay no attention to when it was first told, 
 has to be gone through again, subject to jocular interruption on 
 his part, and a sense of sympathetic incredulity rising to applause 
 among the other members of the conclave. 
 
 "Hey! Well we're all mighty fine people!" Thus Mr. Heath 
 when a confused joint-stock repetition of the story comes to an 
 end, and is believed to have been heard. He goes on, with an aspect 
 of tense judicial insight, a shaken forefinger enjoining careful 
 attention. "Now, I should like to ask you just, this, one, ques- 
 tion : What was to prevent this tailor man and his wife, who don't 
 seem to have been the best of characters, from taking some of the 
 bones off your skeleton in the Studio, and burying them in the 
 vault? Hey? What do we say to that?" Whereon Robin lets 
 loose a sly perspicuous "Aha!" and the world feels that Nemesis 
 is overtaking Superstition apace. But that she is nipped in the 
 bud when Charles attests that his skeleton is a man's, and this 
 is a woman's. He cites this as the nearest conclusive plea to hand, 
 but doesn't contribute much more to the debate. . What on earth 
 could be the use of such chatter ? 
 
 Peggy said nothing whatever. She and her brother got a good 
 long talk on the terrace in the evening later, of which follow 
 extracts. Peggy resumed the ghost-story first, all the previous mat- 
 ter having related to the disinterment, the chance of public enquiry 
 throwing more light on the story, and so forth. "Well, now, 
 Charley dear," she said, "what do we really think about Alice's 
 Hdy ? Both of us, you know." 
 
 "Poggy dear I don't even know what I think myself!" 
 
 "Nor I, either! We neither of us know. But tell me more 
 about the dress. Can you see the pattern ?" 
 
 "Yes just the remains of it. Colour all gone, of course but 
 you can see that it was silk, and worked with a sort of Chinese 
 flowers " 
 
 "And was it like the Cretonne chintzes in the drawing-room ?" 
 
 "Why ? Oh yes, of course ; but I see ! Well now, that is very 
 
 queer. I didn't think of it when you spoke at dinner." 
 
 "Charley Slowboy! What a silly old man you are, Charley 
 dear ! I tell you what though ! We must make Alice-f or-short tell 
 us again about the man in a wig " 
 
 "It wasn't a thing that happened, you know. It was what her
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 111 
 
 father deamed. He deamed he deamed it, don't you remember?" 
 Charles mimicked Alice's expression, and both laughed. 
 
 "I recollect. He deamed he deamed it, and when he wiked up, 
 he told Alice. At least, when he wiked up (her pronunciation's 
 getting better now, and I'm glad) he was shiking, and he said 
 "Dood Dod, what a deam!" 
 
 "Yes and then Alice asked him " 
 
 "Alice asked him what it was, and he told her he deamed that 
 an old man in a wig had come and spoked a long, long sword 
 ever so long right f roo mother. And then he gave father over the 
 long, long sword, and said father to spoke it froo too. Oh dear, 
 how funny she was ! nodding it into us, don't you know ?" 
 
 "But first she said an old man, and then a young one and then 
 contradicted herself and got quite confused 
 
 "Well! We must make her tell it again quietly, and not upset 
 her with too many questions. She is small, you know. Besides, 
 it struck me afterwards that she didn't mean an old man at all, 
 but an old-fashioned man and couldn't find the words " 
 
 "What was the other word she used ? An old grandfather man 
 did she mean an ancestral bloke? I say, Poggy!" 
 
 "You say what?" 
 
 "Well it's another subject. But I should like to know " 
 
 "What would you like to know, dear silly old boy?" At this 
 point of the conversation, figure to yourself that Charles is smok- 
 ing on a divided garden seat in the waning moonlight (for the 
 moon is still there that saw the first discovery of the bones), while 
 Peggy leans over from the other half to ruffle his hair for him, by 
 request. He likes it. "You really must get a sweetheart to ruffle 
 your hair for you, you old goose," says she, and the conversation 
 continues. 
 
 "What should I like to know? Why what did you say to poor 
 Johnson that he got so upset about that evening about a fort- 
 night ten days back? He didn't make you an offer, did 
 he?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Peggy is a little agacee. Her brother feels it in the 
 hand that is ruffling his hair for him. 
 
 "Oh dear, no! He would have gone on for months for years 
 perhaps, without doing that. But " 
 
 "Yes but ?" 
 
 "But he would have gone on." 
 
 "But gone on how ? It always seems to me he's such a very good 
 sort of chap at behaving steady sort of cuss. How do you mean 
 gone on?"
 
 1 1 2 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 "Oh, Charley boy! You are an old stupid. Gone on adoring-, 
 of course ! But I believe you're only pretending " 
 
 "I was half-pretending. I wanted to put it on a footing. Don't 
 you see you might have been refusing to take peptone, or let him 
 listen to your chest, or something of that sort ?" 
 
 "I've got nothing the matter, and I wouldn't let him doctor me, 
 if I had. I should like a much more callous physician a cold- 
 blooded card." 
 
 "Keep to the point, Foggy- Woggy! What did you say to him 
 that upset him so?" 
 
 "What many girls would like to say to many men only they 
 dare not, in case they should find themselves mistaken and look 
 foolish. Exactly what I wanted to say to him was, 'Don't get too 
 fond of me, because I won't marry you!' only I couldn't put it 
 that way, now, could I, Goosey ?" 
 
 "I don't know " 
 
 "Well anyhow, I didn't! I'll tell you all about it, and then 
 you'll know. I walked him out in the garden here, and we chatted 
 about Alice and her mother. Then the conversation got round, as 
 it does sometimes. You don't want it to, but it does " 
 
 "Got round to what?" 
 
 "To that sort of thing I was speaking of. I think it was my 
 saying what a terrible thing it was to think that this man who 
 killed her must once have loved her, and what an awful thing the 
 slow death of love was. Of course I was thinking of real love. 
 Affection-love not Falling-in-love love " 
 
 "What the dooce is the difference?" Charles burst out laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "There is a difference. Well he wouldn't understand, and 
 twisted the conversation round. I don't think it was fair." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "Well perhaps it was my fault, partly. I said I supposed his 
 affection for her died a natural death as soon as she got old and 
 ugly, and was half driven mad with all those children. And that I 
 supposed it was the usual thing that while she was young and 
 pretty he was fond of her, and then as soon as she got disagreeable 
 he hated her. Then I think he should have let me change the con- 
 versation, as I wanted to, instead of " 
 
 "Instead of what?" 
 
 "Instead of getting very much in earnest about how Love that 
 could change wasn't Love at all, and that sort of nonsense " 
 
 "Poor Johnson!" 
 
 "That was just what I felt. Because I like him so much that I
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 113 
 
 can't bear the idea of his being miserable through me. So what 
 could I do, when he began going on like that ?" 
 
 "There was nothing so very much in that. Miss Petherington 
 said the same last night." 
 
 "Bother Miss Petherington ! There was lots more." 
 
 "What sort?" 
 
 "I suppose I shall have to tell you to make it understood. He 
 said, 'I know a man, Miss Heath and I know him well, so I can- 
 not be mistaken- whose feelings towards a particular woman seem 
 to him so fixed and unchangeable that he cannot conceive change 
 as a possibility, nor see by what means change could come about. 
 But I have no right to talk about him.' " 
 
 "How did you know he didn't mean somebody else ?" 
 
 "I didn't for a moment : he spoke in such a third-personish sort 
 of way. But a moment after I saw, I can't tell you how, that he 
 was speaking of himself and me. And I was so sorry for him." 
 
 "But what was it you said to him ? That's what I want to come 
 at " 
 
 "Why as soon as I could screw myself up to sticking point, I 
 said: 'Dr. Johnson, I know a woman and I know her well, so I 
 cannot be mistaken who suspects a man, a friend she likes very 
 much, of feeling towards her exactly what you describe, but she 
 knows she cannot return it cannot be his wife, in short. But she 
 does wish she could speak plainly to him, and beg him, pray him, 
 
 for her sake and his own, to put all such ideas aside ' and find 
 
 somebody else, in short ; only that wasn't how I worded it." 
 
 "Poor Johnson ! How did he take it?" 
 
 "Very well indeed but very gravely. Stuck to the allegorical 
 treatment." Peggy was half-laughing, half -crying at this point. 
 " 'Did she know some one else she cared more for ?' that was his 
 next question. 'Not that I know of,' said I. 'But you seem to 
 think I know a mighty lot about her.' 'I think you do,' said he. 
 'At any rate, I'll take your word for her' " 
 
 "Was that all?" 
 
 "No we turned to go back to the house, and just then I got 
 an attack of courage, and stopped. 'Come, Dr. Johnson,' said I 
 'don't let's have any more mystifications. You meant me and I 
 meant you. We meant each other. And remember that what I 
 said about myself, sideways, I really was in earnest about.' He 
 said, 'Do you wish me to say good-bye?' and held out his hand. 
 And I called out, 'No certainly not!' so loud that a policeman 
 looked over the railings. Then we said no more and walked up 
 to the house. And when he went away I told him I had said it all
 
 114 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 for his sake, and he mustn't miff off, like Captain Bradley and that 
 silly boy what was his name? " 
 
 "Robert Forrest? I hope he won't. Was Johnson good? Did 
 he promise not to do so any more?" Peggy gave her beautiful 
 head a long lugubrious shake, imitating Alice, with her eyebrows 
 up and eyelids dropped. 
 
 "No! Very bad," said she. "Said he couldn't change. Stuff 
 and nonsense!" 
 
 It was getting late and the moon was thinking about retiring. 
 Charles got up off the seat and tapped the tobacco out of his 
 meerschaum on it, and Peggy blew the ash away, for tidiness. 
 "Poor Johnson?" said he, "I'm sorry for Johnson. But I say, 
 Peggy " 
 
 "What, dear boy?" 
 
 "Are you quite sure ?" 
 
 "Oh yes! Quite, quite sure. I'm very fond of him all the 
 same, but that's nothing to do with it." 
 
 "You fancy you'll miss him if he shies off?" 
 
 Peggy half assented. "Well I do but perhaps in a day or 
 two " 
 
 " you might think differently. Do you ever miss Captain 
 
 Bradley?" 
 
 "Captain Bradley I The idea ! !"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 oP THE STORY OF THE BONES. A POSSIBLE CLUE. MR. VERRINDER. MR. 
 HEATH GOES TO SEE HIM. CONCERNING BEDLAM 
 
 MR. POPE and Mr. Chappell next day, as well as all the other 
 witnesses of the excavation, stood awaiting the arrival of "the 
 Authorities," to whom notice had been duly given of the discovery 
 of the remains. "I'm thinkin'," said Pope, "that this little affair 
 won't work so badly as a set off against the slatin' we've 'ad over 
 this kiln." He had a habit, when he got a new word, of making it 
 go a long way. 
 
 "How do you make that out ?" asked his partner. 
 
 "You ask Mr. 'Eath his opinion. According to my idea we shall 
 have a reg'lar benefit. Sparrowgraphs in the Press S'ciety of 
 Antiquaries Archaeologists interestin' particulars sing'lar dis- 
 covery gharstly details of sing'lar discovery identification of re- 
 mains 'cos somebody's sure to find out they're Nell Gwynne." 
 
 "She wasn't murdered " 
 
 "Well then some immoral historical female that was murdered. 
 Sure to somebody turn up !" 
 
 However, nobody did turn up. Not for want of immoral his- 
 torical females, but because none could be found to have lived in 
 the house who had also vanished and left no trace. Mr. Pope was 
 indignant with one or two dead Sirens who were said to have en- 
 joyed a doubtful reputation a curious taste on their part surely! 
 and to have earned it in that house, for not having been mur- 
 dered there. One especially would have done beautifully but alas, 
 
 instead of getting murdered she had married the Duke of , 
 
 and had sneaked out of all responsibility for authenticating these 
 remains, leaving that task to some obscure person who had possi- 
 bly been moral, and certainly historical, but had been ignomini- 
 ously lost sight of. 
 
 All that was quite clear was that these were the mortal remains 
 of a woman, probably about five-and-twenty years of age, with 
 dark hair and a great deal of it; who, being completely dressed as 
 for a ball in a flowered silk dress (whose pattern was still trace- 
 able), had been stabbed through the heart with a tremendous 
 thrust, and then hastily buried, but afterwards carefully covered 
 
 115
 
 1 ] 6 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 in by replacing the brickwork floor. The manner of the death was 
 inferred from a fracture of a rib behind the heart struck, it was 
 supposed, with great force by the point of the rapier that had 
 already passed through the body. Some of those who examined it 
 professed to see the indentation of the point upon the bone but 
 this was disputed. 
 
 What had been a letter was still identifiable in what had been 
 the bosom of the dress but it was impossible to decipher a legible 
 word now. It had been a love-letter once perhaps who could say \ 
 Think of the clear bright ink of the scratching quill of the ab- 
 sorbed successful face of the writer a hundred years ago ! as he 
 thought to himself how well he had said that, and wondered what 
 manner of answer he was going to get. But perhaps it was only 
 a receipt for cookery, or an invitation to tea. Now, the blood-stain 
 had usurped the ink, and there was an end of it ! 
 
 The jewels had all been removed, except the pearl necklace, which 
 was claimed partly by the landlord of the estate, and partly by the 
 Crown as treasure trove. The last claim failed on some technical 
 count, and half the pearls were adjudged to the finder. It being 
 impossible to determine who he was, the proceeds of its sale were 
 by common consent given to a Hospital. 
 
 The ground surrounding what had been taken out was all virgin 
 soil, and was identified by Haycroft as similar to some he had 
 cleared out of an arched recess near the staircase. Some of this 
 had been scraped out recently, he thought, as there was the matter 
 of a few shovelfuls under the stairs. He pointed out that probably 
 the murderer, feeling uneasy about the thrown-up soil in the vault, 
 had removed it to this recess, and packed it in flush with a sort 
 of parapet across the lower part: "There was a beer-cask stood 
 in there," said this theorist. "Leanin' it was on the parapet in 
 front like and he could shovel in the sile and flush it off under- 
 neath so nobody'd ever notice it hadn't always been there." And 
 the theory was accepted and adopted to the great gratification of 
 its author. 
 
 Neither Charles nor Jeff felt the least bound to volunteer infor- 
 mation about the jug, being asked no questions. Besides it wasn't 
 clear it had anything to do with the matter. They brought it 
 down (it was beautifully mended) into Charles's Studio to smoke 
 over it, and reflect and speculate. 
 
 "You see how it was, Jeff ?" said Charles. "It was the beer-jug, 
 and was placed inside the safe recess by somebody and lost sight 
 of. Then this murdering character came, and chucked in all that 
 loam, or sand, as Haycroft said, and covered it in "
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 1 1 7 
 
 "But, I say, Charley ! What set Goody Peppermint and her hus- 
 band to grobble up that stuff? They didn't know there was a jug 
 there." 
 
 "Of course they didn't, stoopid ! But they were caretakers. The 
 first instinct of a caretaker is the appropriation of the uninven- 
 toried. The second is its realisation, so called, at the pawnshop. 
 They kept the jug in this case, because they thought it of no value." 
 
 "That was a mistake ! Just look at it ! " 
 
 "They got a good haul out of it, though. I expect that ring's 
 worth money." For Charles had told Jeff all about the ring. 
 "It's to be kept for the kid. But why it should be in the jug 
 beats me. I give it up !" 
 
 And everybody gave it up. Many made rash starts in conver- 
 sational efforts to clear up this mystery, but had always to climb 
 down in the end. Perhaps the weak theories were more interesting 
 than the sounder ones, as showing the effect on feeble minds of 
 attempts to grapple with the insoluble. As, for instance, that the 
 ring had fallen into the beer. This was Archibald's, but he de- 
 clined to enlarge upon it, feeling no doubt that it was safest in 
 its unadorned simplicity. Then there was Partridge's, who 
 ascribed it to the "goings-on" of the "girls" and their young men, 
 but also cautiously avoided detail. Eobin reduced speculation to 
 its most elementary form, by merely shutting one eye, and saying 
 that we should see we should find that there was some very queer 
 story attached to it. Mrs. Heath preferred to indicate, by subtle- 
 ties of manner, that she could see through the whole thing, quite 
 easily, but that it would not admit of general discussion, especially 
 among young persons. "I'll tell you after" describes her attitude. 
 Her husband suggested ponderous and exhaustive conclusion, re- 
 tained from motives of a magisterial nature; but only committed 
 himself so far as to say that, if the affair were put in the hands 
 of the Criminal Investigation Department, he had no doubt the 
 heads thereof would give a good account of the matter. 
 
 Charles and Peggy both thought the only surmise worth a straw 
 was Ellen's; that there was a magpie in the house. This acquired 
 so definite a status, as to be spoken of as "the Magpie theory." 
 It might have been the true one, but it wasn't. 
 
 How often a clue to an old-world story must be lost sight of 
 through its never coming to those who seek it that some survivor 
 could supply the link that is wanted ! Often and often there must 
 linger in some brain, near a century old, of some forgotten human 
 relic some tenant of an Almshouse or Workhouse, or maybe Mad-
 
 118 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 house or Gaol some memory of earliest childhood, some spoken 
 word from lips, as old as his or hers are now, that would throw 
 a light on what must remain in darkness for all time, except that 
 word be uttered again to ears that will listen, and minds that will 
 record. What may not be lost, now and again, in the garrulities of 
 extreme old age, shouted down by the vigorous surrounding life, 
 that only cares for now? We slight and discard the recollections of 
 the Rip Van Vinkles we have about us, every day, because the 
 Kaatskill Mountain into which they disappeared from the village 
 of Childhood was the World of active life itself? They have come 
 back now, and Hendrick Hudson and his game of bowls is van- 
 ishing from them; and the village street comes back. And they 
 see again the old old folk that were there that are long gone now 
 and can maybe hear what they say! And when they try to tell, 
 we say "Oh, bother!" 
 
 Well! That's the sort of answer they get very often. And we 
 lose a great deal by it. 
 
 No centenarian turned up to throw a light on the mystery of 
 No. 40. But a good deal of tradition is to be got from lesser 
 veterans. The Chelsea Pensioner who wasn't at Chillianwallah 
 himself can find you names on its monumental column of those 
 who were comrades in arms of old friends now dead who were 
 there, and told him all about it. And the Art-Student of sixty- 
 odd, whom Charles made acquaintance with at the Royal Academy 
 schools, was a lesser veteran of this sort. He was a strange con- 
 necting link with the past, a life-student of the schools, dating 
 back almost if not quite to the days of Fuseli. His name occurs at 
 the corner of copperplate illustrations of the days of our Grand- 
 mothers the grandmothers I mean of us old ones your great- 
 grandmothers, dear boys and girls! Instances of female beauty 
 called variably Belinda, Zoe, Fanny, and Gaiety, Tenderness, Coy- 
 ness, and so forth, show the signature J. W. Verrinder, and one 
 or two illustrated works of the time of the Peninsular War were 
 contributed to by the same hand. By what slow decadence the 
 unhappy artist had dwindled to his present position, Heaven only 
 knew! But there he was, a perpetual life-student, who so far as 
 Charles could ascertain had never completed a drawing or a study 
 since the one that had won him his medal and gained him his 
 position, early in the century. Since then so it was said among 
 the students old Verrinder had pursued exactly the same course in 
 the painting school. As soon as the sitting of each model came 
 to an end he would wipe out the work he had done with turpentine 
 and begin another on the same canvas. The polished condition
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 119 
 
 of that canvas may be imagined. But Charles felt that most prob- 
 ably the man, as he now saw him, was at the end of a slow degrin- 
 golade, and that thirty years ago things were different. He had 
 always (and had always had, said tradition) the same clothes, 
 and the same indifference to soap and water. An impudent youth 
 once said to him, "Why do you never wash yourself?" and he 
 replied, "Why should I?" and then added, "If you were me, you 
 wouldn't." But he used to shave, or be shaved. It was alleged that 
 he had never had any lunch since he gave up making chalk draw- 
 ings, when he used to eat the crust of a twopenny loaf, preserving 
 the crumb for erasure. He must have bought new tubes of colour 
 sometimes, as he couldn't use them twice over : but no one had ever 
 seen a new colour-tube nor a new brush in his possession. He 
 was always at the end of his tubes, but always able to get a very 
 little more out of them. However, he supplied himself by borrow- 
 ings. He used to retreat rapidly from his picture as though to get 
 its effect from afar, and then suddenly swinging round, pounce on 
 a neighbour with "Half-a-squeeze of Indian Red!" or whatever 
 colour he wanted always too sudden an appeal to be resisted. 
 
 Charles, always reckless about his colourman's bills, had, at this 
 time, just laid in a huge stock. So magnificent a collection of ma- 
 terial as his box contained was rarely to be seen in the painting 
 school, and of course it attracted attention. This took the form 
 of examination and condemnation of its contents, on the ground 
 of the superfluity of each to any reasonable artist. 
 
 "What do you want with Chrome, No. 2 ?" 
 
 "What do you want with Malachite Green?" 
 
 "What do you want with Cologne Earth ?" 
 
 And so on through some three dozen tubes, of which not one 
 received unanimous sanction, except Raw Umber and Flake White. 
 Each was condemned in turn as unnecessary to a serious artist, and 
 most were censured as not being permanent. Among these, 
 Asphaltum came in for universal condemnation. Just as it was 
 under review, Verrinder charged backwards the whole width of 
 the room, and arrived at the group round Charles's box in time to 
 overhear some scathing remark about it. He caught at it. 
 
 "Asphaltum not permanent? Ho! Ho! Wish I was as per- 
 manent as Asphaltum " 
 
 "Field says frequent destruction awaits the work on which it is 
 much employed " 
 
 "All humbug!" 
 
 " owing to its disposition to contract and crack by changes of 
 
 temperature "
 
 120 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Got any there? Three tubes? Take 'em all and pay you next 
 wee k " 
 
 But Charles was much too princely for this sort of thing. He 
 immediately pressed the three tubes on Mr. Verrinder, whose eyes 
 gleamed with joy as he grasped them. "You re a gentleman," said 
 he, and then rushed back to his picture. Charles had no further 
 conversation with him then, but some weeks after when he was 
 painting close to him from a Turk who had been captured and 
 brought in to sit as a model, Verrinder turned round and said 
 abruptly : 
 
 "I haven't forgotten you gave me three tubes of Asphaltum. 
 You're a gentleman!" And then showed signs of another long 
 retirement. But after he appeared to have gone for good, he sud- 
 denly came back and exclaimed: "Three tubes of Asphaltum! My 
 God!" 
 
 "I've got more colours than 1 want," said Charles; "isn't there 
 some other you could use ?" But Verrinder shut his lips tight and 
 glared, and shook his head with extreme rapidity. 
 
 "No-no-no-no-no-no-no!" said he, almost in one word. "I'm 
 not that sort! But you're a gentleman. There's but a very few 
 left, nowadays. They're all Feejee Injuns." His mispronouncing 
 of a word or two did not seem to be from want of education. 
 "Injuns" might have been jocularity a word spoken quotation- 
 wise. 
 
 Charles was getting his own canvas into a terrible mess, owing 
 to the Visitor suggesting he should use Prussian Blue in the flesh, 
 so he made no answer, hoping Verrinder would die down. But he 
 didn't 
 
 "Feejee Injuns, all of 'em! The profession's gone to the Devil. 
 But don't you give away your colours too freely. Maybe there'll 
 come a time when you'll wish you'd kept some of 'em." This 
 attitude took the edge off his reluctance to accept a further dona- 
 tion in fact, seemed to make it difficult not to offer more. Charles 
 did so, and said he really had too many. 
 
 "No-no-no-no-no!" said Verrinder again. "I'm not that sort. 
 
 But look at my box ! I'll tell you something " Charles looked 
 
 at the cumbrous contrivance of trays and recesses, so blotched and 
 hidden with colour-squeezes and coagulated oil and varnish that 
 it was hard to say if it was wood or metal. He decided it was 
 metal, not japanned. Verrinder contined: "That's my new box! 
 You wouldn't think it, but it is ! My old box is at home forty-five 
 years!" He made a periodical retreat, knocking down an easel by 
 the way, and setting it up again as he returned.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 121 
 
 "My old box was Eeeves & Inwood, Cheapside. It hadn't tubes 
 in it. Little bladders of colour " 
 
 "I suppose you bought it second-hand?" 
 
 "I didn't buy it. It was given to me. Ah deary me, yes ! It was 
 given to me." And he became silent just as Charles was begin- 
 ning to feel an interest. He tried to make him begin again, by 
 little hints and suggestions, but these failed. He remained silent; 
 but next time the model was sitting, he addressed Charles sud- 
 denly, "You're the young man that's taken the big Studio," and 
 then went on to give the street and the number of the house. He 
 ended with an inflexible laugh "Ho! Ho!" and was rather an 
 annoyance to Charles, who, to say the truth, now wished he had 
 provided himself with a humbler workshop. He said something 
 in that sense to Verrinder, and added, "I daresay you were laugh- 
 ing at me for taking a great big place out of all proportion to my 
 abilities to use it." 
 
 "Laughing at you!" was his reply. "No no! I wouldn't do 
 that ! not the man to. Didn't you give me three tubes of Asphal- 
 tum ? No no ! I was laughing to think how near fifty years it is 
 since I was last in that Studio." An inflection towards seriousness 
 came in the voice, but vanished immediately. "It wasn't a Studio 
 then only a room. The high window was carried up a bit later." 
 
 "Who was it occupied it then, if one may ask?" Charles was 
 getting very curious, but was afraid he might by some blunder 
 check the flow of information. Verrinder seemed to be ready 
 enough to talk though, having once begun. He mentioned the 
 name of a well-known portrait painter of the beginning of the 
 century and added, "It was he put in the high window. But 
 that was after he turned me out." 
 
 "Had you half the Studio then?" Charles was puzzled. 
 
 "No it wasn't that way at all. I was his assistant sort of 
 pupil used to paint on backgrounds curtains bits of furniture 
 pedestals with urns on 'em. He gave me my old box. Some of 
 the bladders in it were very old, and had been given him by, who do 
 you think ? " Charles gave it up. 
 
 "Joshua Reynolds himself! There now!" And Verrinder, hav- 
 ing successfully surprised his hearer, went on one of his back- 
 ward voyages. When he returned Charles asked him why his 
 master, or employer, had turned him out. 
 
 "Too much company!" said he. "Ask me that when the Feejee 
 Injuns have gone." 
 
 In the course of time the Indians dispersed, leaving only 
 Charles and Verrinder and a negative young man touching up his
 
 12 2 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 Turk. It was a few days before the closing of the Academy Exhi- 
 bition, and the place was the dome of the Trafalgar Square Build- 
 ing, where the Academy still lived, in those days, though the time 
 for its departure to Burlington House was approaching. The 
 Exhibition was open, the antique school broken up ; and the paint- 
 ing school and Life school proper had gone upstairs into what 
 the derision of that date (which we ourselves have never felt in 
 harmony with) thought proper to call Wilkins's Pepper-Castor. 
 As soon as the place was quiet, and the enemy had trooped down- 
 stairs, Verrinder resumed, still painting. Charles also went on 
 painting, as he wanted to hear. But he pretended to want to 
 paint. 
 
 "Why did * turn me out? Well! it was his own house, 
 
 held on a lease, and he had a right to. Of course he had a reason 
 thought it a good one, no doubt. I didn't. Would you like to know 
 what it was?" Charles fully expected if he gave an affirmative 
 answer to be met with "Then I shan't tell you !" But he risked it, 
 saying simply, "Yes I should very much," and was quite taken 
 aback by the directness of the reply he got. 
 
 "I made love to his daughter. That was the reason. Yes! he 
 turned me out o' the house. Forty-five years ago ! Rather more !" 
 
 Was that going to be the end of the story ? thought Charles. No, 
 not quite yet. He would talk more if you let him alone. No 
 hurry! Presently, he went on, dropping his voice, and dropping 
 what had been almost a sort of buffo manner with it. 
 
 "Yes that was over forty-five years ago! And I've never set 
 foot in that house since. Once I was passing, when the bills were 
 up; and I half thought of going in. But I thought better of it. 
 So might you have " 
 
 Charles said something about how it was always painful to go 
 back to old times, and then felt that he at his time of life had no 
 right to moralise to this man, speaking to him now of twenty 
 years before his birth. He was a dirty and poverty-stricken old 
 figure of fun to be sure, and a great laughing-stock to the thought- 
 less boys whose last footstep had just died on the stairs. He was 
 grotesque in manner, though not so in speech or very slightly. 
 He had a habit of puffing out his cheeks and throwing up his eye- 
 lids; but it did not seem to express any definite phase of mind, as 
 it would come at any time, or in any speech, and only had the 
 effect of making the speaker seem not in earnest. As he referred 
 to his past, and made his hearer feel it as a reality, he became 
 
 * This name is omitted for obvious reasons. It is that of a portrait painter 
 well known at the time.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 123 
 
 more and more a strange possible connecting link with a still older 
 bygone time. Who could say what was known of the house by its 
 occupant of fifty years ago, and of its traditions now long for- 
 gotten? Charles thought it better to talk about the house itself 
 as the most likely course to bring about revelations. He sketched 
 the present occupants, and ended up, "Of course you saw about 
 the find of bones in the vault three or four weeks ago ?" 
 
 "I see nothing nowadays. What bones? Mutton-bones?" This 
 and his puffing out his cheeks at this moment gave an appearance 
 of incredtility or ridicule. 
 
 ''No. Human bones a whole skeleton. It was in all the 
 papers " 
 
 "I never see the papers. I never see anything. Man's bones 
 or woman's bones?" 
 
 "Woman's bones." 
 
 "Was it Phyllis Cartwright?" 
 
 "How can I tell? Nobody knows who it was. All the anti- 
 quarians are trying to hunt her up, and are not getting at any- 
 thing, so far. Who was Phyllis Cartwright?" 
 
 "Haven't the slightest idea !" This was puzzling. 
 
 "Why Phyllis Cartwright then?" asked Charles. He was begin- 
 ning to think the man was not taking his words au serieux; the 
 more so because of his way of puffing his cheeks out, and raising 
 his eyelids. 
 
 "I couldn't say." 
 
 "Something must have made you think of Phyllis Cart- 
 wright " 
 
 "Something yes! Can't say what." And nothing more could 
 be got from Mr. Verrinder. But it seemed as if what he said was 
 true, and that the name Phyllis Cartwright had really suddenly 
 come into his head; he couldn't tell why! He became silent and 
 preoccupied for a time, and then suddenly saying "Why Phyllis 
 Cartwright ?" as if he had been trying for a clue to her, packed up 
 his tubes, wiped his palette, and rinsed his brushes in turpentine. 
 The final cleaning with soap was in a washhouse below, and 
 Charles carried his own brushes down also. Both cleaned simul- 
 taneously, Verrinder sucking his brushes to shape them off, and 
 spitting out the soapy water. "Why Phyllis Cartwright?" said he 
 again, and glared round at Charles to emphasise enquiry, with a 
 brush in his mouth like a flageolet. Charles could throw no light 
 of course, and went away to lunch thinking Verrinder more than 
 merely queer, possibly crazy. Still, he had known something about 
 the house, from forty to fifty years ago.
 
 124 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Charles had spoiled his study of the Turk, whom he was begin- 
 ning to paint in Prussian Blue. He decided not to go back till 
 
 there was another Visitor, even if he was only old ,* who 
 
 always wanted flesh painted Indian Eed and black. He reappeared 
 in the School at the next scene-shifting, and gave away his Turk 
 canvas to Verrinder, who cleaned the Prussian Blue beginning off 
 and started straightway on a study of a young woman with a good 
 deal of confidence in her own appearance. Charles was not fortu- 
 nate in his place, perhaps because he came in late. He was some 
 distance off, and just in the line of Verrinder's backward rushes. 
 He squared in an ambiguity with charcoal, with the splendid inde- 
 pendence of a true Academy student, and was beginning to 
 squeeze out wormcasts at random on his palette, when Verrinder 
 backed on to him, and begged pardon. He had inadvertently blocked 
 the road. Now, he wanted to talk more to Verrinder; and what 
 after all was an outline ? He could just as well do here, three feet 
 off. Indeed the outline didn't signify really, being a matter of 
 form in the non-artistic sense of that phrase; in the artistic one it 
 was a matter of amorphousness. Charles shifted his easel, and Ver- 
 rinder expressed his gratitude, repeating his conviction that Charles 
 was a gentleman. Presently he charged back again, and threw 
 a remark to Charles en passant. "I've found Phyllis Cartwright," 
 said he. And a bystander immediately asked what sort of feet had 
 she, imagining she was a Model. For Art seeks for ever to find good 
 feet on Models, and finds them not. When Verrinder next came 
 back, he had another communication to make. "Found her on a 
 picture back show it you!" and returned to his easel before 
 Charles could reply. 
 
 As soon as time came for the Model to rest, it transpired that 
 the name was on the back of the frame of a portrait in Mr. Verrin- 
 der's possession. He had seen it there on some previous occasion ; 
 and had retained the name, though he had forgotten when and 
 where he had seen it. "If you don't mind climbing up, I'll show 
 it you," said he. Charles got the impression that Verrinder lived 
 at the top of somewhere. 
 
 When the sitting was over, he spoke to Verrinder again about 
 Phyllis Cartwright. What had made him suppose she had any- 
 thing to do with the house ? 
 
 "Aha!" replied he, "I didn't see that. But you're a gentleman. 
 You won't ask questions. So I'll tell you this much. The portrait 
 
 came from that house I'U show it you " He looked up at 
 
 Charles as if he thought he had spoken. "Eh? There was noth- 
 * Name omitted for same reason.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 125 
 
 ing wrong. But you won't ask questions. It was all forty near 
 on fifty years ago." His voice had been as prosaic, as matter-of- 
 fact over his recollection of the house, even when he told how he 
 had shrunk from going over it again, as it was when he talked 
 of the Asphaltum tubes. The only sign he showed of being affected 
 by his own references to the past was that he did not speak again 
 until after the usual brush-cleaning had been gone through, and he 
 and Charles were going out. Then he said suddenly, "If you like 
 to come along now, I'll show it you. But mind you, I wouldn't have 
 done it only you gave me those tubes. It's a fine colour a fine 
 colour ! And I can feel you'll ask no questions." He lived, he said, 
 out Lambeth way, and walked. Charles suggested a cab, and Ver- 
 rinder said "Certainly. You pay." And a hansom was enlisted, 
 and given an address "over beyond the Hospital." 
 
 "Some people never come across the river," said he to Charles; 
 and Charles had to confess that he had very seldom done so; also 
 that he had never been in the streets they were passing through 
 at all, and didn't know their names. 
 
 Verrinder li ved in an attic at the top of a high house certainly 
 but an inhabitant of any continental town would have made light 
 of it. It was roomy enough ; but was choked up with furniture, old 
 and mouldy, and many pictures with the faces turned to the walls. 
 The window of the only room not so choked up opened out on a 
 small square of leads, sunk in the roof and having a railing out- 
 side. It looked out over pleasant enough semi-suburban gardens, 
 now lamenting their surrender of spring green to the London 
 smoke. Beyond these was a dome that seemed to belong to a build- 
 ing of importance, and Charles was surprised that there should be 
 in London so large a structure and that he should be unable to 
 recognise it. He felt he ought to know, and was almost ashamed 
 to ask. Curiosity won the day. 
 
 "Is that building over there, with the dome ?" he began ; and 
 
 then hesitated. Verrinder cut him short, and spared him confes- 
 sion of complete ignorance. 
 
 "The Asylum. Yes ! Bedlam, if you want to know." His man- 
 ner was half curt and forbidding, half subdued. "Here's the 
 picture!" said he, abruptly. He opened the door into the next 
 room, which seemed to serve as his bedroom, though visibly half- 
 full of lumber, and immediately returned with a canvas. "And 
 here's the name. Phyllis Cartwright. It might be by Romney. 
 Very inferior to Reynolds, Romney!" 
 
 "It ought to be valuable," said Charles, and was thinking of saying 
 he wondered its owner had never sold it, as it didn't seem to be a
 
 126 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 family portrait. Verrinder's answer anticipated something of the 
 sort. "Valuable yes ! But I shan't sell it. Shan't sell any of them ! 
 They used to hang in our house. They came straight here. They've 
 
 never been moved " and then he stopped short, and turned 
 
 another picture round from the wall "Man with a big name," said 
 
 he; "don't think much of him! Turner " and put it back where 
 
 it was before. Charles stood looking at Phyllis Cartwright, and 
 wishing he was at liberty to ask questions. After all, he wasn't 
 a penny the wiser for seeing a picture, merely because it had been 
 in the house in old times. If it had been known to have been 
 painted in the house, or that its subject had lived in the house, 
 that would have been quite another thing. At present, Phyllis 
 Cartwright was a name, and her portrait an oil-picture obscured, 
 as is the manner of oil-pictures, by a long life in the dark so 
 obscured in fact that it would have been hard to say if she was 
 dark or fair. However, Charles had promised to ask no questions, 
 or considered that he had. So he held his tongue resolutely. Pres- 
 ently he had his reward. 
 
 "You're a gentleman!" said Verrinder. "You promised and 
 held to it I can tell you some more, but no more than I want to 
 tell." He spoke as if afraid of being catechised. 
 
 "I will ask nothing," said Charles. "You may trust me " 
 
 "The picture and all these others came out of that house you are 
 at now came out long before you were born. They belonged 
 
 to , who turned me out of the house. I told you ?" Charles 
 
 nodded. "He bought them at the sale the Family was sold up 
 name was Luttrell been there a long time since the house was 
 
 built " He made a short pause, then said abruptly, "Well! 
 
 That's pretty well all I can tell you!" It was disappointing. It 
 was also most difficult, Charles found, to make any comment that 
 would not seem like a question. But he found something to say. 
 
 "At any rate that is something to know I have not been able to 
 find any of the previous history of the house. But the names 
 Luttrell and Cartwright may give us a clue to follow." 
 
 "Luttrell may I'm not clear about Cartwright my memory's 
 bad I know they were a very fast lot cards and dice that sort 
 
 of thing. I suppose must have told me about them often 
 
 or else ' And he stopped again with a deadlock. But he 
 
 presently resumed: "As for why your story of the bones made me 
 think of Phyllis Cartwright, I can tell no more than Adam. I 
 must have seen the name on the picture, and let it alone. Stupid 
 way one has !" 
 
 "It was a good job for me," said Charles, "that you happened to
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 127 
 
 look at the picture-back just when you did, or I shouldn't have 
 known about Luttrell " 
 
 "I didn't look at it. I was dozin' up here well on midnight it 
 was and it crossed my mind. Crossed my mind where it was! 
 And then I pulled out this frame from behind the others, and 
 there it was sure enough. I must have seen it, years agone ! And 
 it had slipped my memory. Some things don't! Some things 
 do! " 
 
 Charles felt that if he stopped much longer he should forget his 
 promise and ask questions. So he made a pretence of being due 
 somewhere, and said he must run. But he had profited by so much 
 as the name of the old holders of No. 40 amounted to. And there 
 might be any amount of connecting link among all these dingy 
 canvases. He credited himself with a wise discretion though in 
 not trying to get at too much. He was sure to see Verrinder again. 
 
 Charles was, no doubt, what Peggy had called him "Charley 
 Slowboy" in some respects. As he rode away to a very late lunch 
 in his hansom, a number of speculations crossed his mind about 
 Verrinder that Peggy would have thought of at once. Was he 
 mad ? His manner was very odd, certainly. But surely, if he was 
 mad, he never would go to live in sight of Bedlam. Of course 
 unless he was mad, added Charles to himself, absurdly. But then 
 suppose his only symptom of insanity was that he went to live in 
 sight of Bedlam, being mad. That's a very circular conundrum, 
 thought Charles, and gave it up. He went on to another; why did 
 Verrinder live in apparently such poverty when he had pictures 
 in his possession visibly of great value? The portrait was a Rey- 
 nolds or a Romney at the least. Nobody could say what the value 
 of the Turner might be. If all the rest were like the sample, there 
 might be thousands of pounds' worth of pictures in that attic. And 
 there was their owner, dirty and neglected, in a very old black 
 suit that glittered with polish on the joints, in boots with patched 
 upper leathers, in a coloured shirt with a traditionally white col- 
 lar, held only by a front button, and trying to climb over the back 
 of his head altogether a miserable waif, such as one may see 
 munching sandwiches furtively in corners in public museums and 
 galleries. There had been no appearance of anything that could 
 be called lunch or dinner that Charles could recollect stay! was 
 there not the combination known as "the tray" in household expe- 
 rience, but lacking components? Charles felt as if he had seen a 
 Dutch cheese near a vertical beer-jug with a cracked lip; but he 
 wasn't sure ; it was more a sentiment than an image that was left 
 in his mind.
 
 128 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 Another speculation was: Was Verrinder a miser? No that 
 wouldn't do! No miser in his senses would keep such valuable 
 pictures. If he was very clever he might, with a view to a rise in 
 price. But that is hardly the miser character. The miser longs 
 for specie, and goes for realisation. The dealer has far sight and 
 fortitude; in the miser both are merged in cupidity so much so 
 that he could not bear the idea of the real gold a picture was 
 worth being in another's pocket if he could get it into his own. 
 Oh no! There was no secret hoard in this case. He was really 
 as poor as a rat, but had some hidden reason for holding on to the 
 pictures.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 OF A VISIT OF ALICE TO NO. 40, AND OF THE RED MAN WITH THE KNIFE 
 
 WHEN Charles told Peggy (some days after, she having been 
 away at a friend's) about his expedition to Lambeth with Verrin- 
 der, she said he should have asked more questions. After all, we 
 were none the wiser! Mr. Verrinder remembered the house a very 
 long time ago : but so might many people. Of course it was curious 
 that all those pictures should once have been in that house; but 
 then if we were not to ask questions what use was that ? Couldn't 
 Mr. Verrinder be persuaded to come to dinner at Hyde Park Gar- 
 dens ? Peggy would soon find out a lot about it if she could get at 
 him. Charles burst out laughing. "Well!" said Peggy, "I don't 
 see anything so very absurd in that! Why shouldn't Mr. Ver- 
 rinder come to dinner at Hyde Park Gardens?" The reason she 
 spoke of her family residence by its name, instead of saying, 
 "here," was that she and Charles were at his Studio when this 
 conversation took place. 
 
 "Why shouldn't Mr. Verrinder come to dinner at Hyde Park 
 Gardens?" repeated Charles, and laughed again. "I'll be hanged 
 if I know, Poggy only I can't help laughing for all that! How- 
 ever, I don't believe he would come, if I asked him ever so. But 
 I should somehow as soon think of sending Mother in the carriage 
 to leave cards on Mrs. Verrinder. It's not because he's poor and 
 shabby, poor devil, but because of his line of rumness he would 
 be out of his element as much so as a Trappist monk more so !" 
 
 "I didn't know there was any Mrs. Verrinder " 
 
 "Nor yet I didn't, myself, Poggy- Woggy, till the other day. I 
 don't know that I do now, because she may be as dead as a door- 
 nail. But there either is, or was, a Mrs. V. I say! what a 
 difficult Art painting is!" Peggy assented, and he went on: "I'm 
 sick of painting this beastly armour, and it won't come. I vote I 
 have a pipe, and you may ruffle my hair for me. As soon as 
 Partridge and Alice come, we'll have tea. I've bought a lot of 
 cakes and they're in that parcel." 
 
 "I'll ruffle your hair. But you must blow the smoke the other 
 way." Charles agreed, and the weary artist, who had worked with-
 
 130 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 out intermission for quite two hours, settled down to his pipe on 
 the floor, with his head in his indulgent sister's lap. They were 
 very handsome young people, certainly, both of them. 
 
 The reason they were there at this particular moment was that 
 an arrangement had been made that Alice (as a kind of native) 
 should show Mrs. Partridge the house, for a treat. Peggy had 
 been deposited by her mother from the carriage, while Partridge 
 and Alice were to walk through the Park. 
 
 "What did he tell you about Mrs. Verrinder ?" said Peggy, falling 
 back on the conversation. 
 
 "He's never mentioned her himself. It was the Curator of the 
 Schools, who has known him for forty years past. He was very 
 taciturn, but was curious to hear all I had to tell him about Ver- 
 rinder*8 housekeeping. Said he went to see him there once thirty 
 years ago! Asked me if I had 'made out anything' about his 
 wife." 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "Oh, of course I said he hadn't mentioned her to me, and I 
 didn't know he had a wife. He replied that he had a wife, unless 
 she had died without his hearing of it. *Not very likely,' he said. 
 I told him I had seen no sign of any lady in the place. 'Oh,' said 
 he, 'that would make no difference.' And then he shut up. There's 
 something rum about it." 
 
 "I tell you what, Charley. I've got an idea ! Mr. Verrinder must 
 have married the girl he was turned out of this house for making 
 love to, in the end because if he didn't, how came he into posses- 
 sion of her father's property? Don't you see? Look here, silly 
 boy and blow the smoke the other way. Now listen to me ! First 
 of all Mr. Thingummy E. A. turns him out of the house for mak- 
 ing up to his daughter. Very well then!" 
 
 "I don't see that you're getting any nearer." 
 
 "Yes I am. Don't be in a hurry! Next they make a runaway 
 match of it the young people do ; of course I" 
 
 "That was all right and natural, when the parents objected. But 
 you don't understand! Verrinder distinctly said he hadn't set 
 foot in that house since its owner turned him out of it. That was 
 the first thing he said." 
 
 "Yes but one can suppose all sorts of things. He may have 
 remained obdurate hardened his heart and died unrepentant." 
 
 "No that won't do ! Verrinder would have been sure to go into 
 the house again if he and his wife inherited the things." 
 
 'Perhaps he left the house and went somewhere else before he 
 died?" Charles reflected, and blew the smoke the other way. "That
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 131 
 
 seems possible and reasonable," said he. "We'll let it go at 
 that." 
 
 "Who are the people who have come into the big back room 
 downstairs ?" asked Peggy. 
 
 "Picture dealers, I believe. They want to alter the little oval 
 skylight say there's no light. Jeff is very indignant. Says its 
 Vandalism " 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Jerrythought. But is there no light?" 
 
 "Jeff says it's a glorious old Queen Anne house, and it's wicked 
 to alter it." 
 
 "I shouldn't pay any attention to Mr. Jerrythought if I was the 
 picture dealer. It was a ballroom, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Jeff says so. He's in Queen Anne's confidence " 
 
 "Isn't that Alice's voice?" Yes, it is. And in comes Alice, 
 much excited at her position as show-woman, or patroness, of the 
 house, Mrs. Partridge never having been there before. Alice's 
 speech and appearance have improved enormously. Really if we 
 had not had our eyes on her for the past few months, unknown 
 to our readers, we should not have recognised her, and then per- 
 haps we should have written that a pretty blue-eyed maiden with 
 mouse-coloured hair, nicely dressed in a Japanese blue-print frock 
 and a cap of the same colour, came running rather flushed into 
 the room, and that we did not recollect having seen her before. 
 As it is we are in a position to assure them that this little girl was 
 the very selfsame Alice that was knocked down by those naughty 
 little boys in the fog, and saved from a whipping by Charles Heath. 
 And those little boys were no doubt still pursuing their career of 
 insubordination and depravity, while Alice had by the merest acci- 
 dent been lifted high above them in the social scale, and had not, so 
 far, done anything to disappoint her patrons. 
 
 Eight months is a good long period in the life of a child of six 
 over ten per cent, of the whole, we believe and Alice had the 
 impression that she had lived a very very long time at Hyde Park 
 Gardens under the chronic control and government of Mrs. Part- 
 ridge, subject to occasional interventions from the higher regions. 
 Indeed, as a matter of fact, the occasions were frequent; and a 
 whole day rarely passed in which Alice did not find her way into 
 the drawing-room on some pretext or other; while Peggy for her 
 part, and Charles on his intermittent visits at home, were frequent 
 visitors in the housekeeper's room. But by this time Alice has 
 come into the room, and she is so anxious to speak, we must not 
 keep her waiting. She was too full of her mission to allow of any 
 observance of mere artificial forms, and plunged at once in medias
 
 132 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 res. Her pronunciation was still far from perfect, but much im- 
 proved. An altering phase of teeth had made her lisp take another 
 form, and great efforts had got rid of both lidy and loydy, and 
 obtained in exchange an approach to lady. We shall very soon be 
 able to print Alice without her pronunciation ; it will be so normal. 
 
 "Mustn't I sow Mrs. Parkridge downstairs, all where Pussy was, 
 
 and Mr. Charley came down ever so long ago " and here Alice's 
 
 voice got a kind of puzzled ruefulness as she added: "and where 
 there used-ed to be father and mother ?" 
 
 Partridge, feeling it due to her dignity to dissociate herself 
 from the thoughtless enthusiasm of childhood, remarked in con- 
 fidence to the grown-up world that we were quite wild with excite- 
 ment; and then remained aloft. Charles gave the authorisation 
 asked for. 
 
 "Of course you shall, Alice-f or-short ! That's what you've come 
 for. Now listen! You go downstairs into the office no! stop! 
 wait till I tell you what to say and ask the gentleman there to 
 allow you to show Mrs. Partridge all through the shops. Say 
 you're Miss Kavanagh that used to live here." Perhaps the last 
 instruction didn't reach, as Alice was off, after repeating, to show 
 her clear understanding : "Mrs. Parkridge all f roo the sops." For 
 th and f were still ambiguous, in unstudied speech. 
 
 "We won't go down, Peggy, it makes such a lot of us too great 
 a visitation!" And Partridge follows Alice under assumption 
 of guardianship, but really very curious to see where the bones 
 were found. Peggy and Charles can always go on chatting. 
 
 "How are you and the Doctor getting along, Poggy ?" 
 
 "What a silly boy you are! Why should the Doctor (as you 
 call him) and I 'get along 5 " 
 
 "What do you want me to call him? Why shouldn't you get 
 along ?" 
 
 "I don't see that any get-alonging comes into the matter. Dr. 
 Johnson and I are very good friends and always shall be if I have 
 my way. As to what I want you to call him of course one would 
 naturally prefer to call him Eupert it's such a pretty name ! Only 
 when a man's inclined to behave like that, you can't call him by 
 
 his Christian name, nor he yours " You see, when a young 
 
 lady is talking to her brother, she needn't construct her sentences 
 carefully. Charles quite understood. 
 
 "You like Johnson a deal better than Captain Bradley?" 
 
 "Captain Bradley! Better than an omnibus-full of Captain 
 Bradleys. Ugh! what a horrible idea!" 
 
 "I suppose Robin's told you about the Captain?"
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT . 133 
 
 "No! Has he consoled himself ?" (Housed curiosity!) 
 
 "Yes a Miss Callender Edith Callender." Peggy appeared 
 to know the lady, but not to admire her extravagantly. "The idea !" 
 said she. "Edith Callender ! ! ! Well he is easily consoled. How- 
 ever, I suppose it's all right ! " Are we, we wonder, altogether 
 
 wrong in surmising that Peggy was human enough to feel almost 
 no pique, instead of quite none, at the man she wouldn't have mar- 
 ried (so she said) with a pair of tongs, and at an omnibus-full 
 of whom she fairly shuddered, having given up wearing the willow 
 on her account, and consoled himself with inferiority ? No ! Peggy 
 was quite distinctly human, for all her philosophy. Charles evi- 
 dently thought so, for he said, "Don't be jealous, Poggy-Woggy! 
 You wouldn't have the Captain yourself. You didn't expect him to 
 ask your leave to marry Miss Callender, did you?" 
 
 "He'd got it already. I wonder if he told Miss Callender about 
 all his previous offers!" 
 
 "Particularly his last one. I wonder if the Doctor means to tell 
 the next he offers to about Miss Peggy Heath " 
 
 "Oh no ! Rupert Johnson's quite a different sort ! Quite ! I 
 wish he would though but he won't " 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "I know he won't " 
 
 <c You seem to know a lot about him. I tell you what, Peg; I 
 don't believe you would be glad if another girl accepted Johnson 
 you'd be sorry. At least, you'd be glad if she rejected him " 
 
 "Rejected Rupert Johnson! I should like to see a girl reject 
 him. The minx!" And Peggy seems genuinely indignant with 
 this shadowy damsel. 
 
 "You did it yourself, Pog, anyhow!" 
 
 "No Charley dear be fair! I never rejected the poor dear 
 fellow. I only warned, cautioned, and earnestly entreated him, like 
 the passengers' heads out of the carriage windows. It wouldn't 
 have been right not to, when I'd made up my mind. I think I 
 shall make the tea now. They can't be much longer." 
 
 A step was heard outside, and Peggy said : "There they are " 
 
 But Charles said: "No, that's Jeff. We must let him come in 
 he always comes to tea. Well! you know, I couldn't tell him you 
 were coming and hated him, and so he must keep out. Could 
 
 I? ' Peggy laughed aloud: "I DON'T hate Mr. Jerrythought," 
 
 said she. 
 
 He was admitted, to make the tea. It was his prerogative on 
 ordinary occasions, and he knew where things were. When you 
 don't know where things are you cannot make tea. He set him-
 
 13 4 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 self to the making of the tea with a fervid intensity that perhaps 
 went beyond the scope of his subject. No amount of concentration 
 will enable you to make tea well beyond a certain point. Jeff 
 was destined to overshoot his mark, and make the tea too strong. 
 It had to be weakened after pouring out; and, as we all know, 
 it's not the same thing. 
 
 "Never mind, Mr. Jerrythought 1" said Peggy, "it's a fault on the 
 right side. If it had been too weak we should never have forgiven 
 you. Should we, Alice?" For Alice and Mrs. Partridge had re- 
 turned from their subterranean expedition, but Alice had been so 
 silent that we have had nothing to report of her, and the story has 
 been silent too. Peggy put it down to her recollections of her par- 
 ents having come upon her and made her thoughtful. But then, 
 wasn't Partridge also a little distraite? She had no associations. 
 
 Alice replied briefly to Peggy's question: "No we never sould 
 have forgiven Mr. Jellyfork"; but the subject didn't seem to com- 
 mand her attention. Neither did the cakes Charles had so sedu- 
 lously provided. Alice was quite another Alice from the little girl 
 who had rushed tumultuously downstairs to show Partridge over 
 the estate, only half-an-hour ago. The latter, in reply to an under- 
 toned enquiry from Peggy, disclaimed stomach-ache on Alice's be- 
 half. The child was fanciful, that was all 1 She would tell Peggy 
 as soon as presently! the obstacle to immediate revelation being 
 Mr. Jerrythought. This naturally added to Peggy's desire that 
 that young gentleman should discontinue his review of the London 
 Stage, and go. He for his part became aware that something was 
 amiss, but of course pitched on the wrong thing. He thought it 
 was the tea, and strove to make up for it by brilliant anecdotes 
 of Carlotta Leclerq, and even what a chap he knew had told him 
 about Madame Vestris, and so forth. And the more Peggy wanted 
 him to go, the more he strove to compensate for the strong tea. 
 So that no one was any the wiser when Mrs. Heath and Ellen, in 
 the carriage on the way back from a call in Russell-square, came 
 to pick up Alice and Peggy by appointment. Partridge would 
 take the 'bus, and Charles was going to dress at the Studio, and go 
 out to dinner. 
 
 "Queer little cuss, your protegee!" said Jeff, when the party had 
 dispersed. "She ain't a chatterbox." 
 
 "She didn't seem like herself," said Charles. 'Terhaps it was 
 finding the whole place so changed." 
 
 When Charles walked into his Studio on his return from his 
 dining out, he found a hand-delivered note on his easel, and saw
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 135 
 
 it was from Peggy. Alice was in a very queer state seemed to 
 have had a fright. Peggy would wait up till twelve in case he was 
 early enough to come on. She would like to see him as soon as 
 possible. Charles secured his Hyde Park Gardens latch-key from 
 another pocket, and got a hansom. He would be there by eleven- 
 thirty ; for had not the Brown-Smiths bored him, and caused him to 
 have important work to-morrow, which a long night's rest was 
 essential to? In about twenty minutes the latch-key had fulfilled 
 its function, and was back in his pocket. 
 
 Peggy's voice came down the stairs to him : "Is that you, Charley ? 
 I'm so glad you're come. Alice has quite frightened us. Really one 
 gets afraid about her poor little head." Charles went upstairs, 
 reflecting on the best phrases in which to pooh-pooh nervous 
 females. 
 
 "Of course it's no use for me to say anything." It is Mrs. Heath 
 that speaks, on the point of majestic retirement to the upper 
 regions. "But if I were at liberty to say exactly what I thought, 
 it would be " 
 
 "Yes Mamma dear what would it be?" for Mamma had not 
 provided herself with her opinion when she began, her attention 
 being concentrated on her status as an authority. She required 
 two or three seconds to think of one, and meanwhile had to fill 
 in with collateral matter. 
 
 "My dear, you know I always am silenced, so I hold my tongue ! 
 But I think, all the same ! as for the little girl, you know what I 
 think, because I have said it several times already. She is full 
 of fancies, and if you listen to her, you will only make her worse. 
 She ought to have a good dose of Dover's powder, and have no 
 attention paid to her, and she would soon be set right. However, 
 don't pay any attention to me!" And Mrs. Heath went upstairs 
 like the only person in sight in a procession. 
 
 Charles and Peggy sought the drawing-room, and said they would 
 turn the gas off, and Phillimore might go to bed. "The others" 
 were not home, and Papa was in "the Library" a place where 
 some titles of books were sometimes perused through plate glass. 
 Peggy hushed down a burner or two (not to have her eyes glared) 
 and said she supposed she had better begin and tell it all from the 
 beginning. 
 
 "You know," she continued, "we both thought Alice very silent 
 at tea. Well! She didn't say a word all the way home, and only 
 cuddled up to me in the carriage. Of course we got here an 
 immense long time before Partridge. When we got in, I kissed the 
 child and said here we were back again, and I hoped she'd enjoyed
 
 136 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 herself. Do you know she only shook her head in that comic rueful 
 way she has, and didn't speak a word." 
 
 "Was she crying ? Had she been crying ?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it ! Let me go on telling. I said, 'What is it, Alice 
 dear? What's the matter? You'll tell me what's the matter 
 won't you?' But she only shook her head and kept her mouth 
 shut, till I said to her seriously 'You know, Alice, Mr. Charley 
 will be afraid to have you at his Studio unless you enjoy going 
 he'll think you're frightened of the lady with the spots ' And 
 what do you think she answered? 'I sould be frightened to go 
 once more only NOT the lady ' 'What would you be fright- 
 ened of, Alice dear?' said I and she answered, 'I sould be fright- 
 ened of the man downstairs the man with the knife ' " 
 
 "Oh, of course !" said Charles. "I understand it all. It was Pope's 
 man, Buttivant, who lead-lines up the windows. The man of light 
 and heading, we wittily call him, Jeff and I. He makes horrible 
 grimaces " 
 
 "He hasn't any knife " 
 
 "Oh yes, he has! A putty-knife to jam in all along the leads, 
 and then wipe them sharp along the flange to close it down. He 
 does a good deal of work with the knife. Depend on it that 
 was it!" 
 
 "Well ! Wait till you've heard it all, and then explain. I thought 
 it was Mr. Pope, or one of his men; and I said, 'You mustn't be 
 frightened of Mr. Pope, nor any of his workmen, Alice. They 
 won't hurt you !' And then she said, oh no ! it wasn't Mr. Pope 
 at all. Mr. Pope was a very nice good man, and showed her 
 blue things and green things and red things, and tooked her hand 
 downstairs. And then I made her tell about the men in the 
 shop, and the man you describe must be the one she called Mr. 
 Puttyknife it was natural. So then I pressed to find out who the 
 man was, and it seemed he was a bad man in a red dress, with a 
 long long straight knife, so long as that ! It was a red knife, and 
 the man was red, and he came along by the door where mother 
 came when the jug broke " 
 
 "The door of the kitchen, where they do the leading up now 
 
 "Yes because they went in and found Mr. Puttyknife. And 
 he smelt of ile-paint, only very strong. But Alice must have been 
 completely upset by the red man with the knife; and when Part- 
 ridge came in an hour later (she stopped in Oxford Circus to buy 
 me something) she gave me her version of the story. I'm afraid 
 she's gone to bed." 
 
 "Never mind tell me what she said "
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 137 
 
 "That Alice was in the best of spirits till they went downstairs. 
 She had made great friends with Mr. Pope, looking at the coloured 
 glasses and went downstairs 'hold of his hand.' Then when 
 they got to the foot of the stairs, Alice 'gave a shrink, and caught 
 up to Mr. Pope.' I'm giving you Partridge's words. Mr. Pope 
 asked if she was afraid he was going to run away, and she 
 answered something Partridge thought was nonsense about where 
 had the man with the knife gone. Mr. Pope said what man, and 
 she answered the red man. And then Mr. Pope thought she meant 
 a figure in red in the glasses, Saint Somebody, and said of course 
 he'd gone to Heaven, because he was a Saint. Whereupon Alice 
 said (it really was very funny, and I can't help laughing at it) that 
 she hoped he hadn't gone to Heaven, because father was there; 
 and Miss Peggy, that she belonged to, had said so! But after 
 that she never said a word, and seemed, said Partridge, quite out 
 of it." 
 
 "Well," said Charles, "that is a funny story !" And not a single 
 correct accredited way of dealing with a tale of this sort could 
 he think of, better than that the child must have been feverish, and 
 had eaten too much pudding. "But did she stop out of it after 
 that altogether?" 
 
 "It looks like it," said Peggy. "Well! You know how she was 
 when she came upstairs and all your beautiful cakes were left! 
 But she seemed very well in herself till about an hour later, when 
 Partridge came to me and told me she'd got very hot and feverish, 
 and it was then I wrote the note off to you, because I was fright- 
 ened about her head : however, she went to sleep all right after. It 
 was no use sending another note to you, not to come." 
 
 "Oh no! I can sleep here now I've come." Only, Charles 
 wasn't going to retire with that object until he had made some little 
 stand on behalf of the attitude of mind towards the Intrinsically 
 Improbable that is sanctioned by Common Sense; with which 
 also rests the function of grouping the Impossible, the Probable, 
 and the Actual, with good sharp boundary lines between the 
 groups. 
 
 "I'm pretty clear about what it really was, Peg," said he. "The 
 fever was really the cause, not the effect, of the hallucination. 
 It was a case of suppressed fever." 
 
 "Case of suppressed fiddlesticks' ends !" said Peggy. "Go to bed !"
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 
 OF SHELLACOMBE SANDS, AND WHAT PEGGY THOUGHT THERE. AND 
 WHOM SHE MET THERE 
 
 IF the bones of the murdered woman were flattering themselves 
 that Psychical Research was going to throw a light on their history 
 and identity, they were destined to disappointment. For the 
 period of London's annual flight to the country had come, and the 
 Heath family were off. In fact, they were overdue in the country 
 already, for most of London that was worth the name had gone 
 some weeks back, at the time of the events of last chapter. A 
 good hundred thousand probably had been deducted from the four 
 millions odd that made up the metropolis, and now there was 
 nobody left. Almost! If Parliament hadn't been sitting so late 
 it would have been quite. 
 
 Psychical Research requires at least one votary of diabolical 
 tenacity of purpose to keep the life in it. Almost every living 
 human creature has some measure of interest in Ghosts and 
 Bogies, but it is a measure that is very apt to run out after say 
 twenty minutes sitting at an unresponsive table, with your little 
 fingers in contact with your neighbours' "to keep up the current" ; 
 or after maybe sleeping one night in a haunted house and not 
 seeing a grey woman; or covering a quire of foolscap with plan- 
 chette writing from your co-querist's first husband and then find- 
 ing that she is Miss (whereas you thought for certain she was 
 Mrs.) Smith; or being told that young Blank had confessed that 
 it was he pushed the table, just to show what awful asses the Com- 
 pany (including yourself) were. It is true the interest will revive 
 sooner or later; but it is an intermittent one, and requires philo- 
 sophical thought and temper to do it full justice. In the common- 
 place mind it is apt to lapse unless kept up to the mark by the 
 stimulus of a neighbouring philosopher. Let us all do honour 
 to those who (according to the testimony of their scientific oppo- 
 nents) have passed through long periods of patient research 
 watching for spectres that never come; weighing mediums in 
 vacuo and finding they weigh exactly what you would expect; 
 grappling with other mediums who worm their way out of the 
 
 138
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 139 
 
 cabinet in the dark ; and getting smudged by materialisations with 
 vermillion and lamp-black superposed on the medium for test- 
 purposes. Never mind if I put some of these points wrongly: 
 join me in admiration of the persistent philosophy that recognises 
 the fact that no amount of negative evidence absolutely proves that 
 anything whatever isn't due to any cause we choose to invent a 
 name for. 
 
 Charles and Peggy were under no obligation to invent new names 
 for the spectral appearance that had terrified Alice. Supernatural ; 
 hallucination of the senses; idea with the force of a sensation; 
 subliminal consciousness, stimulated by unconscious hypnotic sug- 
 gestions from bystanders (Is that right ? We have misgivings.) ; 
 purely subjective phenomenon; all these were ready to hand, and 
 you could take which you liked; or different ones at different 
 times. Charles was in favour of No. 2; for after all, did not both 
 parents drink ? You couldn't get over that. 
 
 One thing was quite certain that when Peggy, who inclined to 
 No. 1 was away at Shellacombe, and Charles was left to himself 
 and his incredulities, nothing further would be done in the way of 
 investigation. Alice of course went to the seaside. Charles began 
 to be aware that his protegee, whom he had carried off to his 
 father's house without asking himself where she was to go next if 
 she was not welcome, was becoming a member of the family. He 
 saw that this was because she was such a dear little thing, and got 
 hold of everybody, as well as himself and Peggy. He was grate- 
 ful to her for being one. A nice fix it would have been, said he to 
 himself, if Alice-for-short had turned out a little beast! 
 
 Alice-f or-short seemed likely to prove Alice-for-long, or Alice-f or- 
 good; probably the latter. None the less because of her aptitude 
 for instruction, and greed for information in the glorious new 
 world in which she found herself. It was little wonder that the 
 dreadful past was getting dimmer and dimmer rapidly becoming 
 a dream. 
 
 But Peggy, noting this, noted also that of this dream there was a 
 survival an idealised memory that seemed to her an injustice, 
 but always inevitable. For Alice treasured the recollection of her 
 father as a good and glorious being, constantly adding to his 
 imaginary perfections as time went on. But of her mother no 
 memories were pleasant. She spoke without resentment of the 
 punishments she had so often received at her mother's hands; but 
 she clearly thought justice, or vengeance, was her mother's func- 
 tion; and love was her father's. Peggy fretted under what seemed 
 to her the unfairness of it all. If (which was conceivably possible,
 
 140 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 however improbable) the child's mother could see from some other 
 state of existence (or of something equivalent in its degree to 
 what we call existence) the child's memories respectively of her 
 husband and herself, she must needs feel the exquisite cruelty of 
 the order of creation that had warped her life: except indeed 
 some higher wisdom had come to show her that wrong was 
 really right but in a sense that our finite intelligences cannot 
 grasp. 
 
 Peggy would say to herself at this stage of her mental review of 
 the subject, "But then my intelligence is finite, and can only per- 
 eeive the cruelty and the wrong. I refuse to tell any lies about 
 what I think and feel now, because one day I may think other- 
 wise." And she would always wind up with "At any rate 7 won't 
 marry and bring children into such a world and any child that 
 wants to be born must find another mother than I, finite intel- 
 ligence or no !" 
 
 She had almost attempted, once or twice, to procure an affec- 
 tionate leniency towards her dead mother from Alice, and had 
 felt the hopelessness of the attempt. The mother's excuse had 
 turned on the fact that she had led a poisoned life that she was 
 always drugged, and that her personal identity had no chance 
 against the drug. And Alice was far too young to understand 
 the course of events that had vitiated her blood and made her to 
 all intents and purposes some one else. For the creature that 
 Charles had seen on that occasion of the broken jug was much 
 more Alcohol than a woman. When Peggy spoke with her at the 
 Hospital, on her deathbed, the obsession had been removed and 
 the woman had come again, just as truly as the demoniac's sane 
 soul returned to him when the Gadarene swine rushed to the lake 
 and bore his curse away for ever. She had come back, and knew 
 and could tell her own story. How hard it seemed that no road to 
 the same end could have been found, short of a deathbed in a 
 Hospital, brought about by a murderous blow that was itself a 
 chord in the long symphony of Drink that sounded through the 
 last years of her life! If she could only have been convicted of a 
 theft, and sent to prison, she might have been redeemed. But 
 where was the use of saying any of this to a child ? Some day, per- 
 haps, Alice would be able to understand her mother's life, and see 
 that she alone was not to blame. 
 
 Alice's rescue from the slime and the mire was to be a remunera- 
 tive one to her rescuers, and no disappointment. It might easily 
 have been otherwise. It may be that two-thirds of the human 
 saplings that plead for space and light and culture in the great
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT HI 
 
 hells of civilisation would give very little joy to the gardener's 
 heart, and very much work to his hand. But that is just as true 
 of many who claim them as a birthright. And how about the odd 
 third that would pay so well for transplanting? Peggy used to 
 turn this over and over in her mind as she watched her little 
 protegee careering bare-legged over the sands at Shellacombe, or 
 in her first glorious experiences of being bowled over by the sunlit 
 ripple of the little breakers. Think of the contrast ! Think of the 
 sordid and haggard life of the class she came from even of the 
 best of it. Think of that area, and the cats thereof ! Think, if you 
 dare, of the still lower depths of stuffiness and foulness so ran on 
 Peggy's thoughts to herself of the air of the rooms whole families 
 sleep in ; of the dreadful world in which the threshold of the gaslit 
 filth-house is the stepping-stone to the only gleam of Heaven it 
 can ever know on this side of the grave ! And yet (even as Peggy 
 quoted Browning to herself) God has not said one word! And 
 all the others are there are there are there still ! All the others, 
 so many of whom might have been Alice, and were not! Peggy 
 felt half -mad with the horror of it all, there on the Shellacombe 
 beach, with the blue sea at her feet, and out above it an incredible 
 colossus of climbing cloud ; an infinity of piled white vapours bent 
 on touching the zenith, and seeming like to succeed. She felt it 
 almost a pain to hear, across the sands, the voices of the children in 
 the water, and Alice's among them, plain enough yes! that was 
 her voice, no doubt of it ! And there were the cries of the gulls, as 
 musical as when we were here last year and they have gone on 
 ever since, all the while we were in our hapless, fog-bound centre 
 of civilisation; and Alice was where we shudder to think of her 
 now, in that appalling underground darkness with her mother 
 snoring in a drunken sleep, and the bones of the murdered woman 
 waiting to be an interesting discovery. But the other children 
 the other children they are all there still! And Peggy quoted 
 her Browning again, and added blasphemously that perhaps it was 
 because He was ashamed of His handiwork. Don't be angry with 
 her, y*s. or Mr. Grundy ! She is only grappling, with rough can- 
 dour, with the terrible problem that has perplexed and oppressed 
 us all, except you. 
 
 What would not Peggy do, if she was a millionaire. She would 
 soon have them all out all the children into the sunlight. She 
 would pitch them, by swarms, into the glorious water. She would 
 dress them in all sorts of nice little costumes such as Alice had 
 none of your workhouse grey! She would feed them, and teach 
 them (only she wouldn't have them taught any falsehoods), and
 
 142 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 turn them into sober, useful, honest members of the common- 
 wealth. And as for their parents, they wouldn't make any diffi- 
 culties they would let her do as she liked. Of course they would, 
 Peggy dear, with your beautiful hair, and your beautiful eyes, and 
 the nearest approach to a wrinkle that thought about a very devil 
 of a world can make in your beautiful brow of course they would 
 let you have them. No difficulty about it! In fact, they will 
 make none, neither, about getting you plenty more where those 
 came from, if you want them or if you don't ! 
 
 Poor Peggy! She was imaging such a sweet Garden of Eden, 
 all full of hundreds of happy little people like those over there 
 (really it's time for that child to come out!), and the last turn 
 of her dream struck a discord it was just as though the Serpent 
 had rung at the bell, and sent in word that if he wasn't admitted 
 at the front gate he could find no end of ways of slipping in. And 
 why (ran the current of Peggy's thoughts) why do we blame him, 
 when his chiefest function, his most effectual modus operandi, is 
 to instigate a blind obedience to the very first instruction God gave 
 to Man, when He placed him in the garden? Has he not a claim 
 to an almost official position, with a right to millions of promotion 
 money, for his exertions (in conjunction with two other members 
 of a great Syndicate) towards the increase and multiplication of 
 man and the replenishment of the Earth? He may be the Father 
 of Lies, but is he not also the Father of London and Liverpool ? Is 
 he not perhaps a faithful serpent, a well-intentioned Agency, who 
 has a little exceeded his instructions, which ought to have been 
 clearer, and contained clauses dealing with congested districts, 
 cubic feet per adult, accessibility of markets, and so forth ? Or are 
 we to suppose that the primordial instincts of Nature are due to an 
 oversight of the Almighty? that if he had only thought a little 
 longer, and not been in such a hurry, he would have turned out a 
 very different Creation; and poor Mrs. Kavanagh, Alice's mother, 
 never would have gone to the Devil, and her husband wouldn't have 
 hammered her scalp off, nor provided himself with an emergency 
 bottle of Cyanide? 
 
 Peggy wasn't a Freethinker, not she ! But she was rather a free 
 Thinker; and we perceive, dear Mrs. Grundy, that you are right, 
 and that such Doctrines are Dangerous, and that Peggy was in 
 need of Guidance. Perhaps we all are, when we move in the dark. 
 Better to sit still, and shun speculation, whether the Scripture 
 moveth us to it in sundry places or not. But she wasn't that sort; 
 she must needs be a-thinking. And she sat there on the sands 
 (letting Alice, I am sure, stop in a great deal too long) wonder-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 143 
 
 ing at the great cloud-mountain that slept or soared, or both, 
 above its image in the sea. How little it cared for the smoke 
 trail of an ocean tramp, Bristol-bound, that could do no more 
 than just defile the horizon a little at its base, out eastwards. Up 
 it climbed up, up ! for ever, into the unfathomable blue you 
 only needed to watch it for a space to imagine its endless leagues 
 of mountain and valley, of precipice and plain; to discover its 
 caverns that you did not see at first; and then to populate them 
 all, plain, precipice, and cavern, with countless myriads of winged 
 things, each one a little joy-spot to itself, and all the legions of 
 them rising still higher and higher to the high heaven, and rejoic- 
 ing in the sun. 
 
 "Yes, that's all very fine," said Peggy in answer to her own 
 thought. "Of course if one could be a little Blakey sort of spirit, 
 swimming in the blue ! But one isn't. And suppose one is Sally in 
 our alley, and our alley is a stench-hole, with no more joy in it 
 than can be got from an ill-intentioned Public-House and a well- 
 intentioned Parson! What do you make of that?" 
 
 Nothing. Neither you nor I nor any one else can make anything 
 of it. It remains the unanswered and unanswerable conundrum of 
 the inscrutable Sphinx, Nature. 
 
 Peggy was obliged to leave the Origin of Evil, and the Omnipo- 
 tent Omnibenevolence of its Creator, no clearer than she found it, 
 in order to get Alice out of the water. How to do this was nearly 
 as difiicult a problem, for Alice had the coign of vantage, and 
 knew quite well that neither Miss Peggy nor Mrs. Parkridge could 
 conveniently come into the water to fetch her out. Her position 
 was not one of resistance, but of postponement and supplication. 
 Its power lay in an infinitely large number of infinitely small 
 breaches of faith. To refuse flatly to come out of the water is one 
 thing ; to promise to come out in a minute only one minute more ! 
 and always get the promissory note renewed at its expiration, is 
 another. 
 
 In the end Alice was fetched out ; and, being absolutely cold like 
 a fish, and having pale blue finger-tips and chattering teeth, she had 
 to run about ever so long in the sun to get warm. . . . Still more 
 food for reflection! Just to think of what and where that child 
 would have been but for the merest chance! The harder Peggy 
 found it to grasp the difference, the more hideous was the thought 
 the other children are there still! 
 
 Though Peggy had never been wanting in readiness to join in 
 charitable work, or in sorrow for misfortune and poverty, she had 
 never suffered from the nightmare of our great and prosperous
 
 144 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 civilisation until the horror of the lives of tens of thousands was 
 brought home to her by this chance emancipation of one. She got 
 no forwarder towards a conclusion, even by the time all the sand 
 was got off Alice's feet ; which was a long time, but not Mrs. Park- 
 ridge's estimate of six weeks. She only went back to her old con- 
 clusion, that Population was the root of all evil, and that the 
 world might be a good and happy world if only the propensities of 
 the Patriarchs could be kept under. "Make yourselves scarce!" 
 would have been her advice to the Human Race "Make yourselves 
 scarce, and we'll do the rest!" we being Representative Govern- 
 ment, or Education, or the Churches, or Endowed Charities, or 
 Society, or Co-operative Effort one or other of them! Anyhow 
 some agency which knows how to! Meanwhile it was clear that 
 Marriage, under whatever form it presented itself, was the Old 
 Serpent's trump-card and oh what a faculty he has for putting a 
 miserable two or three on the top of our best Kings and Aces and 
 taking the trick ! However, it was in Peggy's power to set a good 
 example and she was going to do it. 
 
 But the Serpent is the subtlest eft of all the field at least so 
 says Wiclif's version and even at this very moment he was schem- 
 ing the frustration of a million resolutions just as determined as 
 Peggy's. He doesn't go to work in identically the same way with 
 all people. If he did he wouldn't be a subtle eft at all. On the 
 contrary he has a different bait for every fish. He throws his 
 hook to the shark and dog-fish with a huge coarse piece of flesh on 
 it, tainted as often as not. And they bolt it at once and are 
 captured, and are usually landed and carried away by him. Some- 
 times they run away with the bait, and the angler is disappointed. 
 But when the fish is a shy fish, and will only jump at the most 
 delicately made fly, with the most beautiful colours, then the 
 world's great mischief-maker has plenty in stock and knows how 
 to use them. In the case before us his immediate motive is only 
 to ruin a castle in the air of an enthusiastic young lady. He is 
 much too clever to try to shake her resolves, by offering her 
 any of the baits supplied by the other two members of his Syn- 
 dicate of three. But he will look in his wallet and find some- 
 thing. 
 
 Peggy sent Alice and Mrs. Partridge home, and set out to meet 
 her mother and sister and Miss Petherington, who had gone for a 
 walk along the sands. Then it proved so tremendously hot walk- 
 ing, that she gave it up, and turned to go slowly home, pursuing 
 her meditations. 
 
 "If only one could get any one to talk to about one's ideas,
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT US 
 
 how nice it would be! I'm sure it ought to be possible to do 
 something if it was ever so little. But people are such fools and 
 so unpractical. Papa, for instance! 
 
 "Only Papa isn't quite a fool, because look what he said once 
 when I did get him to be serious for a minute about not being 
 able to reform the World until we'd reformed the Flesh and the 
 Devil." No doubt this did Mr. Heath credit, though we fancy 
 the remark had been made before. But let Peggy go on with her 
 reflections. 
 
 "It it so annoying, when you think what swarms of friends and 
 acquaintances you've got, that you can't find one you can speak to 
 about a thing you are always thinking of. I really do think, of 
 all the lot, there isn't a living soul I can exchange an idea with. 
 Except Rupert Johnson, and he's quite out of the question. It's 
 dangerous to mention anything to him now." 
 
 The sun had gone for a moment behind a solid cloud, and Peggy 
 was standing in a purple island only it didn't seem purple where 
 she was. She half-closed her sunshade, and stood scratching the 
 sand with its point, making letters. We really don't think it 
 was anything but the merest accident that one of these letters was 
 an R. Indeed there was nothing to distinguish it from the others 
 she traced except that she rubbed it out with her foot. If it stood 
 for Rupert (which I see is the surmise in your mind), it did not 
 do so long, for she had rubbed it out almost as soon as she had 
 written it. 
 
 "Yes that's what I shall do the very next opportunity. Of 
 
 course it will never do to have this sort of thing going on oh ! " 
 
 This interjection, which we cannot write in the text so as to do 
 it justice, was due to the first perception of a young man approach- 
 ing, with intent. A handsome sort of fellow certainly, in a very 
 sea-side costume. He might be a yachtsman. We did not catch 
 what he said to Peggy, but can record her answer. 
 
 "Well how can you expect any one to know you in those flan- 
 nelly things? You don't look the least like a doctor! When did 
 you come? " 
 
 "Late last night. Went to see a friend at Barnstaple " 
 
 "You knew we were here ?" 
 
 "Of course I did. That's why I went to see my friend at Barn- 
 
 "Good, truthful, honest young man! But I never told you you 
 
 might come " 
 
 "Shall I go away again ?" 
 
 "To your friend at Barnstaple ? He can wait."
 
 146 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 "It's not a lie it's a she! No you needn't look so it's not 
 that sort of she. She's ninety-seven next month " 
 
 "Well now, Master Rupert! What a shame? You really made 
 me think it was Something. I should have been so glad." We 
 can't stop in the middle of a conversation to analyse a feeling of 
 such a subtle character as Peggy's alleged exultation, present or 
 future, at Dr. Johnson having set himself up with a new She, and 
 given up his nonsense. "I really should have been glad of that!" 
 she repeated. She rubbed it well in, so that there should be no mis- 
 take. "But do tell me about the old lady of ninety-seven 
 
 "She's a wonderful old lady was about seventy when she first 
 made my acquaintance, and has known me all my life. She has 
 a twin sister who is even more active than herself. One of them 
 must live to be a hundred. She's had four husbands " 
 
 "Bless us and save us! And how many descendants? . . . 
 Fancy! four families, each with a name to itself! Tell me the 
 names of all the old lady's husbands." 
 
 "I never recollect them twice alike," said Dr. Johnson. "But 
 I think they were Spackman, Gale, Lecheminant, and Barrett. 
 She's Mrs. Barrett now, and lives in a cottage at Barnstaple. She 
 was my nurse when I was a baby. She is so well known to me as 
 Anne, that I have in practice a kind of disbelief in her ever hav- 
 ing been Mrs. Spackman or Lecheminant. I make a concession to 
 Barrett, but grudgingly. Haven't you ever felt the same about 
 some nurse with a Christian name?" 
 
 "No I never had a chance! Because Partridge is my only 
 experience. It seems to me that she is Partridge, in the nature of 
 things, and nothing could ever have altered it. I'm not quite cer- 
 tain what her Christian name is. Here we are at the house. Of 
 
 course you'll come in and have lunch? " Of course, but with 
 
 slight shams of reserve. "That hat looks as if they were come 
 
 back They had, and lunch was waiting, and Ellen rushed 
 
 downstairs like the Falls of Niagara. Her mother followed in a 
 more self-contained way like the water in a turbine-tube, and 
 coupled an expression of well-controlled pleasure at seeing Dr. 
 Johnson with an enquiry how long he was going to stay. 
 
 Mrs. Heath didn't like "the way things were going" with her 
 daughter and the Doctor ; but, being wise enough to know that any 
 interference on her part would defeat its own object, she raised no 
 objection to Dr. Johnson taking up his quarters at Shellacombe 
 Hotel, with freedom of the foreshores of Shellacombe. Nothing 
 was said about restrictions on visiting at Sea View, which was 
 the residence taken bodily by the Heath family ; who had come with
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 147 
 
 a cook, and more servants than could find employment, to stay 
 till the end of the season, a period fixed at discretion. Sheila- 
 combe consisted of this house and the Hotel, one or two more 
 houses, the butcher's, and the Post Office. It was only by con- 
 summate strategy that any one coming out of doors could avoid 
 any one coming out of any other doors; so reservations made with 
 a view of limiting Dr. Johnson, or any other Hotel resident, would 
 only have betrayed weakness of jurisdiction, and Mrs. Heath felt 
 that submission was the better part of valour, and submitted. Per- 
 haps the Doctor would really believe Peggy's resolutions were 
 valid, arid would sheer off. So she kept sincerely neutral, prompted 
 by her own version of her daughter's best interests. 
 
 Now Master Rupert (as Peggy had thought fit to christen him) 
 had never made a formal suit to the object of his adoration that 
 he would never have done without consulting her family! She 
 had informed him that nothing would induce her to marry even the 
 man she liked best in the world, and as she really didn't at present 
 know any one she liked better (as a friend of course) she was 
 very anxious he should dismiss nonsensical ideas from his mind 
 and be reasonable and sensible. He had assured her that in his 
 wildest dreams he never should have presumed to think of offer- 
 ing her his worthless self, but that it was quite inevitable in the 
 Nature of Things that she should never be absent from his 
 thoughts, sleeping or waking. Surely it was his own look out if 
 he lost his reason and went into a madhouse through indulging 
 this prepossession. She had given him plain warning what he had 
 to expect from her. Very good! It was all fair on both sides, 
 bien entendu. And we could walk over to Surge Point, and take 
 Alice with us this afternoon. Oh yes! Alice could go quite as 
 far as that if she did knock up, Dr. Johnson would have to 
 carry her.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OP BOHEMIA, AND HOW THE MISS PRYNNES APPEARED THERE. OP THE 
 PINE ARTS AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. OF TERPSICHORE, AND A 
 GHOST THAT MR. HEATH SAW 
 
 CHARLES had a subcutaneous consciousness that he was not doing 
 full justice to the Fine Arts; and when he resolved to remain in 
 town for the present and get a little change of air "later on," he 
 felt that he was really working hard striving ever upwards, and 
 that Life was real, Life was earnest. Besides, when everybody was 
 gone away it was so jolly in London. There was next to no smoke, 
 and you felt you could turn round. The openings given to the 
 Bohemian for asserting his nationality in the season were as 
 moonlight unto sunlight, were as water unto wine, compared to 
 his possibilities in this dull and flat recess. He could dress as he 
 pleased, and even go without a waistcoat. He could sit up all night 
 if he liked, and lie in bed till goodness knew when! And then, 
 when goodness knew, he really didn't see why a dressing-gown and 
 slippers wouldn't do ; and, accordingly, they did. We really believe 
 that a multiplication of items of this sort would give a true view 
 of Bohemianism as practised by Charles. There are, we believe, 
 other national characteristics; but, so far as we have been able to 
 learn, they lack local colour and individuality and do not seem 
 to differ materially from those of the great nation of reprobates all 
 the world over. Charles was not of this class. His easy 
 good-nature and readiness with cash made him popular in 
 Bohemian circles, especially with models ; so much so that he never 
 sat down to work without a knock coming at the door, which when 
 partly opened let in the thin end of a Model. Of course this 
 happened exactly as he made his good resolution to stick to work 
 and the thick end showed no disposition to go unless he promised 
 it sittings. But as Charles didn't want it then and there (and it 
 was rather indignant when not wanted), he had to stand holding 
 the door partly open while he conversed about its family con- 
 nection with it, for a long time before it would depart. He was 
 disturbed again in another five minutes by an indigent meek 
 middle-aged man with mutton-chop whiskers, who had no means of 
 
 148
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 149 
 
 livelihood except as an artist's model ; and for whose death by star- 
 vation, as he was too proud to come on the Parish, Charles was 
 clearly responsible if he did not forthwith paint him at seven 
 shillings a day and his lunch. Of course he got half-a-crown from 
 Charles as a gratuity, and went away thinking how soon he could 
 come again. Visitors of this sort were trying enough at all times, 
 but when all the other artists were out of town they were at their 
 worst. 
 
 Mr. Jeff was, though scarcely a reprobate, probably a much truer 
 Bohemian than Charles. The first instance utilised above, when it 
 went upstairs to call on the artist in the attics might have been 
 heard for a very long time afterwards having a pleasant but noisy 
 interview with him and a couple of fellow-artists. Mr. Jeff was 
 at work was in fact putting in an 'ead from one of his friends. 
 How the work throve we cannot say; the impression outside the 
 door was one of Chaos, accompanied by imitations of popular 
 actors. The reason we come to know anything about it is that Miss 
 Prynne and her sister, the two lady water-colour artists who had 
 taken the second floor, told Charles about it. 
 
 "It sounded as if they were racing round and round the room, 
 and shouting and shrieking all the time." This was the account 
 given, and Charles felt he could identify it. 
 
 "Old maids call anythin' a noise. You can't move." Thus Mr. 
 Jerrythought in extenuation afterwards to Charles. "It was only 
 Joe Scratchly and old Gorman. Teachin' him a new dance, she 
 was no 'arm in that, Charley?" 
 
 "Not a bit ! Perhaps it was only the Misses Prynne were jealous. 
 No doubt you were as quiet as mice." 
 
 "None of your chaff, Charley !" And then a spirit of concession 
 showed itself : "P'r'aps she was rather obstropulous ! 'Igh-spirited 
 gurl in her teens !" 
 
 "She hasn't been in her teens this five years past. She's four 
 and twenty at least !" 
 
 "She's younger than the Misses Prynnes, anyhow!" and Mr. 
 Jerrythought considers he has made a point. 
 
 "So are a good many people, my dear Jeff ! But there's a tertium 
 quid a good many tertium quids!" 
 
 Mr. Jeff seems vague about the meaning of this phrase, and not 
 quite clear that it is not an imputation on character; for he says 
 ambiguously that Miss Lucretia lives with her mother, and if that 
 isn't enough, what is? Charles explains the expression, and Jeff 
 says oh, he sees ! But he is a poor Latinist, and does not feel the 
 ground firm under his feet.
 
 150 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 What Mr. Jeff did feel clear about was that it was rather sickenin' 
 to have those two old drumsticks (the Miss Prynnes) come in and 
 spoil the place. Just as we were all so jolly! He should go next 
 quarter. Turnin' the whole place into a Dissentin' Chapel! 
 Quakers' Meetin'-house, he called it. Where was the use of 
 payin' such a high rent when you couldn't call your soul your 
 own? 
 
 "The Misses Prynnes won't do you any harm, Jeff," said his 
 friend, "if you leave them alone. Don't you make love to them 
 and they won't make love to you." 
 
 "Won't they? I'm not so sure of that. One of them the least 
 skinny of the two was tryin' it on yesterday. Did I know if there 
 was a trap-door anywhere to get on the leads ? Wanted to make a 
 study of chimney-pots in water-colour." 
 
 "How did you come to be talking to her ?" 
 
 "I didn't she talked to me. I heard a sound like a single 
 middle-aged female's 'oofs in that queer little crib that's neither a 
 room nor a landing right up at the top of that last little stair- 
 case. And I caught her there " 
 
 "Flagrante delicto" said Charles. And this time Jeff agreed, 
 without hesitation. It sounded bad, and felt like a safe invest- 
 ment. 
 
 "That's what I thought, myself," said he, "only I couldn't say 
 so to her. I asked her if I could do anythin' of a civil sort. She 
 wanted to know if the place was staircase or premises ; and suppos- 
 ing premises, which did it go with? Of course I said it was part 
 of my diggings, but I shouldn't be using it till to-morrow " 
 
 "But it doesn't belong to your Studio at all." 
 
 "I know that but premises are not like property. You get 
 in, and other people have to pick you out like a winkle. I've chris- 
 tened the place mine now, and 'ung up a pair of old check trousers 
 on a 'ook to 'orrify the Misses Prynnes. Well! if I don't they'll 
 be swarmin' upstairs with bandboxes " 
 
 "I don't believe it. But how did you settle about the roof ? ' 
 
 "Told her there was a trap-door through, out of my bedroom; 
 but it had been tried to be opened, and wouldn't. Besides, I was 
 always in bed. Said I read in bed a good deal " 
 
 "You never read, Jeff! What a story-teller you are! I say, 
 I had breakfast very early. I vote we go and lunch at Cremoncini's. 
 It'll be one o'clock before we get it." From which it is clear that 
 this chat took place in working hours; and, whichever Studio it 
 was in, the occupant of the other had no business to be idling and 
 talking there.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 151 
 
 So completely is the image of what constitutes "an Artist" 
 fixed in the mind of Everyman that as soon as he knows that the 
 stock qualifications of the profession are complied with, he makes 
 little enquiry about what the outcome of it all is. That is the affair 
 of Critics, Purchasers, and Dealers. All that he, Everyman, has to 
 do is to get an affirmative answer to one or more of the following 
 questions, and then he will know that this man is an Artist to 
 wit : Has this man a Studio ? Has he one or more easels ? Does he 
 buy large quantities of colours, and get professional discount ? 
 Does he employ real live Models? Does he send to the Academy? 
 If he does no one of these things, he evidently isn't an Artist if 
 he does them all or any fair proportion of them, he evidently is. 
 Everyman is satisfied, and no man looks at the results or cares 
 twopence about them. Maybe this was truer in the sixties than it 
 is now, when very few people are not Artists, and speculative build- 
 ers are running up barracks of Studios in every suburb; when 
 Artists' Colourmen are as numerous as milk-shops, and every post 
 brings a new little book of canvas samples; when most of the 
 Times newspaper is taken up with One Man Exhibitions, which 
 Everyman is expected to go to, and we never go to unless we have 
 a free pass. In the sixties it was not at all uncommon to hear of 
 a picture sale; in the case of big swells coronetted supplicants 
 were humbly competing with Calicottonopolis for the privilege of 
 possessing their great works as soon as they should deign to finish 
 them. It is all changed now, as far as the buyers go, and Every- 
 man is really weary of Exhibitions. We, ourselves, feel we might 
 pay a shilling of gate-money if only all the Pictures in an Exhi- 
 bition were hung with their faces to the wall. Not seeing so many 
 pictures all at once would give a sense of rest, and allow us to 
 recruit and become able to rejoice in Treatment and Quality and 
 Due Subordination as of old, and to recognise Values and all that 
 sort of thing instead of thinking it must be getting on for Tea-time. 
 
 But we have digressed, and we really have forgotten why. It has 
 nothing to do with what we wanted to say, which was that the 
 outcome of Charles did not seem proportionate to his expenditure, 
 effort, or material. He was an Artist no doubt of that for did he 
 not comply with all the requisitions ? no, not quite all ! He had 
 never sent anything to the Royal Academy, his connection there- 
 with being only through his studentship, which he reverted to in a 
 purposeless way at intervals, sometimes not going there for months 
 together. But on all other points his claim to being an Artist was 
 indisputable. Scarcely a week passed without a very elaborate 
 and expensive new canvas coming to No. 40, and being subjected
 
 152 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 to a most searching examination of its merits. If there was a flaw 
 on its surface, it clearly wasn't fit to paint on. Of if it was too 
 smooth. Or too rough. Or too absorbent. Or too non-absorbent. 
 Or one-sixteenth of an inch out of true. Or many other things. It 
 always had to have a second expensive canvas at its back "to keep 
 out the wet," and great circumspection was necessary in knocking 
 in the wedges to tighten it up, lest one of them should be the least 
 tighter than the other. But after paroxysms of System, eruptions 
 of Method, epidemics of Organisation, the Artist would "rough in" 
 a first idea with a nonchalance due to the sudden substitution of 
 inspiration for mere artisanship, to which all these precautions 
 more properly belonged. Putting it in broadly, as you felt it, 
 was your first Artistic impulse. Getting it into a horrible mess, 
 destroying the quality of the ground, and losing all the outline, 
 was the second. Wiping a great deal of it out with Benzoline was 
 the third, and consoling yourself with the reflection that it would 
 be all right when you came to moddle it up was the fourth. After 
 that you smoked and looked at it wistfully a good deal, and said 
 what a pity it was you hadn't let it alone. And then you (or 
 Charles, as may be) would order another canvas. 
 
 Mr. Jeff was of another sort but still an Artist. To him, a can- 
 vas was a canvas, and what more could you want ? It was a thing 
 that ho flew at for an hour or so, with masterly touches; at the 
 end of which period he wrote "Jerrythought" very large across 
 one corner of it. Then it was a Jerrythought. He had many 
 admirers, and owing to the way he wrote his name got the credit 
 of having profited by a year or so in Paris, and knowing the secret 
 of chic. He was quoted as an authority by some of his contempo- 
 raries, as for instance: "Jeff says it's no use looking at the 
 Model" "Jeff says it's no use looking at your picture" "Jeff 
 says retouching's a mistake" and so forth. He was true to this 
 last dictum, and let his first painting alone religiously. He cer- 
 tainly was encouraged in this by his friends, who, when they 
 saw any of his work showing any additions to their first fine care- 
 less rapture, would collapse with moans in front of it. "My dear 
 boy, why did you touch it again?" they would say tearfully; "all 
 the charm is gone all the freshness !" And Jeff would agree with 
 them most cordially, and say he couldn't think what the dooce he 
 was about, to go retouchin'l For our own part we have always 
 regarded him as the forerunner of a great Modern School of Art, 
 and consider him entitled to honour on that account. This is 
 because we shrink from the attitude of mind of the person who, 
 being told that a certain picture conveyed the same impression of
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 153 
 
 an Aspect of Nature as that of the Artist at his first moment of 
 perceiving it, remarked that then it was a bad job he'd noticed it! 
 Fortunately for Jeff there was even in those early days a public 
 that did not belong to this person's school, and it soon came to con- 
 sider itself incomplete without a Jerrythought, and fortunate to 
 possess an exceptionally good example of him. 
 
 Disturbing reflections may have occurred to outsiders who 
 witnessed the operations of either of these young artists, and may 
 have been emphasised by their results. Did Memling go to work 
 in that way? Did John of Bruges? Did Titian and Velasquez 
 spoil their first painting when they did their second? Did the 
 Florentines of the Renaissance run up such bills with their colour- 
 men, and have in new panels as recklessly as Charles had in new 
 canvases? Charles's justification in reply to hints of this sort 
 was, substantially, that of course they did things a lot better in 
 those days; but then they were Old Masters and didn't scruple to 
 take advantage of that fact. Strange mysteries of process were 
 known to them; they ground their own colours prepared their 
 own canvases made their own brushes. Everything was different ! 
 For one thing, it was the Middle Ages, or at any rate only a 
 minute or two later. It was a pity that we lived in such a spell- 
 bound Era as the present, when of course the Arts couldn't be 
 expected to flourish, but we had to make the best of a bad job, 
 and be Artists up to our natural capacity. For, in spite of the 
 chilling influence of the Present Tense, it would only make 
 matters ten times worse for us to be disheartened by the disquali- 
 fications of our contemporaneousness, and begin not being Artists 
 at all. It was no use giving in, because we couldn't paint. Let us 
 be Artists, whatever else we were; and console ourselves for our 
 insufficiency by the reflection that an Age like the present deserved 
 nothing better. 
 
 Charles's ideas, which we indicate, may have been exaggerated 
 through his not liking to admit that he really didn't know how to 
 paint by instinct, and had been able to find no one to teach him; 
 but they were a good deal in sympathy with the current practice of 
 our own time, so far as we ourselves have observed it. Have we 
 not gone on creating shoals of artists, on the distinct understand- 
 ing that compliance with canons is the whole duty of man, in Art ; 
 and that the hypothesis of their existence now is that they shall 
 be overwhelmed by their antecedents? But he had to find excuses 
 for not being able to get along, and it satisfied him to think that he 
 was struggling after a vague ideal, which for some unexplained 
 reason had gone away out of reach of the human race. It was
 
 154 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 pleasant to him to reflect that though Smith and Brown painted 
 better than he, they were all so far behind Titian that it really 
 didn't matter. Jeff was quite in sympathy with him on the general 
 ground of the indisputable inferiority of new work to old, with 
 this difference: that Charles made use of the Italian Renaissance, 
 while he himself appealed to the eighteenth century in England, 
 with excursions to Holland a little earlier. Certain forms of ugli- 
 ness seemed to have a charm for him ; but if he couldn't get them, 
 he would make a shift to put up with absolute insipidity of an 
 authentic date. A Queen-Anne teaspoon, without more ado that 
 is to say, about which nothing further could be said than that it 
 was a Queen-Anne teaspoon would warm his blood, and cause 
 him to rejoice by its divine simplicity and entire Tightness. As 
 his work began to be appreciated and paid for, he squandered a 
 good deal of the proceeds in curio-shops in Wardour Street, and 
 would often get Charles to come upstairs, and not lose a minute, to 
 see some piece of furniture by Chippendale or Sheraton, whose 
 qualities Charles had to accept on the assurance of its possessor. 
 
 "The man that made that was an Artist, Mr. Charles 'Eath, what- 
 ever you may say!" This was about a chair the enthusiast was 
 gloating over. "Look at the design! Look at the finish! There's 
 a corner! Ever see anythin' finer than that corner?" 
 
 "It's only a corner like any other corner. It's a decent service- 
 able chair though. What did you give for it? Seven bob?" Jeff 
 disdained to reply, and Charles went on: "It's a mere chair, with 
 nothing to be said about it. It isn't large, and it isn't small, and 
 it has a back, and it's stuffed with horsehair. Can't see where the 
 Art comes in!" 
 
 "It ain't in your line, my boy! It's not medieval." This was 
 spoken with compassion. "Pretty thing that coloured mezzotint 
 picked it up to-day in Leicester Square fifteen shillins!" It was 
 a lady such a lady! As far as her head and arms went she was 
 inoffensive, if elegant, and seemed more than contented with her- 
 self. But when she got to her waist, which she did very quick, 
 as it was tucked under her chin, she began to boom, and only sub- 
 sided during her stockings. However, elegance resumed its sway 
 at her feet ; although they certainly would have been larger had we 
 been consulted. For some reason known only to the publishers and 
 their confederates, an appearance of sickly red and green and blue 
 had been produced, suggesting to Charles his earliest experiences of 
 the Fine Arts when he was allowed to paint the Illustrated London 
 News out of his new colour-box, on condition that he didn't put 
 the brush in his mouth. This suggestion was the more forcible
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 155 
 
 because the confederates seemed to have practised the system en- 
 joined on Charles, the suppression of Colour, on some high moral 
 ground little appreciated by one ambitious of a Venetian Secret 
 of mixing Gum-water with Vermilion, and laying it on thick. 
 
 "I suppose you'll say that isn't mediaeval either," continued Mr. 
 Jerrythought. "You are the most narrow-minded beggar I ever 
 came across." We may apologise for his way of using the word 
 mediaeval as an adjective of Art pure and simple; whereas, when 
 you come to think of it, it really refers to History and that sort of 
 thing. Charles often did the same. Jeff would have pointed out, 
 if challenged, that epochs and periods were not his game; and 
 Charles would have agreed. Style was the game of both. 
 
 "It's rubbish, anyhow !" said Charles. "I'd sooner have the Eben- 
 ezer Sproddle, any day of the week." 
 
 Jeff appeared shocked; though he would have been more so if it 
 had been Ebenezer, as alleged. But it was really Robert, and 
 there you saw the value of a name. Why, if that jug, broken as it 
 was, was put up at Christie's, etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Colloquies of this sort were frequent, and sometimes led to 
 warmth of expression on both sides not directed by either against 
 the other, but against the respective betes-noires of the speakers. 
 Charles hadn't much patience with the seventeenth century, but he 
 forgave it a little at times. Against the eighteenth his feelings 
 were those of the Cherokee towards the Choctaw. If it had been 
 possible to scalp a Century, he certainly would have done it. But 
 though you may seize Time himself by the forelock, metaphorically, 
 he is indivisible, and cannot be taken a clause at a time like a Bill 
 in Committee. Jeffs task of overwhelming the Middle Ages with 
 sarcasm and invective was a harder one, owing to the vastness of 
 the area to be traversed and the comparative uncertainty of infor- 
 mation. But young men of imperfect education will rush in where 
 Philologists and Archaeologists fear to tread, and Jeff pluckily 
 included the Religion, Philosophy, Literature, and Art of the 
 Mediaeval period (dating, say, from the dawn of Byzantine Art to 
 the decoration of the Sistine Chapel) in the broad and compre- 
 hensive category of Rot. 
 
 Charles, who really had some education of a sort, over and above 
 a public-school smattering of the Classics, was much more detailed 
 in his indictments against his particular aversion. The discovery 
 in the cellar of the bones of the murdered woman, and the little 
 he had been able to gather about the old house itself, had set him 
 a-thinking about toupees and patches, and sedan chairs, and Wits 
 and Beaux and Beauties in the old ballroom the Vandal picture-
 
 156 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 dealer was defiling. And when he recalled what little he had read 
 of the days when the old house was new and clean and smelt of 
 recent plaster, and the fields were fields along the Oxford Road, 
 and the cattle from the country stopped to drink at Bayes' Water, 
 near Hyde Park Gardens, and the air was fresher in the spring- 
 time, and the summer breeze more richly laden with the scent of 
 hay, and the town cleaner and smaller still, in spite of all this, he 
 thought of the days when the old house was building, and of those 
 that followed, with shrinking and aversion. For they seemed to 
 him to bristle with cards, and to rattle with dice, and to echo with 
 blasphemies, and to reek of corks. All the flashing of all the dia- 
 monds, all the beauty of the women, or as much of it as one could 
 see through the powder and the patches; all the wit and all the 
 repartee, or as much of it as would bear repetition ; all the spirited 
 bloodshed in the name of honour ; all the Courts of all the Georges 
 and one of the Annes, whoever the other may be all the eight- 
 eenth century in a word was for Charles so flavoured with the 
 atmosphere of wine-cellars, so resonant of dicers' oaths, so foul with 
 its apotheosis of its own sensualism, that even the respectable 
 survivals of its upholsteries seemed to him tainted, and he could 
 not look on a creditably executed mahogany sideboard in one of 
 Jeff's favourite bric-a-brac shops without a suspicion that in the 
 good old time when it was new, its good old owners, if male, fin- 
 ished the day in a state of good old intoxication. Of course this 
 was an entirely false impression of a very deserving Era, pro- 
 duced by imperfect study which had lighted on one or two doubtful 
 passages in the plays of Congreve and Wycherley, and a dull chap- 
 ter in Rasselas. 
 
 For present purposes it really matters very little if Charles did 
 think of the age of his English great-grandfathers as a slough a 
 dreary morass with Handel shining above it like a glorious star, 
 and the terrible eloquence of Swift denouncing its slime from a 
 puddle in its midst, and Blake ignoring it and getting out of it 
 unsullied at the end. Let Charles think what he likes ! "We know 
 that it really was a brilliant century, and that Literature and the 
 Arts flourished. Perhaps if the latter had flourished a little less 
 and taken more pains, we should have been in a better position 
 to share Mr. Jeff's indignation against the Vandal dealer when he 
 heard that it was absolutely proposed to repaint and decorate the 
 ceiling of the ballroom as soon as the new skylight was completed. 
 
 This reminds us that it was when the two went away to lunch 
 at Cremoncini's after the conversation about the Misses Prynne 
 that Jeff told Charles of this atrocity. We were just going to tell
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 157 
 
 about this when we got led away into a discussion on the Fine 
 Arts, which has lasted till now. If you will forgive us, we will 
 promise not to do so any more. 
 
 "I suppose you think it right to paint over the ceilin' and rub 
 out Terpsichore?" Thus Jeff at cigarette time after lunch at 
 Cremoncini's. 
 
 "Bother Terpsichore!" said Charles. "She's nearly rubbed out 
 as it is! Why don't you ask Bauerstein that's his name, isn't 
 it? to let you remove her from the wall for yourself ypu could 
 add her to your collection of Art-Treasures." 
 
 "I say Charley! I wish you'd come with me to see the feller 
 and talk to him about it. He can't understand me, and of course 
 I can't speak German. The builders are comin' in on Monday, 
 and they'll make such a hash of the ceilin' there won't be any 
 chance " 
 
 "Can't Bauerstein understand English?" 
 
 "Not so much as you'd think. Or perhaps he pretends he don't. 
 But I offered him a sov. to let me try to get Terpsichore off the 
 wall ; so he had a reason for understanding. I say, Charley !" 
 
 "What do you say, Jeff?" 
 
 "Don't be spiteful about the eighteenth century, but come along 
 and tackle Bauerstein. He'd listen to you. You see if he don't !" 
 
 We need hardly say that Charles, thus appealed to, consented. 
 And when the two returned to No. 40 they rang Mr. Bauerstein's 
 bell, and explained their visit. Charles was able to clear up a mis- 
 t^nderstanding. The German had imagined Mr. Jerrythought to be 
 an Artist anxious to compete for the redecoration of the room; 
 and, supposing himself to have been mistaken by that gentleman 
 for a confidential employee instead of the principal of the concern, 
 had interpreted Jeff's sov. as a douceur to procure his influence at 
 headquarters. He had neither shown nor felt any indignation at 
 this, but taken it as a matter of course. Oh dear, no ! he said ; he 
 had no objection to the removal of the picture, which was of abso- 
 lutely no value. Only Mr. Jerrythought must make haste, as the 
 builders were coming on Monday. "You'll have to come and help, 
 Charley," said Jeff. And Charles found himself engaged, some- 
 what under protest, in rescuing with assiduous care a most miser- 
 able daub (in his opinion) from the hand of the destroyer. 
 
 But the whole of the work connected with the preservation, 
 removing, relining, renewing of any picture already in existence 
 is so fascinating as compared with the onerous task of original 
 composition, in which we are never certain we are doing right, that 
 Charles soon became absorbed in it. No matter how execrable
 
 158 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 the object of antiquity may be, we become blind to its defects the 
 moment we have to do anything to arrest its decay. It is this very 
 enthusiasm that makes the Restorer the deadliest of Destroyers, for 
 nothing can ever make him see that the first step towards ensuring 
 the continued existence of anything is to let it alone. The natural 
 instinct of the picture-restorer is to take steps for the preserva- 
 tion of every picture before it is dry. But he likes a little real 
 antiquity to give him a start. 
 
 There was very little Terpsichore left to conserve. So much the 
 better, considered as an object of enthusiasm. Her smirk was still 
 there, like the celebrated grin of the Cheshire Cat in Wonderland, 
 and the grace of the design was thereby manifest. The enthusiasm 
 bcame infectious, and Mr. Bauerstein got involved in it and gave 
 some very good recommendations. It spread to the region of 
 Stained Glass, and Pope & Chappell came to see what was 
 going on. 
 
 A fierce controversy raged at the outset. What gum or glue 
 should be used to attach thin tissue paper to the face of the 
 precious work ? Common glue, fish-glue, isinglass, gum tragacanth, 
 gum arabic, flour paste all had their advocates. We believe the 
 last was decided on and left till the next day to get quite dry. 
 
 Next day every one rose feverishly early, and went to see how 
 Terpsichore was. She could have been nothing but a piece of wall- 
 plaster with some paper pasted on it, but she was examined and 
 reported on as if she had been a successful operation for appen- 
 dicitis. "In a very good state," was the verdict. 
 
 The next step was to attach coarser paper and then follow with 
 a succession of canvases, each coarser than its predecessor, until at 
 last came the moment to decide whether we would simply rip 
 Terpsichore off by main force or whether we would chip continu- 
 ally behind her with flat knives until she came away of her own 
 accord. The last seemed best, and Charles and Jeff spent a day 
 cautiously worming palette-knives behind Terpsichore, and fear- 
 ing the said knives might at any moment inflict irreparable injury. 
 
 They were deeply engaged in this way, and the German had 
 departed, leaving them in possession, when Charles, who was work- 
 ing on a ladder to the right of Terpsichore, took off his spectacles to 
 wipe them, and accidentally dropped them on the floor. He had 
 thought they were alone in the room, and that Bauerstein when 
 he went out had closed his door, leaving them sole occupants. This 
 could not be the case clearly, for there stood a lady, who certainly 
 was not in the room when he went away, and who could not have 
 dropped through the skylight. She had noticed evidently that
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 159 
 
 Charles had dropped his spectacles, and very obligingly stooped 
 down as though to find them and hand them to him. Charles 
 caught sight of the glasses under the ladder and stooped to pick 
 them up. 
 
 "Who did you say thank-you to?" said Jeff, turning round from 
 his chipping on the ladder. 
 
 "That lady," said Charles. 
 
 "I saw no lady." 
 
 "She was here just now, anyhow," said Charles. 
 
 "Somebody for Bauerstein, I suppose. But he must have left 
 the door open. Better shut it." 
 
 Charles went out to do so, but in a moment came back, puzzled. 
 "I say, Jeff!" said he. "This is queer. The door's shut!" 
 
 "I suppose she shut it," said Jeff, prosaically unconcerned, and 
 chipping. 
 
 Charles said nothing, but went out. Jeff heard him open and 
 try to close the door gently, then with added force ; then finally pull 
 it or push it to with a loud slam. Then came a violent ring at 
 the bell. Clearly Charles had shut himself out. Jeff got delib- 
 erately down the ladder and went to the door. "What's up ?" said 
 he as he let Charles in. 
 
 "You go outside and try to pull that door to quietly." Jeff did as 
 directed, and made a succession of ineffectual trials, increasing in 
 force, till the door hasped to, with a bang that echoed through the 
 house. 
 
 "The door was shut," said Charles. "That woman's somewhere 
 inside still." Jeff suggested waiting a minute to see if she reap- 
 peared of her own accord, but she didn't! And the closest 
 search only showed that the two young men were alone in that part 
 of the house. 
 
 "There's only the skylight and the chimney and the drains 
 to get out at," said Jeff. "Of course she slammed the door and you 
 didn't notice it." 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 "Oh no ! I didn't. But then I wasn't in it. It was all you and 
 her. I don't come in." 
 
 "Gammon, Jeff! You couldn't be off hearing the door slam. 
 She could have shut herself in quietly, but she couldn't shut her- 
 self out." 
 
 They made feeble experiments of getting the hasp to hold back so 
 as to allow of gentle closing, but without result. The door had 
 been readjusted to separate the dealer's sublet from the remainder 
 of Pope & Chappell's holding, and the lock was venomously self-
 
 160 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 assertive. It would perform i'ts proper function, but would do 
 nothing else not if it knew it! They closed the door and went 
 back through the lobby to the now darkening room. They laughed 
 uneasily, and essayed some feeble mutual chaff about the lady 
 having come for one of them. But it didn't work. They lit the 
 gas, and this seemed to inaugurate a new condition of things, and 
 to enable them to take up the attitude that the door ''must have" 
 closed without their hearing it. They adduced strange instances 
 of people who had slept through discharges of cannon close to their 
 ears. The improbability per se of the door closing inaudibly was 
 made use of to cover the additional stumbling-block of its occur- 
 ring to two persons at once. It was such a rum start its happening 
 at all, that the coincidence didn't add to its rumness. "Just as 
 like as not to happen to both at once, I should say," was Jeff's 
 verdict. He implied that once such high-class rumness was afoot, 
 we might expect consistency in the start it was connected with; 
 it would work out alike all through. 
 
 When Man has to account for an unaccountable phenomenon, he 
 goes through the most violent mental gymnastics before he ac- 
 knowledges himself beaten. Charles and Jeff decided that if they 
 went away to dinner now at the Cock and then to see the new 
 melodrama, they would have time to talk it over. And they talked 
 it all over through dinner and through the blanks in the per- 
 formance but didn't get any forwarder. 
 
 "It must have been a ghost !" said Charles as they let themselves 
 in at No. 40. 
 
 "Must have been a ghost !" repeated Jeff. "I say, Charley ! " 
 
 "Continue your remark, Mr. Jerrythought." 
 
 "How about that ghost the little card saw Alice the kid? 
 Ghost of a woman!" Both had thought of this, but Jeff had the 
 courage to mention it first. Perhaps he felt he had a less dignified 
 character to lose. 
 
 "I shall go to bed," said Charles, abruptly. "Just the child's 
 fancy!" he added, reflectively, as he lighted his bedroom candle. 
 "Good-night, Jeff ! Don't see any more Ghosts !" 
 
 But he thought a good deal about it all the same, till he went to 
 sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OF ALICE'S WALK TO SURGE POINT AND HOW SHE WENT OVER THE CLIFF. 
 OF A DECLARATION AT A CRISIS 
 
 ALICE repudiated with scorn the idea that she should ever get 
 tired, and as for being carried by Dr. Johnson a great big girl like 
 her ! she was such a weight, dignity apart, as to put it quite out of 
 the question. Dr. Johnson's reply to this was to catch her and put 
 her on his shoulder. "Pleathe, I am tho vethy big!" was the pro- 
 test, or was contained in the confusion of exultation and pro- 
 test, that was sandwiched between bursts of happy laughter in a 
 short interlude on the lawn in front of the house, where nothing 
 would grow but tamarisk and hydrangeas, with a concession to 
 hart's-tongue fern in the buttress-wall that made it a terrace, be- 
 cause of the water trickling through from the cliff behind. 
 
 "What a silly man you are to waste your strength so!" says 
 Peggy, coming out to join them. "Do put the child down imme- 
 diately. When she's tired she'll be glad of a lift. Now, Alice 
 dear! You take hold of me on this side, and Dr. Johnson on 
 that and there we are !" 
 
 But the trio had not gone very far when they were called back; 
 that is to say, they were called to and didn't go back, but called in 
 return, and neither caller could hear the other. So Alice went 
 back to glean particulars, while Peggy and the Doctor went 
 slowly on. 
 
 In the course of time the small emissary overtook them bubbling 
 over with entrusted communication. Minus a great amount of 
 stammering, lisping, and panting, for the messenger was out of 
 breath, the actual substance was as follows: Miss Ellen says Mrs. 
 Heath says the Coastguardsman said it wasn't safe along the 
 TJndercliff pathway and to keep along the hill-top and not go near 
 the edge, and it was written up no public road but never mind! 
 This was given fairly correctly only the negotiation of the words 
 Coastguardsman and Undercliff was difficult, and early associa- 
 tions crept in in the rendering of public road as public-house. 
 Peggy shuddered at the expert articulation of the word. "We'll 
 try to do without the public-house this time, anyhow!" said Dr. 
 Johnson, cheerfully. And the party set off. 
 
 161
 
 162 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 First they had a long spell of sand, sometimes ribbed, sometimes 
 smooth; sometimes giving way and revealing undersludge; some- 
 times intersected by rivers which looked like nothing till you were 
 close up, but had to be walked along the edge of, and which in the 
 end deflected the traveller towards America one way, and the other 
 way towards the point he started from. 
 
 Alice wished very much to stop and dig for worms a fascinat- 
 ing and absorbing employment; but for its full enjoyment a fork 
 is necessary. Practised with a spade, especially a wooden one, it is 
 painful to the worms; and also, except he be hard of heart, to 
 the digger. If a vivisector by profession, and prone to scientific 
 observation, he may derive instruction from the way in which, 
 when a worm is halved, its intellectual end wriggles: but no one, 
 scientific or otherwise, can pretend to be satisfied with an ampu- 
 tation by a blunt spade. And the inconvenience to the worm of 
 being forced through the sand when the spade is too blunt to cut 
 it, is, we hope, obvious. A parasol, or sunshade, though it may spare 
 the worm, is apt to be fruitless and platonic. Therefore, when the 
 party arrived at an expanse of half -dry sand on which the worm- 
 casts were so clean and beautiful that they made one wish one 
 was small enough to be among them, as among hills on a plain, and 
 enjoy the landscape, no doubt Peggy was right to answer Alice's 
 appeal "Only just one worm, Miss Peggy pleathe, only one"- 
 with "Nonsense, child! We shall never get to Surge Point. Be- 
 sides, it spoils my sunshade, if one digs in far enough." However, 
 Alice was consoled by being allowed to have her shoes off and 
 run in the water, some weight being allowed to short cuts that were 
 open to her, barefoot. But when one wishes to play at being a pony 
 on the sands, all the edge is taken off short-cuts. 
 
 Rupert Johnson was quite distinctly on honour, this walk, not 
 to ! Not to what ? Don't ask impertinent questions. Let it suffice 
 that his being so on honour, made Peggy's mind easy about allow- 
 ing Alice to go free on the sands, whether as a pony or a seeker 
 of short-cuts. It would perhaps have been kinder of Peggy to make 
 herself as ugly as possible, under the circumstances, instead of 
 putting on her blue muslin with sprigs, and her hat with the 
 white ribbons. They suited her exactly, and you would have been 
 in love with her yourself, if you had seen her. We had very nearly 
 written that the blue muslin was a new rivet in the attachment of 
 her victim to his idol but really he was all over rivets, and there 
 was no room left now for another. As he walked beside her there 
 on the sands keeping a respectful distance (eighteen inches or 
 thereabouts), on honour! he was simply in a state of wild intoxi-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 163 
 
 cation. He saw nothing but Peggy cared nothing for the jasper 
 sea that was now a moveless mirror for the same great white cloud 
 as before, which itself had never moved all day; for the little rip- 
 pling wave that for some unknown reason decided to rise and come 
 a little way towards the shore and die, with a short memory of 
 floating foam above its tomb; for the myriads of little stiff gulls, 
 each standing on its own inverted image in the wet sand, and mak- 
 ing us wonder where he can have packed away the wings that 
 gleamed so large just now in the sun, as he floated to a rather better 
 place in front of his friends with a musical cry, and settled down 
 to a rather nearer view of what they were all looking at in the same 
 direction. He had no eyes for the great headland, sleeping in the 
 sun, that they were soon going to climb, nor for the white sails, 
 full-set, of the motionless sloops that had tried to creep round it all 
 day, and failed. Even the crab that ran out sideways, from under 
 the stone he kicked, and defied him with outspread claws to mortal 
 combat, could not make him withdraw his eyes from Peggy. Peggy 
 was his universe, and except when she herself called his attention 
 to incidents in the other universe the other people's universe 
 the infatuated young man took no more notice of it than he did 
 of the crab. But he was an honourable young man ; and as he was 
 not to, he didn't. 
 
 "How that young person has changed, since that day you came 
 to the Hospital eight months ago !" He said this just as it 
 became clear that the short-cut programme would be superseded 
 by the pony, and Alice careered away in that character over a 
 favourable surface with no ribs on it. 
 
 "Is it really eight months? I had no idea. How the time does 
 
 run away 
 
 I" 
 
 "Quite eight months no! almost quite. Her accent's so im- 
 proved. And do you know she was telling me all about Hubert and 
 Prince Arthur and his cruel uncle in the garden just now before 
 we had that scrimmage about whether I was to carry her." 
 
 "How did you come to Prince Arthur?" 
 
 "Because she said she called me King Johnson. That led to 
 Prince Arthur naturally. And she was so funny about Charley. 
 'Do you know,' said she, 'when I was a vethy vethy vethy little 
 girl, and told Pussy stories I told and I told and I told Pussy 
 O such a long story about Prince Spectacles.' 'Who was he,' I 
 asked?' 'I fink,' she said, 'Mr. Charley was Prince Spectacles I 
 fink so. But O, it was such a vethy vethy long time ago !' " And 
 Johnson imitates Alice's manner, not inadequately. 
 
 "As soon as we catch the pony," says Peggy, "we'll make her
 
 164 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 tell us more about Prince Spectacles. I wonder when that dear 
 silly boy means to come down here. Did he tell you ?" 
 
 "He said he was coming. What that meant I can't say ! He and 
 his friend, Mr. Jerrythought " 
 
 "Oh yes ! Mr. Jerrythought ?" Peggy represses a disposition to 
 laugh. 
 
 u were much exercised about a ghost they had seen." 
 
 "That's interesting! But what ghost? You know Alice saw a 
 ghost on the stairs " 
 
 "Of course she did! I remember all about it. And we said it 
 must be the ghost of the bones in the cellar " 
 
 "How could it have been any other ghost ? No doubt at all about 
 it, I should say." 
 
 "Are you in earnest ? Do you believe it was a ghost ?" 
 
 "I don't think I do. I don't think I quite know what to believe. 
 But if it was a ghost, it was the ghost of those bones of their 
 owner, that is! But what was Charley's new ghost and Mr. 
 Jerrythought's ?" With the same disposition to laugh; but we 
 would not leave him out in the cold. 
 
 "Charley said he would write you a long letter about it. What 
 he told me was that he and his friend saw a lady in the picture- 
 dealer's room, and they didn't know how she got in, or got out." 
 
 "Come now, Master Eupert! There must have been more than 
 that. I suppose every lady one sees in a picture-dealer's room isn't 
 to be a ghost, because one doesn't know how she got in, or got 
 out?" 
 
 "I don't know. Very likely I got it wrong. You'll get his 
 letter " 
 
 "Why shouldn't the lady have come in at the door like every- 
 body else? As they did themselves? Because if the door wasn't 
 open how did they get in ? It wasn't their room." 
 
 "I don't know. Don't ask me. That's about all Charley told 
 me. I only saw him a few minutes." But Peggy persisted in 
 analysing the story, in spite of deficient particulars. 
 
 "What did he mean about not knowing how she got out? Any- 
 body can get out of anywhere only they can't get in when the 
 door's locked." 
 
 "He said something about how they hadn't heard the door shut. 
 But really it's no use asking me. I only got half the story." 
 
 "Hadn't heard the door shut ! Why, of course she didn't shut it. 
 A couple of geese!" 
 
 The conversation was momentarily interrupted by an application 
 from the pony for Dr. Johnson's stick, to throw into the water for
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 165 
 
 a friend, a collie-dog, who seemed to live on the shore, waiting 
 for sticks. Was he sure to bring it out ? The pony guaranteed it 
 and went away with the stick. Peggy went on demolishing the 
 evidence she had not heard. She was only following time-honoured 
 precedents in her treatment of the miraculous or supernatural. A 
 few of these, taken at random, are, judgment first, data afterwards ; 
 supply of data, at choice, from one's own stock; an unfair bias 
 against other people's spooks; an ascription, by implication, of 
 Cretinism to previous investigators, and so on. However, one 
 generally makes up for one's behaviour towards the Psychical 
 Researches of others by the excessive impartiality, amounting some- 
 times to onesidedness, with which one treats one's own. But we 
 have no time now to do justice to this interesting subject. 
 
 By the time Peggy had got her brother and his friend properly 
 classified given them a very low degree, or plucked them outright 
 as Ghostleaders they were drawing near the place for leaving the 
 shore and mounting the cliff. The pony was a very minute spot 
 almost out of hearing; but was recovered, none the dryer for its 
 adventures, after shouting. Also, the collie-dog had swum out 
 to the stick; but after examining it, had decided it was the wrong 
 stick, and had come back without it for another, and had barked 
 as a dog barks who is surprised and hurt, but not angry. The 
 stick had gone for an Atlantic voyage; there was no help for it! 
 Then followed incident connected with getting the pony's stock- 
 ings on. And then a pause on the shingly beach for rest, the 
 party being hot with walking in the sun. Peggy seemed to think 
 she owed something to Psychical Research, after her recent treat- 
 ment of it, and catechised Alice about her experience with the 
 spotted lady. 
 
 "I sawed her coming straight down the stairs," recapitulated 
 Alice, "and go froo the airey-door out right out into the airey 
 all by herself." 
 
 "Did she look glad or sorry, Alice ?" asked Johnson. 
 
 "Oh! Sorry!!" very emphatically. 
 
 "Poor spotted lady! Somebody must have hurted her who 
 was it, I wonder?" 
 
 "Really, Master Rupert, I can't have you making Alice use wrong 
 words. She's getting an accomplished historian, but she's a bad 
 linguist." 
 
 "I apologise. It's hurt it's not hurted. Somebody must have 
 hurt her eh! Alice?" 
 
 "Somebody must have hurt her!" says Alice, by instalments, 
 to be prepared for hurt, which is fired off correctly. Peggy feels
 
 166 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 she has done her duty by Lindley Murray, but rather at the ex- 
 pense of the conversation. She wishes to make amends. There is a 
 flight of steps cut in the rock just above where they are sitting, 
 and an idea occurs to her. 
 
 "You go up those steps and come down like the lady did 
 pretend you're the lady ! Stop a minute we'll put the spots on." 
 And Peggy proceeds to decorate Alice's face with little patches of 
 sea-weed. "Two here two here one here and one here ! Is that 
 right?" 
 
 Yes that's right! And off goes Alice. But she returns half- 
 way, because one of the spots has come off and flowed away. She 
 enters into the part, feeling it intensely, and must have every- 
 thing right. The second time, the performance comes off. Peggy 
 cannot help thinking to herself, how strange it would have been, 
 if the story had been real (which of course it wasn't), and the 
 murdered woman could have foreseen that a hundred years later 
 a child would be pretending to be her, in the sun, on Shellacombe 
 beach. 
 
 "Why did you catch hold of yourself by the tummy, you funny 
 child ?" says Peggy, when Alice returns amidst the applause of the 
 audience. The piece has been most successful, but the incident 
 of the actress holding her left side with both hands was not known 
 to be in the text. 
 
 "Because the lady come down the stairs and froo the airey 
 with bofe hands like that." And Alice encores the action described 
 and continues: "The spots never stickeded on, only just till the 
 bottom step. Then they flowed away." She has an Artist's 
 pleasure at this not having occurred earlier, and impaired the 
 climax. 
 
 Johnson looks puzzled, interested, excited a little uncomforta- 
 ble. But no further speculations can be indulged in because we 
 shall never get to Surge Point, at this rate. Peggy quite agreed 
 to this, and the party started on their upward path. Alice was 
 allowed to go on in front, under a guarantee that she would not 
 go near the edge and look over. 
 
 "Why didn't Alice tell about the hands before ?" said Johnson. 
 
 tf Do you think that looks as if she was romancing, as Part- 
 ridge calls it? I don't. To me it goes all the other way. If I 
 had to tell an incident in words, I should be sure to leave some- 
 thing undescribed, that I should be equally sure to act, if I did 
 like Alice did, and put it on the stage. There's the Undereliff 
 path we're not to go along there. Straight on Alice! No not 
 that way! Straight on!"
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 167 
 
 Alice ran on in front, talking and singing to herself. She 
 ^seemed to Peggy to have changed completely from the subdued 
 and ill-nourished morsel of humanity that Charles had brought 
 home in the cab, eight months ago as completely as her mother 
 had changed when the Alcohol demon flew, and left her to die in 
 decency. One thing is very certain, that Miss Alice was now hav- 
 ing a high old time, as the phrase is; and that, child-like, she 
 accepted her happiness without wonder or speculation, as she had 
 accepted her misery without complaint. 
 
 Oh dear, how hot it was to be sure, climbing up that hill-side 
 under the afternoon sun ! It had been hotter certainly at mid-day, 
 if that was any extenuation. But it was hot enough still to jus- 
 tify Alice in saying that a half-way-up rest on a stone ledge was 
 like sitting on the hob. However, there is an end to all things ; and 
 it was all the pleasanter when the smooth round sweeps of down- 
 land were reached, and the party was working along the path that 
 was not a public road, enjoying the freshness of the sea-wind and 
 the chorus of the innumerable gulls below. They met no living 
 creature except one sheep, who seemed to have missed her party, 
 and who would bleat and stop, and wait for answer and get none, 
 and then start running again and be heard bleating plaintively 
 elsewhere. Alice was much concerned and wanted to offer sym- 
 pathy and assistance ; but there were difficulties about this, and the 
 idea had to be given up. 
 
 The day was getting on (for they were much behind their 
 intended time) when they came within what seemed a short dis- 
 tance of the great lighthouse, very white and very clean like a 
 well-made model popped down on a smooth carpet of down, with 
 the sweet immeasurable blue beyond. They were on the highest 
 point of the down, and they bivouacked a little to enjoy the view, 
 before descending to the lighthou.se. The wind was repenting of 
 its apathy all day, and was making up its mind that those sloops 
 and that brigantine should get round the point at last, and not lie 
 becalmed all night. They could see the wind-sweep spreading on 
 the water, and watched for the flap of the white sails as they 
 greeted its arrival; and saw them stir, then vacillate, then take 
 the wind and start but oh, so slowly! It looked to Alice as if so 
 little wind as that could never do them any good. Why couldn't 
 that great huge steamer out there, whose engines we could hear so 
 plainly up here at this height, just turn a little out of her course 
 and pick them all up and take them, free of charge, to Bristol or 
 Cardiff? Why not, indeed? 
 
 Alice, interested in the ships and the steamer, went away a short
 
 168 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 distance from her companions, replying, to Peggy's frequent cau- 
 tions not to go near the edge, that there was no edge, only smoove, 
 smoove, smoove fields like this; and Alice patted the sheep- 
 cropped down to show how smooth it was. Peggy called her back, 
 and she came. But Alice was a good obedient child only in a 
 partial or limited sense. When she obeyed you once, she con- 
 sidered that that was enough, and that it was no business of hers 
 to consider the spirit of your instructions. Having once come back 
 she had done her duty, and might go away again. It was not her 
 business to take note that Miss Peggy and King Jomson, as she 
 called him, had accidently become much absorbed in something 
 they had to talk about, and were not aware she had gone away 
 again, to get a rather nearer view of the ships. On the contrary 
 she regarded this absorption as favourable to her own freedom of 
 action. She would have come back in an instant if either had 
 called ; but as it chanced neither did so. We need not suppose that 
 Master Rupert was forgetting his compact, though for anything 
 we know, he might have been. He was lying on the turf at Peggy's 
 feet, with his chin on his hands, and his feet towards the sea. So, 
 even if he had had eyes for anything but Peggy's face against the 
 blue, he could not see Alice, and no doubt fancied Peggy was 
 keeping her eyes on her. So she thought she was herself; but you 
 can't possibly, always, don't you know. If you happen to be talk- 
 ing seriously to a friend, and she (or he) is saying something that 
 engrosses you, entertains you, pleases or displeases you very 
 much well ! every now and then you're sure to flag in your atten- 
 tion; and then Alice dances away out of range, or the equivalent 
 thing, whatever it may be in your case, happens. And then you 
 start, as Peggy did, and come back into the world of consciousness 
 and action, from whatever other world you may happen to have 
 been in, Metaphysics, Cookery, Political Economy, anything! 
 
 "Oh dear! I wish the child wouldn't go out of our sight," said 
 she as Alice vanished, evidently walking, beyond an outline of the 
 hill against the sea. Peggy got up to follow her, and so did 
 Johnson. 
 
 "She's all right there," said he. "It's not a precipice when you 
 get there these places are so deceptive. But I'll go after her and 
 fetch her back." Peggy waited where she stood, on the main path- 
 way to the lighthouse, with the little heaps of stones along it, kept 
 fresh-painted white to show the road on dark winter nights. She 
 was not anxious; she knew the ways of these cliff-sides too well. 
 If you were to be anxious every time any one went out of sight, 
 there would never be an end to it. They would be back directly.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 169 
 
 Besides, Master Rupert could see her now he was out of sight 
 himself. They would be back directly. . . . 
 
 How funnily the bleat of that sheep sounded! How it ran 
 about too! It was over there just now, and that last time it 
 sounded as if it was down the hill-side towards the sea, where Alice 
 was. Surely that foolish little monkey had not gone running down 
 to the cliff to see the sheep. She must have gone on a long way 
 though! But there could be nothing wrong, or Master Rupert 
 would have shouted back. There was the sheep again poor thing ! 
 it sounds quite in despair stop ! 
 
 "It isn't the sheep at all it's Alice!" 
 
 Peggy neither says nor hears these words. As she looked back 
 after to that terrible moment, they seemed to come into her memory 
 with the rest of the scene with the glorious sea and all Heaven 
 above it, with the land under enchantment from the first lengthen- 
 ing of the shadows, with the endless music of the sea-birds below 
 even the mysterious note of the wind on the telegraph wire that 
 warns the life-boat of ships sighted in distress, or wrecks so near 
 that the rocket apparatus is the only chance of rescue. They 
 would all come back vividly to her recollection, and with them, 
 just as vividly, the words she neither spoke nor heard, but that 
 filled the place just the same. "It isn't the sheep at all it's 
 Alice!" 
 
 How quickly one can think when thought is driven, forced, stung 
 into the brain. As Peggy ran (and she ran hard too) to the point 
 at which Johnson had disappeared the thought had time to form in 
 her mind: I shall lose them both! That Alice had slipped down 
 some awful precipice, and that Johnson was after her that was 
 clear as noonday to her almost before she started. But then, all 
 in a few seconds, followed a hideous vision! she would go home 
 alone alone! The intensity of the horror of her coming to the 
 house to tell of it even worse, the telling of her brother after- 
 wards all crowded into that little span of time between the mo- 
 ment when she heard the sheep cry last, and when she saw, still 
 some little way below her, the figure of Rupert Johnson, who must 
 surely have gone mad, as he was to all seeming pulling off his 
 boots and stockings. 
 
 Peggy ran! Oh, how she ran! And so running she suddenly 
 grasped the explanation Alice had slid down the rounding curve 
 of slippery down, growing steeper and steeper, till even the sheep 
 that cropped the short herbage had no foothold on the grass itself, 
 and could only reach it from the tiny roads they themselves had 
 made in countless ages. If Johnson went down there after her she
 
 17 o ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 would to a certainty lose them both. Even barefoot, as she saw 
 he meant to try it, he would never keep his feet. And then she 
 knew she was blocking her mind against the thought of what losing 
 Johnson meant. It was sounding its summons at the door, but 
 she refused to admit it. 
 
 She seized Johnson's arm when she reached him. You will see 
 how quickly all this passed from the fact that it was while he 
 took off two lace-up boots, and an ordinary pair of socks not 
 stockings. 
 
 "Not both! Not both!! Oh, Alice, my darling, forgive me!" 
 The despairing cry had no expectation that Alice could hear 
 it was just the form a pang took. Johnson hesitated barely a 
 second. Would she not release his arm ? 
 
 "Margaret Heath, I love you more than all else there is for me 
 in Heaven or Earth but let me go ! I ask it." His voice fell as 
 he repeated again, "I ask it." But Margaret clung to his arm 
 "I cannot bear to lose you both," she said, quite rapidly, under her 
 breath. 
 
 And in that moment, this man knew what he would have to live 
 for, if he lived. But he knew he would not be worthy of it, if he 
 allowed the excuse that he could not release himself without vio- 
 lence. It was true, for Peggy was no chicken; a great, strong, 
 splendid girl more than a match for many a man of small 
 strength. Johnson was distinctly a powerful man, but Peggy 
 gripped him firmly, and it would have to be violence or sub- 
 mission. 
 
 "Oh, Rupert Johnson I cannot bear to lose you. Not both! 
 Not both!" 
 
 It was a hard trial. But the cry Peggy had thought was the 
 sheep came again. He hesitated no more. "Forgive me," said 
 he, "for I love you." 
 
 He shook her off suddenly with force; it was needed. In fact, 
 she staggered and fell. She loved him for his strength, and imme- 
 diately picking herself up, ran, barely glancing round to see him 
 as he went cautiously barefoot down the awful curve, and ran, ran, 
 fan till she reached the lighthouse. 
 
 As far as Peggy could remember, after, what happened when 
 she got there, screaming "They're over the cliff they're over 
 the cliff!" it was in this wise: She ran, crying out continu- 
 ally, through a backyard devoted to the cultivation of fuchsias, 
 and the washing of rather clean clothes, and was met by their 
 laundress, who was large and trustworthy of that there could
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 171 
 
 be no doubt ! and who instantly called out Phaylim. Some- 
 thing whistled and said, "Pst quick!" Then she was aware of 
 one two three men in navy blue one with a great bare throat, 
 with a long coil of rope on his shoulder. And although she had 
 the dimmest impression of the number and personality of these 
 men, a long scar on the throat of the rope-man that began under 
 the ear and ended on a massive clavicle was as clear to her as if 
 she had not been fainting away. Then things disappeared, scar and 
 all; but not before she caught an Irish question from the Coast- 
 guard laundress "Me dyurr will ye thry thin and till us where 
 your f rinds are?" She struggled hard to get words out she knew 
 what to say could she have spoken, as she had arranged it all 
 before but it was useless. Everything vanished as a man's voice 
 said "No good! Search!" and was followed by rapid exit and 
 running on the turf outside. Then all became a blank until she 
 found herself again in the same place supported by a powerful 
 soapy arm. She was being criticised. 
 
 "She's a darrlin', shure! She'll spake directly!" 
 
 "She has got hair, tu !" This was a Devonshire accent. 
 
 "Ye're an imperrtinent maiden! Lave the locks alone " 
 
 The Irishwoman had accepted some Devonshire phrases evidently. 
 "Will ye thry her again with the glass to her lips, Phaylim ? Thry 
 one little sip, me dyurr! There's a warrld of good in it. Just 
 
 to put the hearrt in ye! That's right! " And Peggy, more to 
 
 oblige than with any hope of benefit, swallowed the nasty stuff. 
 But the Irishwoman was right within two minutes, she drew 
 a long breath, and the world came back in intelligible form. She 
 sat up and spoke. 
 
 "Oh, how good you are ! But they are killed. I know it !" And 
 Peggy sat on, dumb, with the weight of all lost upon her. 
 
 "Is it your f rinds thin, that wint over the cliff ? You be asy, me 
 dyurr! Lave thim to the bhoys " 
 
 "I want to show you where they are" said Peggy, suddenly 
 awaking to the position and struggling up to her feet. She stag- 
 gered and collapsed again on a wooden settee. "Oh, in a minute," 
 she said. 
 
 "It's a chance the young men have found them by now. You've 
 
 little call to be anxious, Miss " But this sort of consolation, 
 
 quavering and conscientious, does not suit Phelim's wife, in 
 whom Hope seems as strong as her brogue: her husband's is very 
 slight. 
 
 "You lave thim to the bhoys, me darrlin' ! Shure I hear them 
 coming on the harrd sod. Listen to the fate of 'em." But this WP C
 
 172 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 only a pious fiction. Peggy heard no feet, and wanted to go to 
 meet them. 
 
 "Not yet, me dyurr! Ye'll wait here with me, and Phaylim '11 
 go. Go and mate the boys, Phaylim. And when ye know, 
 whistle! ..." Peggy heard these last words somewhat under- 
 toned, and fancied she had not been meant to hear them. They 
 made her shudder, though they were but little in themselves. "It's 
 yoursilf will stay here with me, quiet like; and the bhoys '11 be 
 here within tin minutes." 
 
 Whether it was ten minutes, or ten hours, Peggy could not have 
 guessed from anything in the context, but in the end a whistle 
 sounded "Will ye belave me another time, whin I say it's all 
 right?" said the Irishwoman. "Twiced whistlin' manes all right; 
 wanst is for a casualty," she went on explanatorily. Then both 
 ran out reassured. There they were coming! But Peggy was 
 hysterical and could see nothing, for tears and the dazzle of the 
 westering sun, which was just in a line with the coming group. 
 
 "Oh tell me tell me !" she cried, "is it a gentleman and a little 
 girl ? Is it both ?" She caught the soapy arm, and detained it. 
 
 "Well now, I fale for ye as if it was mesilf !" says the kind- 
 hearted creature. "He's comin' down the hill with your little girl 
 on his showlthers, pig-a-back." Whereon Peggy, quite upset, could 
 do no otherwise than burst into a torrent of tears of joy, and fairly 
 throw herself in her gratitude on the ample bosom of the Coast- 
 guard's lady. "Oh, you are so good!" she cried. But they seemed 
 to take ever so long coming. What a distance she must have run ! 
 
 If you feel a little ashamed of Peggy for collapsing in this 
 absurd way, be good enough to remember what she had gone 
 through. It seems to us that to see the man whom in her own mind 
 and heart she had just made the most of that any woman can make 
 of any man to see him disappear over that awful vanishing curve 
 to what seemed certain death, and then to master the point that she 
 could not help, and that the nearest soonest help must be got; and 
 then to run as she ran it was a good half-mile as it proved; it 
 certainly seems to us that all this made up about as severe a trial 
 as yourself or we could get through unmoved. And Peggy, for all 
 her Philosophy, and her great resolutions, had many characteris- 
 tics in common with other human women. However, she's all right 
 again now, in the story, and Johnson is coming down the hill with 
 Alice on his shoulders ; and she is even turning over in her mind 
 will you believe it? whether she won't do a little dignity on the 
 subject of her surrender. It's so awkward! she can't even re- 
 member exactly what she said. . . .
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 173 
 
 As for Alice, she poor child! is simply in a dumbfounded 
 haze, not by any means clear about what has happened. Master 
 Rupert alone is unmoved. He has got his boots on again, but is 
 hatless. Traces of scrapings can be detected on his waistcoat, and 
 is there not some blood on his hand ? "Yes but I didn't get that 
 on the grass," says he. "That was an independent affair alto- 
 gether." 
 
 They pass through the garden and into the lighthouse room where 
 Peggy fainted. Johnson speaks first : 
 
 "You must forgive me, for the reason I said." 
 
 "Forgive you, Master Rupert? What for?" 
 
 "For knocking you down, of course!" 
 
 "Did you knock me down? Alice dear, go with this lady, and 
 she'll let you wash your hands and face in nice warm water. You're 
 all grubbied and dusted all over " 
 
 "Shure and I will! And will ye take tay?" Thus the Irish- 
 woman who is the mother, it seems, of the massive collarbone, 
 who is not a resident, but a young man-of-war's man over from 
 Plymouth, on a visit. We certainly will take tay although it's 
 past six o'clock. And the Devonshire girl disperses, to prepare it. 
 Phelim and the three young men, all mysteriously known to John- 
 son already by their Christian names, also disperse, perhaps from 
 an instinct. Johnson and Peggy are left alone. 
 
 Peggy wanted in her inmost heart to fling dignity to the winds 
 but she was, as we have lately said, a woman. Johnson did not 
 feel quite sure he would not be presuming too much if he took 
 her for granted in consequence of a few chance words under ten- 
 sion of such excitement. There were the materials for a minute 
 or two of stiffness. But it could not and did not last long. As 
 you can guess at the sort of way in which it ceased, there can be 
 no need to tell you. 
 
 "There's Alice coming now," said Peggy. "Yes you may call 
 me anything you like. It's one comfort I can call you Rupert 
 instead of Dr. Johnson, which I hate. It's like Boswell! Take 
 care, or you'll scratch your hand again." For it appeared that 
 the blood on Dr. Johnson's hand was made by Peggy's ring, when 
 he dragged his own out of her grasp, and as he said, "knocked her 
 down." It was Alice's ring, or what was to be hers one day, and 
 Peggy was wearing it, as she alleged, to keep it aired for her. 
 
 Alice's account of the accident was that she didn't go near the 
 edge, but had done religiously as she was told. But the ground 
 was so greathy, that she went like boys on a thlide. And she
 
 174 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 imitated the way in which she began to slide, and finally went 
 down on her hands and knees. But then it was too late to save 
 herself, and she went on and on, until at last she crossed over a 
 little ledge of sheep track. She gave the idea that she missed it 
 with her feet, but partly stopped herself by catching at it with her 
 hands perhaps straightening herself on the line of the slope 
 and thereby favouring a lower ledge, on which her feet caught 
 and stopped. Poor Alice! The position was awful. She might 
 even have died of terror could she have conceived the precipice 
 below. But luckily for her, she did not realise anything worse than 
 that there was water there, and she might fall in. A sheer fall of 
 two hundred feet did not come into her calculations. 
 
 "Oh, I was frightened!" said she. "I tried to squeam and I 
 squeamed but I couldn't squeam well because I went fump, fump, 
 fump oh, so hard ! You never, never, never would have fought 
 it was me, to hear it! But it was me." 
 
 "And what happened next, Alice?" 
 
 "Oh, then Dr. Jomson said hold tight and call out again Alice 
 and I said please I was down here. Then I saw Dr. Jomson dig- 
 ging in his knife into the ground." 
 
 "I was obliged to make one or two holes in the ground to get a 
 foothold," said he, explanatorily. Alice went on: 
 
 "Then Dr. Jomson turned upside down, and came down with 
 his hands, and catched me round here" grasping her wrists alter- 
 nately. "And Dr. Jomson said me to keep quite quite still, and 
 we sould do nithely for half-an-hour." 
 
 "Yes! And Alice said she should like to go home please, didn't 
 you, Alice?" Alice nodded, with feeling. 
 
 "But I can't understand!" said Peggy. "How did you manage 
 to hold on?" 
 
 "Why don't you see ? I dug out these holes to catch my toes in, 
 and went down head foremost." 
 
 "How awful!" 
 
 "Not a bit of it! There was a nasty moment before I knew 
 it would hold but as soon as it felt firm I knew it was all 
 right " 
 
 "Wasn't it awful when you went down head first ?" 
 
 "Yes till my toes caught the holes " 
 
 "I don't understand didn't you put your toes in the holes 
 first? " 
 
 "I wanted to but it wouldn't work. If I had put my toes in 
 and kneeled forward on the slope don't you see? I was afraid 
 I should pitch forward. And then Alice and I shouldn't have been
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 175 
 
 here. We should have been bathing." He illustrated the kneeling 
 difficulty with his knuckles. Peggy shuddered. 
 
 "But how did you do then ?" 
 
 "Oh of course I lay down flat on my face and wiggled round 
 and slid forward it was rather nasty till I caught my toes in the 
 holes. If I hadn't, Alice and I shouldn't have had our teas. 
 Eh, Alice?" 
 
 Peggy is conscious of a feeling of suppressed applause among 
 the coastguard folk. "It was a bad place," says the young sailor. 
 "If the gentleman and the young lady had come with a run, they'd 
 have overshot the ledge I was on, and after that it was straight 
 as a lead-line down to the sea " 
 
 "It was a rare good job you sighted 'em so soon as you did. 
 Andrew," says one of the other rescuers. Then he went on with 
 fuller explanation to Peggy. "You see, Ma'am it was in this 
 wise: We knew what sort of place it was like to be in knowing 
 the rocks well. So Andrew he went along the cliff face, and 
 Revett here and I we took the tackle along on the hill-top. And 
 when we sighted them, Andrew he got to a ledge just under the 
 little lady to make a sort of stand if they was to come free. And 
 Andrew he made the line fast to the little lady, and she came up 
 easy. Then we were getting afraid there might be a casualty, for 
 the gentleman was too stiff to move, and we couldn't spare one of 
 us from above to go down and attach the line, and we had to 
 send the line down to Andrew and he couldn't make it fast to 
 himself for want of turning room well, yes!" (this is in answer 
 to a remark of Andrew's) "you might have come up belike! But 
 maybe it was best to do as you did." 
 
 "What did you do?" said Peggy. 
 
 "Andrew he suggested the gentleman might slack out his toes 
 and drop down easy, and he'd catch him. And then he made all 
 fast and we got your husband up, Ma'am and if you ask me I 
 say it's God's mercy you've got him back." Peggy felt this was 
 no doubt true in the abstract, but that Andrew and the speaker 
 were entitled to acknowledgment. "What became of Andrew?" 
 said she. For she felt he was left on a rock-ledge. 
 
 "Oh Andrew? He went back the way he came." 
 
 Peggy and Alice were both very hazy by now but tea, which 
 seemed to abound, with all its contingencies, in that lighthouse, 
 had a very reviving effect, and Peggy felt fit to start for home. 
 It was time ! Alice fell into a sound sleep, but this didn't matter, 
 because Andrew came back with them, to show a short-cut, and 
 carried her the whole way. Just as they were starting Peggy
 
 176 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 overheard their hostess speaking to the coastguard who had given 
 the narrative of the rescue : 
 
 "Pater ! You're no better than a borrn fool ! Can't ye say with 
 your eyesight to discriminate when payple are swatehearting ? 
 Husband indade! Not yet awhile 1"
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 OF HOW BROTHERS ARE FOOLS, AND HOW PEGGY WASN'T EXACTLY 
 ENGAGED. OF ALICE'S FAMILY, BUT NOT MUCH 
 
 CHARLES'S letter to Peggy, with all about the ghost in it, came 
 late enough to cross hers with all about the rescue in it. Neither 
 letter was quite bona-fide, but each writer supposed the receiver 
 would read between the lines. Charles wrote in the tone of one 
 who pooh-poohs superstition; yet knew that Peggy understood 
 him, and would see that he was really puzzled, and did attach 
 some importance to the story. Peggy wrote a full account of the 
 cliff misadventure, but did not include a definite statement of her 
 relations with Dr. Johnson. She apologised to herself for doing 
 this by referring to the fact that, after all, she was not "engaged" 
 to Master Kupert. Who ever heard of a girl being engaged to a 
 man without her father being consulted or for that matter, her 
 brother? It wasn't even certain that Rupert would ever be able 
 to afford to marry. But of course Charley would guess all about 
 it ! Her letter had too many hints of the status-quo in it for him 
 not to see what was in the wind. 
 
 But Peggy was quite mistaken. Charles read her letter through 
 several times, and was greatly excited over the story of the rescue. 
 But he quite missed seeing that the circumstances thereof had 
 been accompanied by any unusual effervescence or incandescence 
 of feeling in two of the actors. Of course Peggy did not write, 
 "Dr. Johnson said that he loved me passionately. Then he 
 knocked me down, and went over the cliff with his boots off," but 
 she did infuse an amount of suggestion which would have been 
 enough for any but a brother. She wanted Charley to see and 
 understand, without having to make a formal statement. That he 
 did not may have been partly due to the prominence his mind gave 
 to Alice and her safety. In fact he thought so much about this 
 that when he wrote in reply he forgot all about his gratitude to 
 Johnson till he came to a postscript. He was eloquent enough 
 as soon as he reached the topic in fact there was as much post- 
 script as prse-script, nearly. But at the beginning he was too full 
 of his little protegee to find a word for his friend or his sister. 
 
 "Well I don't know!" said he to Jeff, in the course of a con- 
 
 177
 
 178 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 versation shortly after, "perhaps there may be something in it. 
 Only don't you go and say anything about it, old chap!" For 
 he had read some portions of Peggy's letter to Jeff, with blanks 
 of omission, and reserves; and had thereby caused him to close 
 one eye with superhuman insight, and say: "It's the Doctor!" 
 "What is?" asked Charles. 
 
 "I say, Charley! Draw it mild. Pretendin' you don't know! 
 Happy couple Hanover Square Holy Matrimony! You mark 
 my words, it's the Doctor!" And while Jeff added confirmatory 
 nods, and new sagacities of expression, Charles went over his 
 letter again, thoughtfully. But, that time, he only said he was 
 sure there was nothing in it, and one was always suspecting things. 
 Mr. Jerrythought said they would see, and for his part he should 
 order a button-'ole, to be beforehand, if he was going to be asked 
 to the wedding. "Consider yourself asked already, my dear boy !" 
 said Charles; "but it won't come off." For Charles had really 
 believed Peggy had meant all she said. However, he made some 
 concession afterwards, as above recorded. 
 
 "I shall have to ram it home to Charley," said Peggy to her 
 lover, when she had read through her brother's letter to him. And 
 she deliberately concluded her next letter with, "Rupert says he 
 must be back at the Hospital on Tuesday." Charley was then 
 alleviating the hardships of Bohemianism by dining at home to 
 keep his father company, on the pretext that the old boy must be 
 feeling lonesome. That evening it occurred to him that he might 
 establish a character for perspicuity and experience in matters of 
 this sort by broaching the topic. But, obviously, the proper course 
 would be to check the impulse of responsibility until conversation- 
 time proper. As soon as his meerschaum was lighted would be 
 time enough. Till then, he would be content with feeling that 
 matters of this sort were serious, and not to be trifled with, and 
 did so accordingly. But his father took all the edge off his scheme, 
 by anticipating his disclosure : 
 
 "Hey what was it, Charley boy?" said he, "what your sister 
 says? 'We're not going to marry, whoever else does. Because 
 we're not going to preach what we don't practise!' We're mighty 
 fine people, we are! And then we go and fall in love with a 
 doctor !" 
 
 Charles's mortification at having his beginning spoiled was not 
 of a serious sort but he would console himself a little, and show 
 his experience of mankind, especially womankind. "That's just 
 like a girl, all over!" said he. "But I suppose we've all been 
 expecting it?"
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 179 
 
 "We shall all say we have, anyhow!" said his father. "Never 
 mind, Charley! I daresay we have." Charles felt transparent. 
 His father continued: "What's the Doctor ? what's he like?" 
 Whereon Charley, whose trifling egotisms never peeped out of doors 
 except when his generosity, chivalry, or benevolence were asleep 
 or at meals, broke into a heart-whole panegyric of Johnson. He 
 was the finest fellow that ever breathed, in himself; the ablest 
 in medicine and surgery; the most self-sacrificing etcetera within 
 Charles's experience. But he was too honest to get 6n in his pro- 
 fession not half -humbug enough! And his mother and sisters 
 were dependent on him, and he would always be as poor as a rat. 
 
 "Very good testimonials, anyhow," said his father. "I've got 
 some more in here." And he produced letters written from Sheila- 
 combe by "the boys" whom, by the way, owing to the cumbrous 
 extent of this large family we have not been able to mention, 
 so far. They were respectively Robert, fifteen, and Dan, ten; and 
 Ellen came between them. They had come to Shellacombe on 
 the very day of the cliff accident, with their tutor, Mr. Capel 
 Wright. All the party had gone next day to inspect the scene 
 of the accident, and to hunt at the foot of the cliff for Dr. John- 
 son's hat; and these letters contained full, if obscure, particulars, 
 interlaced with panegyric of Dr. Johnson; and ending up with 
 how he and Peggy got left behind and cut off by the tide, 
 and would have had to wade through the water and spoil their 
 things only luckily there was a boat 
 
 "May I see Peggy's own letter?" said Charles when he had run 
 his eye through his younger brothers'. 
 
 "Peggy's own letter? What letter? Oh Peggy hasn't written 
 to me not she ! I'm supposed to know nothing about it. It's not 
 supposed to exist, I believe. I've your mother's letter" which 
 he handed over to his son. 
 
 Considered as a report of what was occurring at Shellacombe, 
 Mrs. Heath's letter was unsatisfactory. Considered as an indict- 
 ment of her husband for not interposing to prevent a variety of 
 things which she did not describe, it was masterly. "I am sure I 
 was right in saying to Margaret" (so ran the letter) "that you 
 would not approve of what is going on; but that I could say 
 nothing. My children must go their own way. I have no authority 
 with them. But I have nothing to say against Dr. Johnson per- 
 sonally. He appears to be without family connection or means, 
 beyond his prospects in his profession. In addition to this they 
 have only known each other eight months. But of course if you 
 approve of it, I have nothing to say. I am merely their mother.
 
 180 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 I have told Margaret that I have no means of knowing what 
 your wishes are, but that for my own part I cannot sanction any- 
 thing rash. And this I have said, that I think it my duty to speak 
 plainly as a mother (however much I may be blamed for it) and 
 to say that I am not able to form any opinion whatever of the 
 desirability or otherwise of Dr. Johnson, as I have not been con- 
 sulted; but that a daughter's first duty, before allowing herself 
 to form an attachment to any man, is to obtain the consent of 
 her parents. But that if my husband thinks otherwise, it is my 
 part to defer to him " Charles stopped reading. 
 
 "I think I must have begun in the middle," said he. "Isn't 
 there a sheet before this?" 
 
 The old gentleman, evidently much amused, sat polishing his 
 eyeglasses. "Not a bit of it!" said he. "That's your mother all 
 over. The best of living women, my dear boy; the very best! 
 But she ain't by way of being consecutive. That's the beginning 
 where you started." 
 
 "I don't think," said Charles, meditatively, "that I should like to 
 marry a girl who asked her parents' leave to fall in love. She would 
 be such a very cool customer. I wonder if Mamma did so her- 
 self?" 
 
 "I happen to be able to tell you," said his father, who was chuck- 
 ling to himself so that his speech came by instalments. "Your 
 mother refused to introduce me to her parents until she had quite 
 made up her own mind. I shall tell her I've told you that." And 
 Mr. Heath laughed till he was obliged to lay down his cigar, and 
 pull out his silk handkerchief to wipe his eyes. As soon as he had 
 recovered, he puffed again peacefully. "The best of living women, 
 my dear boy," said he again, "only not exactly a born logician." 
 
 "Here's Peggy's own letter to me," said Charles, producing it. 
 His father settled down to read it comfortably, through the newly 
 polished eyeglasses, while Charles sucked at his meerschaum in 
 silence. He folded it up when he had finished, and handed it back, 
 "Yes!" he said, "that seems to me pretty clear. I shall have ar^ 
 official visit from the Doctor. And a long letter from the Minx." 
 
 "What shall you say to him?" 
 
 "Oh of course I shall refer him to your mother. The women 
 settle all these things. Your mother wants to put it off on me, 
 that she may wig me afterwards. But I won't be let in to saying 
 anything; besides, the young people wouldn't pay the slightest 
 attention if I did. You can't control a young couple, any more 
 than you can a mad bull." 
 
 Charles saw that between the two stools the young couple
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 181 
 
 wouldn't fall to the ground, but would go to the altar. He relin- 
 quished the role of the far-sighted man of the world, which was 
 rather artificial; and he was all the nicer as absolute truthfulness 
 dawned, with a smile, on his countenance. "I really was telling 
 fibs," said he, "when I said I'd been expecting it. In fact, Jeff 
 found it out before I did. Oh no ! I didn't read the whole of the 
 letter to Jeff." 
 
 And when he got back that evening to the Bohemian home, he 
 found Peggy's letter that Ruperted her lover without scruple, and 
 felt the whole affair was settled. 
 
 It must be much easier to write fiction than History to put in 
 and leave out incidents at pleasure. There are so many things 
 that happened to the people we are writing about that have no real 
 connection with what (in fiction) would be the plot, so called, of 
 the story; but that lay claim to short paragraphs on the score of 
 their actuality, and threaten the conscience of the chronicler if 
 omitted. Ought he not to record this, or that ? 
 
 For instance, the incident of Mr. Gapel Wright, the tutor. Peggy 
 was very sorry for it. She had really been perfectly unconscious. 
 "There must be some man somewhere that isn't in love with 
 one!" said she, piteously, when Ellen descended on her with the 
 news that Mr. Wright had written to beg off completing his engage- 
 ment on the score of a family distraction. "You know what that's 
 all about with your Captain Bradleys and your Robert Forrests 
 and your Mr. Jerrythoughts" ; which last accusation provoked the 
 nearest approach to indignation any one so comic could warrant, 
 followed by the despairing expression of conviction recorded above. 
 Ellen pounced upon it as so much vanity on the part of her sister ; 
 and exhibited her to Europe, so to speak, as a jay in peacock's 
 feathers which was unfair, after the form her reproaches had 
 taken. What amount of truth there was in her suggestion about 
 our friend Jeff we cannot say. He certainly was not so sensitive as 
 Mr. Capel Wright, whose defection was universally laid at Peggy's 
 door. She was very unpopular with the boys after the disappear- 
 ance of their tutor and master, and had to pass a life of penitence 
 and apology. Her mother discerned in the number of Peggy's 
 admirers a repetition of her own experience, but without the same 
 excuses. Her father said they were six of one and half-a-dozen 
 of the other. 
 
 There was a certain amount of occurrence also connected with 
 Alice's family. Her father the tailor had a half-brother named 
 Jonathan, supposed by Alice to be called so not only because he
 
 182 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 was stinted in quantity, but because whatever was the natural 
 length of his limbs they had not been made in pairs one leg 
 being very much shorter than the other, and one arm perceptibly 
 so. Alice in her own mind imagined that Jonathan, when at 
 home or in society, would mention Samuel as his whole brother. 
 She had scarcely seen him at any time, and had only one clear 
 memory of him when he came one day (before No. 40) to quarrel 
 with her father, apparently about something that was spoken of 
 by both as "the document," and understood by her from its 
 sound to be something each said the other meant, while he him- 
 self meant something else. It was a dock or a dog; or both, if 
 they were referring to different things. Alice inclined to the latter : 
 the first being unfamiliar. 
 
 This Jonathan Kavanagh (he was the son of Alice's grand- 
 father) was identified as her uncle after the inquest as soon as her 
 mother was fit to make an intelligible statement about her belong- 
 ings. It was not thought well at first to press her for more than 
 particulars of the quarrel. After her death he came by appoint- 
 ment to see Charles at the Studio with reference to Alice. He 
 abandoned his claim to guardianship with alacrity. Trade, he 
 said, was very bad hadn't ever been so bad to his knowledge. He 
 wasn't called on to take another inmate. He might have done 
 otherwise had trade been good. 
 
 "He's an undertaker, it seems," said Charles to Peggy, report- 
 ing the visit. "If people would die a little faster, he would talk 
 to Mrs. Jonathan, and see what could be done. But with this ruis - 
 ous epidemic of immortality going on, where are you ?" 
 
 "I suppose," said Peggy, "there are too many undertakers, just 
 as there are too many everything elses." Here followed a slight 
 spasm of what has been called Population-on-the-Brain ; but her 
 immediate interest in Alice quieted it. 
 
 "Oh no!" replied Charles, "the human race is boycotting the 
 undertakers out of spite. Only it must have been going on a 
 long time. They said at the shop that their Mr. Abraham had 
 called on this man to see if he would do anything for his half- 
 brethren a long time ago and he excused himself in the same 
 way." This was at the clothier's in Oxford Street, where it may 
 be remembered Charles went to get information about the 
 Kavanaghs. 
 
 "I suppose," Peggy then said, "that if this man, or any other 
 relations that can be found, refuse to do anything for the child, 
 they will forego all claim upon her?" 
 
 "They could have no real claim, as a matter of right and wrong
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 183 
 
 -^but of course Law wouldn't bother about that. We had better let 
 it alone. They won't trouble us!" 
 
 So after calling at Hyde Park Gardens at Charles's suggestion 
 "to satisfy himself" that Alice was in good hands, and at the sug- 
 gestion of his inner soul that he might leave a card and perhaps 
 ultimately bury the family, Mr. Jonathan Kavanagh retired to 
 devote himself to the relatives of established corpses, and to hope 
 that they would soon follow the good example set by the latter. 
 After this Alice's communications with her scarcely known family 
 were of the slightest. The brother at the Peckham clothier's cer- 
 tainly appeared, but it was to point out that he was shortly going 
 to set up for himself and that it wouldn't be "fair upon him" 
 that Alice should "stand in his way." Charles extinguished him 
 rapidly, to his great relief, as a selfish young beggar. The dry- 
 salter of Rotherhithe came also; he rested his inability to contrib- 
 ute to his sister's support on the fact that he was only in the yard. 
 Whereas had he been in the Orfice it would have been another pair 
 of shoes. "He didn't give me the idea," said Charles, "that dry- 
 salting stimulated the understanding. I endeavoured to find from 
 him what the difference was between drysalting and wetsalting, and 
 he repeated that he was only in the yard, but they could tell me 
 in the Orfice. So neither of us having any more to say, we parted 
 on good terms." 
 
 The cheesemonger never put in an appearance. This was so 
 much the better! He was only twelve years old, and would have 
 excited commiseration, and called for succour. The only one 
 Alice seemed to entertain as real flesh and blood was a young 
 sailor, the next in age to the drysalter, who was nineteen; he was 
 a hero in her eyes, who having departed on his last voyage for 
 Singapore was identified in her mind with that port, which was 
 consequently rather laid claim to as an appanage of her family 
 when it accrued under Miss Petherington. She felt quite at 
 home, did Alice, when Singapore appeared as Geography; she 
 having only known of it as a real place people's brothers could 
 go to. 
 
 That exhausts all that came to light about Alice's belongings. 
 Charles's impression was that they generally felt that Alice was 
 quite too small to bother about. They had other fish to fry, and she 
 was a tittlebat. Also they were not going to give the parties that 
 had took her up any excuse for putting her down. They kept out 
 of the way. The eldest brother laid claim to the scraps of furni- 
 ture, and Charles purchased of him the table in which he and 
 Peggy had found the pictures of the young nobleman. It was a
 
 184 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 good substantial table with drawers, and would be useful in the 
 Studio. 
 
 Well! All these little matters, or nearly all, belong to the class 
 of incident that are not necessary to the story, but that seem to 
 claim a passing word. The claim being now satisfied, the story 
 may go on from where we left it.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 BOTHER LAVINIA STRAKER ! OF MISS THISELTON's PROFILE. HOW 
 CHARLES HAD BETTER GO TO SHELLACOMBE. OF REGENTS PARK AND 
 A GIRL HE SAW THERE 
 
 WHEX Charles, returning to his Studio that night (or morning, 
 for it was well past midnight), read that conclusive letter of his 
 sister's, he experienced a sense of laceration which may be familiar 
 to many who have been in like case. Quite suddenly, and just as 
 though it was all a matter of course, a very dear sister is to be 
 taken from us. She was with us in the nursery has been with 
 us ever since; she has shared all the burdens, all the sorrows, all 
 the joys, of our babyhood and boyhood; and if the chances of the 
 current of life have drifted us more apart as boyhood changed to 
 manhood, and the girl became a woman, still we have floated down 
 in midstream together and never quite lost touch. And then, all 
 in a moment, the old epoch has ended and a new one has begun. 
 The foot of a stranger is in the home of our fathers. We may 
 love him, admire and respect him : it does not matter ! This was a 
 little sacred corner a side chapel in the Temple of Life, and was 
 so bespoken by us for a private refuge, a secure haven from storm 
 and wreck, that the incoming of any other has little less than the 
 force of an eviction to ourselves. We need not wonder that 
 Charles felt raw and rebellious, as he went to bed ; nor that he paid 
 very little attention to a letter containing a pathetic request for 
 ten pounds. "I know," said he, partly interpolating, partly reading, 
 the actual text, "it's going to save the writer and her widowed 
 mother from an execution at the hands of a cruel creditor, whose 
 demand for twenty-seven pounds thirteen and sixpence has been 
 scraped together, all but nine pounds nineteen and threepence, by 
 hard work and strict economy but which has to be satisfied with- 
 out fail by the day after to-morrow at mid-day. Just the usual 
 thing! Bother Lavinia Straker!" said he. "I know no Lavinia 
 Straker," that being the signature of the applicant. 
 
 Next morning he felt chilly and grown old. He said to him- 
 self (probably with truth) that if he had not been expecting a 
 Model to sit for the head of Regan in his picture of Lear and 
 
 185
 
 186 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Cordelia, he would certainly have "chucked" work, and gone for 
 a walk to Hampstead Heath. It was so jolly this time of year with 
 the leaves drifting about and nobody in town. 
 
 Charles was really fonder of dreaming than action. His mind 
 was always at work, but the vividness with which images presented 
 themselves to him was misleading ; and he poor fellow ! had had 
 the misfortune to construct a vivid image of himself as an 
 Artist, which it was quite beyond his powers to interpret into 
 action. His guardian Angel was not on the alert, or had lost 
 touch with him for a moment, when he selected his profession. 
 He had deceived others, as well as himself. For though he 
 was defective in mechanical aptitude, he had, as a boy, sufficient 
 to make drawings which showed individuality and power in the 
 mind of their author of a certain sort. Was it any wonder 
 that his family and his friends thought they could foresee a future 
 for him in Art? If only he could acquire the mere technical 
 facility anybody can do that with perseverance! What makes 
 the Artist par excellence is not vulgar accuracy of eye and dex- 
 terity of hand; it is the mind that lies behind vision and manipu- 
 lation. These latter can be trained. But the Promethean fire, or 
 Inspiration, or whatever you like to call it, that distinguishes 
 Phidias from Fiddlesticks (we know we are safe in that selection 
 of a name there is no such sculptor) this quality is inborn; and 
 when you suspect its existence the best thing you can do is to 
 develop its indispensable concomitants, and give it a chance to 
 assert itself. 
 
 Very much the best! But do you do it by courses of chalk 
 drawing from the Antique (a singular name for all that is, in 
 plaster) with a plumb-bob to show you what is exactly above what, 
 and a conviction that if a drawing cannot be saved exactly by bread 
 alone, it can, at any rate, by bread (not too new) in combination 
 with stippling? Or will the end be attained by study in a School, 
 where there are as many different systems as there are teachers, 
 of which systems the total, minus one, must needs be misleading 
 systems? We are only asking these questions apropos of the ways 
 in which we know Charles studied the Fine Arts of the better 
 systems that have superseded them we know nothing whatever. All 
 our data are of bygone ages, and no doubt we should be pleasantly 
 surprised if we could see and know what is being done in the Arts, 
 nowadays. 
 
 If Charles could have had half-a-dozen lessons in the use of 
 colour from whom shall we say ? Quentin Matsys will do as well 
 as another so as to grasp the necessity for care and method for
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 187 
 
 scheming each day's work as the precursor of the next, he might 
 at least have learned how to learn, if the Antwerp blacksmith 
 hadn't been able to give him another six lessons. But his course 
 of study contained nothing that forced the needs of his work 
 upon him, and it was not in him to find them out for himself, as 
 great artists whose studentship was half-a-century ago had to do. 
 So he never really learned his trade at all! He revelled in the 
 contemplation of the great works he was going to paint, and the 
 ordering of unlimited materials from fascinating Artists' Colour 
 Shops ; and he spanged and slammed about royally with the colours, 
 used anyhow, when he got them. But he never organised anything, 
 nor perceived that he was only making preliminary messes on 
 canvas with a view to converting them to something else, later on. 
 
 He had, ready for total modification, a preliminary mess of this 
 sort in the head of Regan in the picture of Lear and Cordelia 
 above mentioned; and on this morning, when he felt so chilly and 
 grown old, he was expecting a certain Miss Thiselton to come and 
 be painted as Regan. Miss Thiselton was that very common occur- 
 rence a young woman in reduced circumstances, who would be 
 thankful for sittings if it was quite clearly understood that she 
 wasn't a Model. She drew a sharp line at her neck and wrists and 
 required a certificate of character from Artists before she sat for 
 them. 
 
 Real Models are prone to begin talking in an imbecile way the 
 moment they enter the Studio, and continue until they depart. 
 Miss Thiselton, not being a real Model, held her tongue at first. 
 So an opportunity is given of describing her when her face is at 
 rest, which is her best aspect. As she is sitting for Regan, the 
 reader may like to form a judgment of Charles's insight into 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 You know those heads that charm and fascinate when the face is 
 turned full on, and disappoint when the side-views are revealed 
 later? And also those whose profiles are full of glorious promise, 
 with O such a dreary come-down to follow when you get at both 
 eyes at once ? It would be unfair to place Miss Thiselton's in the 
 latter class, without reserves. But though she owned two beautiful 
 side-faces, one on either side, they marred her full face, when 
 submitted to the same spectator, by their difference of opinion 
 about what it was to be. She did not squint absit omen! but 
 both her fine eyes could hardly rest upon your face at once, as long 
 as she continued a mere acquaintance. Focus forbade it. The 
 interesting ripple on her interesting hair consoled one for this 
 defect, and in fact was one of Miss Thiselton's chief claims to
 
 188 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 beauty and was always busy correcting mistaken impressions. It 
 was helped by a particularly pretty pair of soft white hands with 
 filbert nails, and an implication of a very good trying-on figure 
 for a mantle department. 
 
 Regan was sticking her chin out apparently, at the moment 
 chosen by the artist. Miss Thiselton therefore is doing so too, 
 about half-an-hour after her arrival, Charles having taken all that 
 time mixing up flesh-tints; which he won't be able to use, because 
 he can't use any tints at all ; but which no artist could possibly use, 
 except on the hypothesis that Correggio (for instance) couldn't see. 
 We all know how our chins get the best of us and protrude while 
 the doctor is feeling our pulse, in anticipation of the word of com- 
 mand to put our tongues out. Even so Regan, as interpreted. 
 But in order to do absolute justice to the conception, and achieve 
 the niceties of a close rendering, it is necessary that Regan should 
 stand up. It is not clear why, for the artist appears to be work- 
 ing quite independently of the model; and, to our thinking, the 
 girl might just as well have sat down. But she didn't, and the 
 consequence was an occurrence not at all infrequent under the 
 circumstances that she became dizzy and ultimately pitched head- 
 long down off the "throne" she was standing on. Charles was just 
 in time to catch her, and save her from a bad fall. To his great 
 embarrassment, instead of pulling herself together, and saying 
 she would be all right directly as a sensible young person would 
 have done, she remained on his hands; either really inanimate, or 
 pretending to be so for some purpose best known to herself. Our 
 own opinion is that there is no necessity to suppose the latter. 
 The faint may have been genuine enough. No suspicion to the 
 contrary crossed Charles's mind, but he was mightily embarrassed. 
 He didn't understand this sort of thing at all, and was in two 
 minds whether he should not summon help. There were no women 
 within call except the two lady-artists upstairs, and somehow he 
 didn't think he should improve matters by going to them. He was 
 saved from further speculation by the young woman coming to her 
 senses. She would be all right soon if she sat still and rested for 
 a few minutes. Charles would have been much better satisfied 
 that she should depart, and suggested a cab home. But he could 
 not say he couldn't work, if she felt able to resume sitting; and 
 he could do no less than be amiable, under the circumstances. So 
 he lit a pipe and went on with Regan, unassisted by Nature. 
 Nature sat on and rested, but this permitted much more causeris 
 intime than is possible when Nature's face has to keep still or 
 some terrible mishap, undefined, will occur in the subtle and
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 189 
 
 delicate operations of the canvas. Charles felt that if speech was 
 only silver in this case, silence was copper, and decided on general 
 conversation, with a sort of flavour in it of his being quite accus- 
 tomed to this sort of thing and being, as it were, a married man 
 with several grown-up daughters. 
 
 "Getting right again, Miss Thiselton? That's right! Now you 
 had much better take my word for it, and have a little brandy in 
 that cold water. Do try it!" This with an affectation of great 
 responsibility about something in Regan's nose, and without look- 
 ing round to see if Nature would take the brandy. Charles hon- 
 estly wished his relations with his female Models to remain im- 
 personal; as impersonal at any rate as they would permit. He 
 wasn't at all indigenous in Bohemia, and was much less popular 
 with them than his friend upstairs. 
 
 "Oh no!" replied Nature, "do please take it away, Mr. Heath. 
 It makes me ill again only to look at it ! Are you a good sailor ?" 
 Charles removed the brandy-bottle without replying to the ques- 
 tion; but presently said, as though it had taken a long time to 
 reach him "No, very bad that is, pretty good! I suppose the 
 brandy made you think of that?" Because his not having an- 
 swered made him seem to himself needlessly distant, almost uncivil. 
 After all, there was a half-way between being grumpy with Nature, 
 without which your work lacked an indescribable something, and 
 taking it to Cremorne or Rosherville. 
 
 "I did think of the Channel boat," said Miss Thiselton. But 
 she was not a real professional Model; so she seized the occasion 
 for a certain amount of reserve, and remained silent accordingly. 
 The effect of this on Charles was that he decided that she was 
 quite safe to be at ease with, and that he had been a donkey for 
 being so stiff. He would talk a little. What should he talk about ? 
 Suppose he tried the acquaintance who had sent this Miss Thisel- 
 ton to him. There could be no pitfalls and snares there. He was 
 a man he had met once at an Arts Club he had joined some time 
 since, of whom he knew as little as the circumstances allowed. 
 
 "What sort of work does Mr. Galsworthy do?" He asked it in 
 the tone of one who has selected a topic of conversation you 
 know how one speaks when one has selected a topic ? 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Calthorpe?" 
 
 "Ah to be sure Calthorpe! What sort of pictures does he 
 paint ?" 
 
 "Oh dear ! Poor Mr. Calthorpe !" This with a smile of commis- 
 eration. Charles immediately felt ashamed of not having known 
 Calthorpe was a duffer, and threw a slight claim to having really
 
 190 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 concealed that knowledge into an "ah!" of assent. The young 
 lady accepted this as valid, and proceeded to intensify disparage- 
 ment of Mr. Calthorpe's pictures by concessions in the way of con- 
 solation. The pictures couldn't be helped ; but we could exaggerate 
 personal testimonials, as a set-off. 
 
 "I really ought not to say so though; he's been so very kind to 
 me. He really is the kindest hearted man, Mr. Heath " 
 
 "No doubt he isn't." 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" 
 
 "I mean he is of course he is! I used the wrong word." 
 Charles wasn't paying attention. 
 
 "Yes he's been very kind to me. And of course I should be 
 sitting for him still, but " 
 
 Charles wasn't on the alert. He ought to have broken in and 
 asked if Nature felt equal to standing up with its chin out again. 
 Miss Thiselton, not being opposed, went on after a slight hesi- 
 tation : "But my mother wished me not to sit for him any more 
 I daresay it was all right!" She made a pretence of clearing 
 away this section of the conversation to make room for some- 
 thing entirely new. 
 
 "Do you know Mrs. Calthorpe, Mr. Heath ?" 
 
 "Not the least ! Never seen her !" He was so absent, or Regan 
 so engrossing, that he quite failed to see that the clearing up 
 movement had not been bona-fide. It wasn't! 
 
 "Ah then you wouldn't know of course you wouldn't ?" 
 
 "Know what?" 
 
 "I oughtn't to ask. Never mind!" It was obvious at this point 
 that pressure for information ought to follow ; otherwise rela- 
 tions might become strained. Charles acquiesced, but without 
 interest. 
 
 "Oh but I do mind ! What wouldn't I know ?" 
 
 "I know I may trust you not to repeat anything I say. Whether 
 Mrs. Calthorpe is is considered is at all a jealous person ?"- 
 
 Let no male human creature even though he be an Arch- 
 bishop ! imagine he can restrain a live female Model who has 
 made up her mind to talk about ladies and gentlemen.. Further, 
 let him not suppose that when once she has succeeded in giving 
 the conversation a foothold in the departments of human life that 
 range from Arcadia to the Divorce Court, he or any one else will 
 succeed in preventing her from bringing herself in, either as part 
 of the cast or as an example to her species. Miss Thiselton had 
 made up her mind that she wasn't going to talk Theology (suppose 
 we put it that way), and she wasn't going to let Charles off.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 191 
 
 "Do you think she's jealous, Mr. Heath?" she repeated. "But 
 you don't know her, of course " 
 
 "How should I know anything about her? I've only seen him 
 at the Club." 
 
 "I wish you had seen her, because you could have told me, and I 
 should have trusted you." This placed the speaker as one of the 
 lonely and defenceless, who in a world of treachery had lighted on 
 a sterling soul akin to her own in the ranks of friendship at 
 least. Whereas Charles had bargained only for the privilege of 
 contemplating a good-looking head, for purely technical purposes, 
 at the rate of one shilling per hour, and refreshments if its owner 
 sat on into the afternoon. 
 
 "I'm a very bad judge of character," said he, endeavouring to 
 extricate himself. 
 
 "Oh, do you think so? But you could have told me if it was 
 true about the likeness " 
 
 "What likeness?" 
 
 "The likeness to me. Mr. Calthorpe said his wife was an ugly 
 
 likeness of me! At least, the profile was Charles looked 
 
 round to see what Mrs. Calthorpe was like. Verdict, he should 
 draw Miss Thiselton's side-face as soon as he had got rid of Regan. 
 It really was lovely, now he came to look at it. You didn't see the 
 slight defect in the eyes in this view, and the large dropped eye- 
 lid was very good, with just a trace of blue vein visible. It is the 
 artist's misfortune that however much pains he takes to fix up his 
 model, Nature (when it gets down to rest) always contrives to 
 evolve something better. For the moment, Charles judged it 
 safest to get Nature re-established as Regan, because he was be- 
 coming slowly conscious that Miss Thiselton, anchored in an arm- 
 chair, and giving way to a form of tittle-tattle uncongenial to him, 
 was not business. However, Regan did not last very long, turn- 
 ing visibly blue again after standing for a few minutes. "Per- 
 haps it would be better not to try any longer," said she. "I am so 
 very sorry, Mr. Heath, but I didn't sleep last night ' Charles 
 said never mind come again on Thursday. Or on Friday, same 
 time? Yes, she could come on Friday, unless "Unless what?" 
 asked Charles. Unless nothing, apparently. 
 
 Just as Miss Thiselton was on the point of withdrawing finally, 
 she turned round to Charles unexpectedly "I hope you are not 
 angry with me about that letter," she said. Charles was completely 
 puzzled a little afraid the young woman's head was unsound. 
 "What letter?" he asked. 
 
 "A letter I wrote asking you to lend me money. I am so ashamed
 
 192 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 and sorry now. I know I ought not to have done it. But you are 
 so kind " 
 
 "I have never had any letter." Charles pulled out one or two 
 papers from his pocket, to see if he had overlooked or absorbed 
 something without knowing it. But there was nothing, to all seem- 
 ing. Miss Thiselton, however, pointed, and said, "That one there 
 there it is !" 
 
 "But this isn't you, Miss Thiselton. This is what's her name ? 
 Lavinia Straker. You're not Lavinia Straker " 
 
 "Oh dear how stupid of me! I signed my own name, and I 
 ought to have signed the name you know me by. Do you know, 
 Mr. Heath, I quite lost my head yesterday! You would forgive 
 me if you knew I think I have not got quite right yet talking 
 as I did just now about that Mrs. Calthorpe. But you do forgive 
 me?" This as if that was the really important point. 
 
 Charles's recent dose of this young woman's profile and trans- 
 parent eyelid just stopped his saying to himself that she was an 
 outsider of his soul, and he really hadn't leisure either for blame 
 or forgiveness. They certainly could not have come into court 
 earlier, even after the young lady had pitched herself into his 
 arms off the throne. For though no doubt what we have heard 
 from a heroine of a stage love-story is true, that if you can once 
 make "him" carry you across the street, or upstairs or down, or 
 sustain you when insensible it will give you an immense advan- 
 tage later in engaging his affections, even if they are not entangled 
 right off: though we quite admit this, there is a difference when 
 it's elbows pardon our homely way of putting it ! We mean that 
 Charles's chief experience of the tumble was a severe elbow-thrust 
 on the stiff-neck place in his shoulder, and it was still hurting him. 
 It exonerated its inflictor, perhaps, from any suspicion of guile 
 but it also may have left him rather impatient of either blame or 
 forgiveness, as applied to Miss Thiselton. The recipe of the 
 foregoing actress got no chance of working. But the profile and 
 the drooping eyelid secured an expression of readiness to forgive, 
 which was distinctly an advance on what might have been, "Oh 
 bother !" Besides it made Charles ask what the trouble was. 
 
 It was a brother a younger brother, who had run into debt 
 to save a friend. He was quite young only just twenty-one and 
 she and her mother had just managed to clear the poor boy, and 
 get him out of his scrape. But then a tenant, who occupied a 
 small freehold house belonging to her mother, had disappeared with 
 his furniture, leaving rent owing; and the house was mortgaged, 
 and the interest was due to-morrow, and it was no use asking
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 193 
 
 for an extension, and so on, and so on. Charles felt it was all as 
 usual, even to the fact that if he would lend Miss Thiselton, or 
 Straker, ten pounds its repayment could be assured by securities 
 almost too good to be true in an imperfect world like ours. He 
 did not allow to himself that he was conscious the profile and the 
 eyelid had anything to do with his consenting to advance the 
 money, which he was just able to do. He considered himself an 
 independent agent rather too good-natured perhaps ! He wouldn't 
 say anything to the Governor or anybody else about it though. 
 He would send Miss Straker the money in the course of the after- 
 noon, or to-morrow morning by first post. She took her departure, 
 and after lunch he put two five-pound notes in an envelope and 
 sent them off by post to her, registered. 
 
 Our own opinion is that it would have been well for Charles, 
 at this moment in his life, to go away at once to Peggy at Sheila- 
 combe. Had it not been for the feeling we have referred to about 
 his sister, and the change this love affair of hers was sure to make 
 in their lives, he would certainly have done so. He would proba- 
 bly have very soon forgotten the profile and the eyelid; or Peggy 
 would have suspected them, and then her quick healthy insight, 
 and her knowledge of her brother, would have pushed them away. 
 But Charles felt certain (although he had no official informa- 
 tion as yet) that things would change, and would never be so jolly 
 again as they had been. He was glad it was Johnson, certainly; 
 but then, wasn't he sorry it was anybody? No! he wouldn't go 
 to Shellacombe. He would go and walk about Regents Park. 
 Hampstead was too far off now, and he might meet somebody in 
 Kensington Gardens. He felt internally scarified, and disposed 
 to be sentimental. He was in an unsafe mood to be by himself, 
 and when he went out for his walk he was mysteriously accom- 
 panied by a profile and an eyelid, which were much too clever to 
 force themselves on his notice, and floated away, like musoce 
 volitantes in the eye, when an attempt was made to pursue and 
 convict them. He was under the impression that his mind was 
 full of his sister and Johnson, and he was quite mistaken. It 
 would have been well for him that he should have had Jeff in to 
 tea, as usual, but ill-luck would have it that that artist had gone 
 away to paint a portrait. It was in the nature of things that every- 
 thing Jeff did should have something laughable about it, and in 
 this case it was that he had gone to paint his aunt's portrait at 
 Upper Clapton. It must have been laughable, or Charles wouldn't 
 have laughed when he told a friend who was going to call on Jeff 
 (with a remarkable soup-ladle he had picked up for an old song)
 
 194 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 about the reason he wouldn't find him upstairs, and the friend 
 (who was Mr. Kerr-Kerr, if you wish to know) wouldn't have 
 laughed back. It made them very cheerful that Jeff should have 
 gone to Upper Clapton to paint his aunt. But Charles's melancholy 
 came back on him, in company with the profile and eyelid, as soon 
 as Mr. Kerr-Kerr departed, leaving the precious soup-ladle in his 
 charge; and Charles took them all three, melancholy, profile, and 
 eyelid, to Regents Park with him; and stood on the suspension 
 bridge over the Canal and nursed the first, never having the can- 
 dour to acknowledge the other .two. 
 
 It contributed to the melancholy and fostered it to dream of the 
 days when those May trees over there were in Marylebone Fields, 
 and the real Dr. Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith used to walk out 
 and about among them, with Bozzy, perhaps, taking notes, either 
 mentally or graphically. Those were the days, or none so long 
 after, of No. 40 in its prime; of games of quadrille or faro, till 
 near on to daylight, in the Studio Charles occupied; of orgies of 
 gormandising and drink in the ground-floor front with the col- 
 umned recess at one end for the buffet; of stately minuets and 
 gavottes in the old ballroom the picture-dealer had defiled. Those 
 were the days of that foul murder-story we should never know 
 the rights of all, all forgotten now! not a clue to guide us. A 
 newspaper paragraph about it had moralised, and pointed out the 
 lesson it taught us, that sooner or later murder would out. And 
 Peggy had remarked that the moral seemed to her to be that mur- 
 der sometimes didn't out, until it might almost as well have 
 stopped in. "What a many murders do stop in, most likely!" 
 said Charles to himself, on the canal-bridge in Regents 
 Park. 
 
 "Would it be any use, I wonder," he continued, "to look up that 
 queer old fish Parminter no! Verrinder again and try to get 
 Borne more out of him. One hasn't any time that's the worst! 
 I shall think about it though." 
 
 "You're such a lazy chap !" said Conscience a companion who 
 never leaves us, and who gets so familiar that she breeds contempt 
 for her own counsels. "Such a lazy chap! Why can't you do it, 
 instead of thinking about it ?" 
 
 "I really shall though, seriously," said Charles, "because one 
 ought to try to clear up ghost-stories. What was it the great 
 Samuel said about it under those very trees, mayhap ! 'the ques- 
 tion of the appearance of ghosts was perhaps the most important 
 question humanity had to decide, and we were no nearer a deci- 
 sion than we were three thousand years ago.' That funny little
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 195 
 
 Alice! How I should have liked to see her acting the ghost on 
 the beach at Shellacombe !" 
 
 "You ought to go there you promised, you know," said Con- 
 science, still at his elbow. 
 
 "I shall go. All in good time. Don't be a nuisance! I must 
 just stay for one more sitting when that head's dry." The pro- 
 file and the eyelid asserted themselves. 
 
 "If it wasn't for them," said Conscience, pointing, "you would 
 go down to-morrow!" 
 
 Charles laughed scornfully. "I never heard such nonsense in my 
 life," said he. "If it's to be this sort of thing, I shall give up Art, 
 and take to " But that was as far as he got. 
 
 He turned to walk back along the broad walk. The gate was 
 closing; but he was allowed to pass if he would promise to go 
 straight across, and not keep the gate-closing back. He walked 
 on through the almost deserted Park, shouts of "All out !" reaching 
 him from wandering guardians, and the beasts in the Zoological 
 Gardens seeming to echo their injunctions. No wonder, Charles 
 thought, if it is true they are allowed out on parole in the empty 
 Park, at night, as the story goes ! 
 
 In order to lengthen out his walk in the silence of the Park, now 
 moonlit and enjoyable, and at the same time to keep faith with 
 the authorities, he made for Hanover Gate, instead of keeping 
 on the broad walk. A belated workman or two, and a park-keeper 
 who said, "All out!" sternly and reproachfully, were all the 
 folk he saw until he drew near the bridge over the Ornamental 
 Water. Then he became aware that there was a woman behind him, 
 following at no great distance; but still near enough to give the 
 impression that she was following. If so, she must have been fol- 
 lowing for some time; for the Park at this point is (or was in 
 those days) very bare of trees or any incident of cover, and 
 Charles must have seen her had he passed her anywhere on the 
 open grass land. He quickened his pace, realising that a prowler 
 of the class he supposed her to belong to would see in this a hint 
 that her society was not coveted. She also appeared to quicken 
 her pace, but not sufficiently to lessen the distance between them. 
 Sometimes a cabman, fancying he has been signalled to, will follow 
 you, without your seeing why; and then he is naturally indignant 
 when he finds his mistake. Was this woman under a like delusion 2 
 Charles had heard of such things. But as he stopped a moment, 
 hesitating between two paths, he noticed that she stopped too, 
 which seemed to him to dispose of the theory. 
 
 He reached the exit gate opening into the inner-circle road, and
 
 196 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 felt inclined to argue with its guardian, who told him to "Look 
 alive, can't you?" It seemed ridiculous to look alive, when there 
 was some one else fifty yards behind, who was still at liberty to look 
 dead, at choice, and who was to be allowed to escape also. Charles 
 loitered a moment on the other side of the way, lighting a cigarette, 
 in order to choose the opposite direction to the one taken by the 
 woman. She came out at the gate, and he thought he heard her 
 finish an inaudible remark to the park-keeper with the words, "Tell 
 him to go that way!" and then pointed to her left and went off, 
 quickly, to the right. Charles thought he recognised the woman's 
 voice, as a voice he had heard, but without being sure whose voice, 
 and waited to see who it was that was to be sent the other way. 
 Presently a man came running, who seemed to make enquiry of the 
 park-keeper, who appeared to turn him over in his mind, and 
 then finally pointed with his thumb to his left ; in compliance, pre- 
 sumably, with the woman's instructions. Seeing Charles had no- 
 ticed the transaction, he vouchsafed some explanation "He's best 
 out of the way," he said. "Ugly sort o' customer ! Forring, / 
 should say" and seemed, to Charles, to think this sufficient. 
 Charles was amused to find that he himself was inclined to accept 
 it, as one accepts anything and everything in England that is done 
 by a person with any sort of badge or uniform. Besides, in the 
 slight glance he had at the ugly sort of customer, he had noted 
 in him that worst of all combinations, the clerical and the disso- 
 lute. He turned and went his way home; and, as he went, an 
 impression grew and grew that he knew whose voice this woman's 
 was, and also the figure that went with it. He would listen very 
 carefully to Miss Thiselton, or Straker, next Friday, and would 
 observe the good trying-on figure, to see if this impression was 
 right.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH 
 
 OP MISS STRAKER'S ANTECEDENTS, AND HER VOICE. WHY DIDN'T CHARLES 
 GO TO SHELLACOMBE ? HOW MISS PRYNNE SAW A GHOST. HOW DR. 
 JOHNSON SAW MISS STRAKER. CHARLES ISN'T IN LOVE 
 
 NEXT Friday came, and with it Miss Straker. She was looking 
 very nice, thought Charles much too nice ever to have anything 
 in common with that Park-woman. The good trying-on figure was 
 near enough certainly; the voice was going to sound quite different, 
 Charles felt confident. She was very journaliere, clearly, was Miss 
 Straker ; for this time she hardly struck him as at all lop-sided as 
 she looked him frankly in the face, and thanked him for his timely 
 loan. 
 
 "I don't know what we should have done, Mr. Heath, if it had not 
 been for your great kindness. My mother would have liked to come 
 and thank you herself, but I thought it would only bore you, and 
 said no !" 
 
 Was it the voice ? Well ! It would have been more satisfactory 
 if it had been more unlike it. Still, it was certainly possible to 
 believe it wasn't, and Charles adjusted his belief accordingly at 
 least for the present. This morning, Miss Straker was at her 
 best, and Charles wanted her not to have been that woman in the 
 Park. It did not seem to occur to him that she might have been 
 the vilest of the vile, and yet a good model for Regan. A perfectly 
 logical and detached artist wouldn't have cared twopence whether 
 she was the Park -woman or not. Still, Charles did not suspect 
 that he was other than perfectly detached. 
 
 Miss Straker, becoming absorbed in Regan, and remembering 
 the reserve due to a non-professional position, gave no further 
 opportunity of judging of her voice until she struck work and asked 
 for a rest. "I ought to have asked you," said Charles, apologising. 
 "You'll have to sing out* when you want to rest, Miss Thisel 
 Straker." He began with one name, and corrected himself in the 
 middle. 
 
 "Miss Thiselstraker," said she, laughing. "It makes a funny 
 name. But I don't mind which you call me. Mr. Calthorpe was 
 very impertinent, I thought. Don't you think it's very impertinent 
 
 197
 
 198 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 to call a girl by her Christian name, Mr. Heath?" Charles was 
 comparing the voice; and was getting no nearer, but only puzzling 
 himself. He replied absently, "Yes very!" The young lady 
 meandered on, but in a suave undertone which gave no clue. 
 
 "Mr. Calthorpe used to call me Lavvy. My brother always calls 
 me Vinny. Which do you like best, Mr. Heath? But I mustn't 
 talk and disturb you." And she picked up a book and began to 
 read. Now Charles saw the book was Les Travailleurs de la Mer, 
 and he didn't believe Miss Straker could read French. However, if 
 pretending to read French kept her quiet, why shouldn't she pre- 
 tend? It pleased her and didn't hurt him. Besides, the profile 
 and the eyelid had recrudesced in that position. Oh no ! With a 
 profile and an eyelid like that she never could never never! 
 There was one thing though she could do and was doing, viz. : earn- 
 ing money at the rate of one shilling an hour by reading Victor 
 Hugo in a comfortable armchair. Charles protested, in the name 
 of business. "And a nice humbug you are !" thought he to himself, 
 as Miss Straker put down the volume with apparent reluctance, and 
 climbed up to be Began. Her hand felt very honest though, as he 
 helped her on to the throne. 
 
 "I love Victor Hugo ! Don't you love Victor Hugo, Mr. Heath ? 
 But I like Noire Dame de Paris better than the Travailleurs de la 
 Mer? But I like Les Misera~bles best. Isn't Jean Valjean grand ?" 
 
 "I didn't know you read French so well." Charles was taken by 
 surprise. She could pronounce Travailleurs. 
 
 "Didn't you? I thought you knew. Oh dear, yes! Why, you 
 know my mother is a Frenchwoman, and I lived in Paris till I 
 was nineteen! I read French much better than English. I can't 
 read Dickens and Thackeray half like I can Dumas or Victor 
 Hugo." 
 
 Charles felt ashamed. Perhaps his suspicion about the Park- 
 woman was just as groundless as his assumption that this girl, 
 more French than English, could not read French. He was always 
 suspecting things ! Why, at this very moment he was imagining a 
 too-ready assumption of some bygone rapport in the words, "I 
 thought you knew." Never mind! He would clear all scores by 
 never thinking about the Park incident again. He apologised 
 cordially, in secret. 
 
 "We lived at Choisy-le-Roi till my father died," pursued Miss 
 Straker, picking up her thread of narrative at the next rest, hav- 
 ing been conscientiously silent during work time. "It was very 
 nice at Choisy-le-Roi. I was learning singing then. Do you like 
 singing, Mr. Heath?" Now Charles was very fond of music
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 199 
 
 played a little, himself. "Were you studying for the profession?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Oh yes ! I have a good voice. High soprano. But I can't sing 
 for long together. If only it were stronger!" 
 
 "How came you to come to London? Surely Paris is better for 
 training than London?" 
 
 "Much better, if you can afford it. But we were very poor, and 
 I had an offer of training, without paying any fees at all, from 
 Pesciatino, who, you know, lives in London. I got on very well till 
 my voice played tricks." 
 
 "I thought your mother had some house property in London?" 
 
 "No the house is at Choisy-le-Roi our old house. The mort- 
 gagee is an Englishman. I should like to go back to Paris now we 
 have had to give up the singing. Shouldn't you like to live in 
 Paris, Mr. Heath?" 
 
 "Oh yes I shouldn't mind living in Paris. But tell me about 
 'your voice how does it break down?" 
 
 "It goes goes clean away all of a sudden! I was singing to 
 an Agency to try for an engagement. I had sung one song very 
 well, I thought. I tried another, and found I had no voice 
 couldn't sing a note! Wasn't it funny? Did you ever have it 
 happen to you, Mr. Heath?" 
 
 "I never sang to an Agency to try my voice," said Charles, "or 
 it might have. But did that make you give it up ? Wasn't it rather 
 premature?" 
 
 "Oh no! It happened again soon after. We had to give it up. 
 Then Pesciatino said it was no use my going on training. Then 
 Maurice was always in want of money " 
 
 "Is that your brother?" 
 
 "Yes and money had to be found so " 
 
 "You took to sitting. I can't help thinking you were rather pre- 
 mature in too great a hurry about the voice but of course I 
 can't tell." Charles was leaving Regan to take care of herself. 
 His irrepressible good-nature, coupled with a haunting sense that he 
 had done this poor girl an injustice, was gaining ground ; and there 
 was no friendly guidance at hand to steer him into safe waters. 
 
 "I should like you to hear me sing. Only you have no piano." 
 
 "No ! I should be playing all day, instead of working, if I had a 
 piano " 
 
 "Oh, do you play? But those ladies upstairs have a piano 
 they wouldn't mind ?" 
 
 "Wouldn't mind lending it? I couldn't ask don't know them 
 well enough ! Oh dear, no ! Certainly that would never do." For
 
 200 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 Charles didn't feel at all confident about the views the two Miss 
 Prynnes would take of an invasion of their premises by a rather 
 showy-looking young female, to give a matinee musicale to an 
 audience of one single gentleman. Even with the powerful sanc- 
 tion of their own presence it would be doubtful; while as for ask- 
 ing Jeff to consolidate matters, he would only make them worse. 
 The Miss Prynnes were already inclined to kick and make com- 
 plaint about Mr. Jerrythought's noises overhead; and there had 
 even been allegations of disreputable female characters, only as- 
 cribable to him, occurring in the gangways of the house at un- 
 earthly hours in the morning. Jeff indignantly repudiated this 
 it is but just to him to say so. 
 
 Charles, at this moment, in this narrative, is hesitating about a 
 plunge, which if taken may affect his future seriously. While he 
 is thinking about it, we may make further reference to these sug- 
 gestions of the Miss Prynnes about Mr. Jeff. Their story was that 
 on the occasion of a partial eclipse of the moon which was predicted 
 for half -past three in the morning, they had timidly ventured forth 
 to observe it from the window of the little crib mentioned in a 
 former chapter by Mr. Jerrythought, that was neither a room nor a 
 landing; a clear sky being visible therefrom. They remained 
 watching it until all the Astronomy proper had come to an end, 
 and the moon was left to go on by itself, without addition of 
 factitious interests. Then they returned as they had come; but 
 were scandalised at being passed on the stairs by a most disreputa- 
 ble-looking person in a sort of flowered dressing-gown, who could 
 only be going up to see the moon from where they had seen it; 
 or, culpabile diciu, to the apartment occupied by that very doubt- 
 ful and noisy artist with the absurd name. The younger one, 
 though speechless, could not restrain her curiosity; and kept her 
 eyes long enough on this person to see that she disappeared into 
 his room, no doubt closing the door very quietly so that no one 
 should hear it slam. 
 
 They of course did not tax the delinquent with his irregularities, 
 but it came to his hearing indirectly; being communicated (to 
 downstairs) by a person of Mrs. Twills's class (but much thicker), 
 who came in to do out the Miss Prynnes, and to empt, and any 
 little bit of cooking when wanted. She was a married woman, 
 and could communicate on such a topic with Mr. Chappell, who was 
 also married. Mr. Chappell did not see his way to making or med- 
 dling in Mr. Jerrythought's affairs. What concern was Mr. J. of 
 his? But Mr. Pope saw his way, to the extent of suggesting the 
 existence of a reciprocal understanding, by winks or clucks, be-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 201 
 
 tween himself and Mr. J., from which Europe was to be excluded 
 by mutual consent. This led to revelation and total denial by the 
 culprit, only applicable (by special proviso) to this particular case; 
 for Jeff repudiated as a personal insult any imputation of behav- 
 ing himself, as a rule; and only alleged that at the time in ques- 
 tion his door was locked tight, and he was fast asleep. He further 
 said that if it was a humbugging ghost, he would thank it to go 
 and 'ornt somebody else. Charles had heard enough of this story 
 to make him shy of taxing the toleration of the Miss Prynnes by 
 requesting loans of pianos for his lady acquaintances. But we 
 may now go back to him. He has had plenty of time to decide. 
 
 "But I suppose your mother wouldn't object to my calling on 
 you to hear you sing? " 
 
 "Why should she?" 
 
 "I thought possibly it was only an idea that she wouldn't like 
 Artists you are sitting for to be on the footing of friends I mean 
 ordinary friends " He felt he wasn't putting it well, and hesi- 
 tated over it a little. 
 
 "Certainly she wouldn't not any Artists. But see how kind 
 you have been ! She wanted to come and thank you to-day herself, 
 but I thought it would bore and hinder you, and she had better not. 
 But she really is most grateful, Mr. Heath." 
 
 Charles had taken his plunge, and was committed to Miss 
 Straker as an acquaintance. But he threw in a little word or two, 
 to define and limit his position. 
 
 "You see, Miss Straker, I often hear of people who want a good 
 singer, to make a party go off well and who pay very well too. 
 Mind! If I don't think your voice up to the mark, I shall have 
 to be unkind and say so " 
 
 "Oh the voice is all right," said Miss Straker with equable 
 confidence. And she resumed Regan with alacrity, as one who 
 knows time has been wasted. 
 
 It might have struck a bystander that as soon as ever she saw a 
 clear road to a permanent acquaintance with Charles, she began 
 to make it much easier for him. It might have been unfair to sug- 
 gest that her fish being hooked she gave him the line to himself, 
 and sat on the bank quietly, taking good care not to frighten him. 
 But she certainly knocked off the little tentative personalities 
 which are the delight of the female Model in full swing, and which 
 she seemed to be on the way to acquire in perfection after a little 
 more experience. If she did this with a view of making Charles's 
 visit at her mother's an easy and natural thing to him, possibly 
 pleasant to repeat, it shows that she understood her man. She
 
 202 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 had gone a long way towards disgusting him by her attempts to 
 introduce the story (probably not exactly true) of Mrs. Calthorpe's 
 jealousy; and he didn't feel at all attracted to a discussion of 
 what name that lady's husband should have called her by. She had 
 much better have left the profile and the eyelid to do the job. But 
 now it was all right. And no doubt Miss Lavinia Straker be- 
 came much pleasanter to Charles when (for whatever reason) she 
 gave up attempting to captivate, and adjusted her conversation with 
 a due regard to the actual degree of their acquaintance. She also 
 made him quite comfortable on the Park question by saying she 
 and a friend had heard The Messiah the evening before, but had 
 had to wait an hour in the street. So she could not have been in 
 Regents Park after "the official hour of sunset." 
 
 "I shan't be free for some days now," said Charles, when the 
 sitting was over. "But after next week I have no engagement. 
 To-morrow morning, I am going down to Devonshire, to my 
 family ' For he had remembered his promise to Con- 
 science. 
 
 "I didn't know you had a family." 
 
 "No more I have, in that sense in the sense you mean, I mean. 
 I was speaking of my mother and sisters." 
 
 "I see. I didn't know. But you will come and hear me sing, all 
 the same, won't you?" Charles said of course he would, as soon 
 as ever he returned to town. 
 
 Now observe, that if (only we don't at all say this was the 
 case) if this young woman was a designing young woman, her 
 last two remarks did her powers of design great credit. The first 
 did away with any impressions her previous conversation might 
 have created, by registering the fact that she did not know that 
 Charles was a single man. The second, by leaving it doubtful 
 what "all the same" applied to, left a meaning open to it fruitful 
 of suggestion that Charles's coming to see her as a single man 
 might be open to interpretations not of a sinister sort, certainly, 
 but of a nature that made it more pure-hearted and frank in her 
 to disclaim them in advance. "You need not be the least fright- 
 ened. However much I like you, I should scorn to take advantage 
 of you," was what she had contrived to say, if we may judge by 
 the way Charles again blamed himself for having misinterpreted 
 her. "What a vain ass I am !" he said to himself. While she, if she 
 had such meanings, may have felt very like Becky Sharp after a 
 master-stroke. 
 
 Charles saw her down to the door, honestly believing that, of the 
 two, hers was the pastoral nature. As he stood watching the good
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 203 
 
 trying-on figure go down the street, he was accosted by "Hullo ! 
 Charley who's the Beauty?" And there stood Dr. Johnson. 
 
 "She's not a Beauty. She's only a Model," said Charles. And 
 then his chivalrous heart turned round and blamed him for speak- 
 ing in such a way of any girl. "She's a very nice, ladylike girl," 
 he added, correcting and extenuating. "Only I shouldn't call her 
 a Beauty, exactly. I'm painting her as Regan." 
 
 "She was a nice ladylike girl, with a vengeance! Now, Charley, 
 come along in and hear all my news. Never mind the nice lady- 
 like girl." For Charles was keeping his eye on the vanishing 
 form. It turned a corner and was gone. 
 
 "Peggy hasn't written to me yet about it," said he. Surely none 
 but his mother's son could ever have got so far in medias res with- 
 out an Index, or a Preface, or an Exordium, or at least a Title-page. 
 
 "I see there's not much to tell," said Johnson. "But do say you 
 haven't been execrating me you said I might, you know! " 
 
 "Did I ? Well, I suppose I did." For in a conversation we have 
 not recorded, Charles had said to his friend, jokingly, that if he 
 had fifty sisters, single ones, Johnson was welcome to make offers 
 to them all round. "But then, my dear Paracelsus, that was to be 
 if I had fifty. That would leave me forty-nine or in case of 
 bigamy, forty-eight; or quadrogamy tetragamy whatever it 
 ought to be forty-six." 
 
 "I see you're not very angry, old chap 
 
 "Angry !" Charles could only wring his friend's hand affec- 
 tionately. "Angry! Why, as far as it's being you goes, nothing 
 could please me better. Only of course only of course it's a sort 
 of break up; might have gone on a little longer, don't you know?" 
 For even in those days people used to say, "don't you know?" 
 Only then they used to say other things as well. A time came when 
 they said nothing else. 
 
 Johnson looked as if he did know, and was sorry. "I'm a brute," 
 said he, "and I know it. But you would have had to forgive some- 
 body else, old boy, if it hadn't been me. As for Margaret, I think 
 she's not much ashamed of me, at present. But she didn't like to 
 confess up; because, you see, she had made up her mind not to 
 marry, on high Philanthropic grounds good example to her 
 species and so forth! So she said if you hadn't found it out 
 from her letters, I must break it to you. Now it's broke !" 
 
 "And at any rate it isn't anybody else that's one comfort! 
 What did the Governor say?" 
 
 "Oh, of course I haven't seen him I want you to come and help 
 me in that quarter. Your mother and I may be said to have made
 
 204 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 it up now, after difficulties. We are on very good terms. But she 
 tells me I must anticipate opposition from Mr. Heath." Charles 
 laughed internally, and may have begun to smile outwardly, for 
 Johnson added, "Don't you think so?" However, Charles wasn't 
 going to commit his father, or any one, to anything. So he merely 
 promised his moral support, that evening, if Johnson would come 
 back to dinner at Hyde Park Gardens, after a visit at the Hos- 
 pital an institution he said he felt ashamed to look in the face, 
 after the way he had neglected it lately. 
 
 Mr. Heath Senior certainly made all the stereotyped objections; 
 and though Charles felt incredulous under the skin, and detected 
 in them a certain spirit of pomposity to which, in his father, he 
 was no stranger, they did not altogether fail to impress his friend 
 as genuine. Master Rupert felt uneasy, and feared his projected 
 mother-in-law was right. But, as it chanced, matters official hav- 
 ing been left in abeyance, the talk turned on his family, and he 
 mentioned his father's Christian name Philip Kenrick Johnson. 
 
 "Why, God bless my soul!" exclaimed old Heath. "You don't 
 mean that ? Ken Johnson why ! he and I were at school together 
 at Clifton. Well, now that is strange!" Charles felt imme- 
 diately that the objections had only a feeble hold on life were 
 spiritless and anaemic. 
 
 "Yes," said the Doctor, "I think my father was at school at 
 Clifton. Then he went to Addiscombe. He died when I was quite 
 a boy. He was killed at Inkerman." 
 
 "I remember you told us. But I never knew he was Ken John- 
 son! Why, we were the greatest friends, he and I! We were 
 there three years nearly. We fought six times in the first two years 
 beginning of every term. Sometimes he licked; sometimes I 
 licked " Charles felt that the objections were moribund. 
 
 "But you didn't always fight," said he. 
 
 "Oh no ! Last term I was there he'd got a beetle I hadn't (we 
 used to collect beetles) Necrophorus Sepultor I think it was; and 
 I had a beetle he hadn't, whose name I can't recollect dear, dear 
 now! What was the name of that beetle?" Charles said never 
 mind. "Oh yes but I do mind! I should like to remember the 
 name of that beetle." However, Mr. Heath had to give it up, and 
 went on: "Anyhow he put Necrophorus Sepultor in a little pill- 
 box and put him down my back in class, and we got in a row with 
 the master, and after class I gave him mine in exchange. Ah 
 dear!" 
 
 Charles felt that the objections were dead, and that they might 
 be handed over to Necrophorus Sepultor, about whom Mr. Heath
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 205 
 
 was probably wrong, as we believe he is a very common beetle. 
 Anyhow, it was quite clear no one could object to any one marrying 
 his daughter if he had fought that man's father through two years 
 of school, at the beginning of every term. But a definition of the 
 position was called for that dignity should suffer no outrage ! 
 
 "As for you two young folks you and Peggy you must think 
 it over a bit consider nothing settled bad to be in too great a 
 hurry hardly known each other a year your own prospects, my 
 boy, most uncertain, etc., etc., etc." But Charles noticed that Dr. 
 Johnson had become my boy. And when he said good-night to his 
 father, after Johnson had departed, evidently reporting a good 
 deal of progress to himself, the general recapitulation certainly 
 contained no element of serious obstacle to the happiness of the 
 two lovers. 
 
 "We must see what your mother has to say, Charley. If she 
 says I'm to say yes, I suppose I shall have to say yes otherwise, 
 otherwise ! she and Peg must have it out between them. I expect 
 they're ordering the wedding-dresses, and settling who's to be asked 
 to the wedding. I shan't have any voice in the matter. You'll find 
 it all settled when you get there to-morrow. But just fancy that! 
 Ken Johnson's son !" 
 
 Charles, re-enveloped by this interview in the atmosphere of 
 Home, forgot all about his Studio acquaintance the profile and 
 the eyelid were disestablished for the time being. But they floated 
 back into his field of vision as soon as it was empty, and brewed 
 dissension between himself and Conscience. For the latter had the 
 bad taste and feeling to suggest that the prospect of losing Peggy, 
 so far as he should lose her, was less repellent to him than it 
 would have seemed a month ago ever so little less, perhaps, but 
 still less. 
 
 "If you mean," Charles angrily replied, "that I'm in love with 
 this stupid Model girl, and that she could make up to me for 
 there ! I won't talk about it. It's too disgusting and ridiculous." 
 
 "/ never used the expression 'in love,'" said Conscience; "you 
 made that!" And Charles said he wasn't going to talk any more 
 about it, as it was late and he would have to catch an early train 
 at Waterloo.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 OP MR. VERRINDER AT THE RAILWAY STATION. OF ALICE-FOR-SHORT AND 
 THE BEETLE. WHO WAS THE NICE LADYLIKE GIRL? PSYCHICAL RE- 
 SEARCH 
 
 CHARLES caught the early train. As he entered the station a 
 dingy figure said, "How-de-do, Mr. Heath ?" to him a dingy figure 
 in a napless hat, with a threadbare coat anxiously buttoned against 
 contingencies of buttonlessness elsewhere; with an umbrella that 
 was pretending it hadn't a broken rib, and knew better; with a 
 carpet-bag made of carpet, as they always were, once, and one 
 end of its leather handle made uncongenially fast with string, 
 and a brass plate on which a name was once legible. It was what 
 had caught Charles's eye first, and he was wondering when, as its 
 owner addressed him. Then he saw that it would have been Ver- 
 rinder, if it really belonged to its present owner. 
 
 What was saddest in the poor fellow's dilapidation was that he 
 evidently believed he had succeeded in his attempt to smarten up 
 for the public eye. His shirt had been washed, but probably at 
 home, in a household without servants. His coat had been brushed, 
 perhaps with the wooden basis of what was once a clothes-brush, 
 but now was bald and hairless. His hat had been stroked round 
 with his sleeve, most likely; and then he had felt that he could go 
 on parade. Charles only felt sorry for him, not repelled by his 
 shabbiness. 
 
 "How-de-do, Mr. Heath ? I haven't forgotten you gave me three 
 tubes of Asphaltum. Beautiful colour !" 
 
 "Are you going by the eight -thirty, Mr. Verrinder? Because if 
 you are we can travel together." If Charles had met Mr. Kerr- 
 Kerr, who was rather a point-de-vice gentleman, he would have 
 dodged him, because he wanted to be by himself. But as it was 
 this poor woe-begone piece of antiquity, chivalry stepped in. He 
 wasn't going to shy off from the poor devil. He could have pro- 
 vided himself with good and sufficient reasons, but he would 
 have suspected himself of snobbishness, and he wasn't going to 
 run the risk of trial and conviction. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said he, when Verrinder answered 
 him yes to his first question. Verrinder was going to Witley.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 207 
 
 "I'll take tickets for both," said Charles; "I'm going to travel 
 third." Of course he wasn't, but he didn't want any class dis- 
 tinctions. He took two third-class tickets, knowing he could 
 change his carriage and pay excess fare. 
 
 "You never came to see me at my Studio," said he when they 
 were settled in their places. The train moved slowly out of the 
 station, and was beginning to be at its ease about cross-lines and 
 ambushes before Verrinder answered him. 
 
 "Oh no oh no! Too long ago for me! It's a good way to 
 come, too. No, no not my line thank you!" 
 
 Charles understood that he really thanked for the invitation 
 that there was no element of derision in the phrase. "I see," said 
 he, "I won't bother you to come. It is a very long way." Charles 
 registered the distance as the reason, lest he should seem to impute 
 a sensibility about old memories the other seemed to wish to dis- 
 claim. He judged by a hardness in his voice. Charles remem- 
 bered at this moment that he had promised to make no enquiries 
 into Verrinder's previous story. Otherwise the words, "Too long 
 ago for me," apart from the voice, might have given him an excuse. 
 
 Verrinder said very little indeed during the short journey. He 
 said he shouldn't like to be a brickmaker, but that they said the 
 smell wasn't unwholesome. He said he shouldn't care to work 
 on the line, but that he understood you always got compensation. 
 He seemed to assume that no railway employee could escape death 
 by misadventure or bodily injury. He reflected that it was much 
 quieter in this part of the world before the railway came, showing 
 how far back his memory of this part of the world went. He 
 might have become interesting at this point, Charles thought, 
 but they arrived at Woking and he changed for Witley. Charles 
 remembered this little incident long after. 
 
 The journey to Shellacombe was such a long one that it is not 
 to be wondered at that the profile, the eyelid, and the promised 
 voice were completely forgotten by the time Peggy's arms were 
 round her brother at the little railway station at Cleave, where she 
 came with Alice to meet him and show him how quite the same she 
 was in spite of her escapade. He felt that was all right. As 
 much the same as the little unalterable railway station on the 
 single line, with the roses still in bloom along the platform fence, 
 and the name of it done large in pebble mosaic on a slope of 
 green along the other end of the platform. Even the two or three 
 other people who arrived were exactly the same as usual; and they 
 were driven away in the same two-horse carriage and the same dog- 
 cart by the same civil men whose nature defied the influences of the
 
 208 ALICE-FOB-SHOKT 
 
 metropolis. Or if they were not absolutely the same people they 
 had Borne quality about them which answered all the purposes of 
 identity without committing its owner to being anybody else. 
 
 "Oh, you bad boy !" said Peggy, when she had driven conviction 
 home, "do you mean to say you've come here with no luggrage 
 but that ?" It seemed so ; or else the train, sanctioned by a whistle 
 from the far end, was taking away Charles's box. No ! It was 
 all right, and there was nothing for "the man" to find room for in 
 front. So Charles and Peggy, and his contemptible little valise, 
 were off in the twilight through the little village street, which 
 was as much the same as the station had been, or even more so; 
 with the same sun-browned white-haired children growing up to 
 be the same people, and the same people remembering how very 
 much the same children they were, once, themselves! Charles 
 felt how premature he had been to fancy the world was going to 
 disperse because his sister married. She wouldn't change, any- 
 how! Why, look at her! There she was, more herself than ever! 
 And very lovely Peggy looked in the half-light, I can tell you, 
 with her hair shaken out and only the least little shade of sun- 
 scorch from long exposure on the inexhaustible sands. Alice's eyes 
 were fixed on her in admiration; but then they almost always were. 
 
 "And is Alice burnt black too?" said Charles, after reference to 
 the baking powers of Shellacombe, which were alleged to be quite 
 outside and beyond all precedent, off the Equator. It really is 
 quite wonderful what individual characteristics towns have along 
 the English coast. 
 
 "No absurd little monkey! She stops qxiite white, like that. 
 Show Mr. Charley your face, Miss Kavanagh." Alice does seem 
 strangely white, or ivorylike; considering that she too has been 
 baking in the sun, and living most part of the day in a tent on 
 the sands. She has become more than ever one of the family by 
 now, in this gypsified life, and must be thought of as such. It is 
 curious, because really it is only a short two-thirds of a year since 
 she was that poor little almost street Arab, we wanted to write. 
 Peggy felt all the more for the others who were left. 
 
 "Let's have a look at you, Alice-fpr-short," says Charles. And 
 Peggy has to remind her companions that a waggonette is not a 
 place to romp in. "We've got to shut up and be good, Alice," he 
 says. And Alice repeats after him, "Sut up and be dood!" and 
 becomes demure. 
 
 "But I did tumble over the tiff," says she, as if it was a merit 
 an extenuation of any current misdemeanours. 
 
 "Cliff, child! When will you learn to speak plain? Oh dear!
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 209 
 
 My hair's all coming down. No it's no use trying to stick it up, 
 Alice dear never mind! We shall be back directly and you 
 shall do it up for me. Say cliff, plain':" 
 
 "Curl-iff!" This with a great effort from Alice, who continues, 
 "Tumbled over it, I did. And Dr. Jomson came down upside 
 down and catched-ed hold ever so tight " 
 
 "Caught, Alice ! I told you caught before." 
 
 "Taught." With conscientious gravity. "And I was fightened." 
 
 "Tell Mr. Charley about the beetle, Alice." 
 
 "There was a beetle Oh, the dee-est little beetle so big, like 
 that and he got on my nose, and tickled oh, he was so pretty 
 such beautiful colours!" 
 
 "Go on. What did you say to the beetle?" 
 
 "I said susposing Dr. Jomson slides down atop of us, what- 
 ever shall we do to hold him up ?" 
 
 "What indeed?" said Charles. "What did the beetle say?" 
 
 "He flowed away because he was angry. Angry with me! Be- 
 cause I rubbed him off my nose on to the grast grass." A con- 
 scientious correction. 
 
 "What did you think quite first thing of all, Alice," asks 
 Charles, "when you first went over?" 
 
 "I thinked I thought susposing I go in the water, and Miss 
 Peggy she comes after me, and Dr. Jomson he comes after Miss 
 Peggy we should all be in the water together." 
 
 "Excuse my saying, Miss Kavanagh, that that was a flat and 
 insipid way of looking at the position, and not worthy of your 
 youthful promise." Alice stares. Peggy stimulates her memory by 
 a word or two. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Peggy please ! I wundled and wundled and wundled 
 susposing we was all in the water together poor Mr. Charley, 
 what would he do wivout us! And I wanted to cry, but I was 
 fightened it would jolt! And then the strong man came up be- 
 hind I was glad! And he tied me up don't recollect nuffint 
 more!" says Alice, breaking off abruptly, and shaking her head 
 prohibitively. 
 
 "And here we are," says Peggy. "Really, Miss Kavanagh, if 
 you don't learn to say nothing, instead of nuffint, I shall give 
 warning and find another place." 
 
 "Nothing," says Alice, forcibly and distinctly. And Peggy 
 kisses her. We hope Alice won't be spoiled. 
 
 Said Charles to Peggy, next morning on the sands: "Now tell 
 us all about it, Poggy-wogg." For the full-up household in the
 
 210 ALICE-FOR-SHOETi 
 
 sea-side house, playing at games overnight, and the lawless Chaos 
 called the arrangement of plans for the day, in the morning, had 
 prevented all peaceful communication between the brother and 
 sister; and mutual tacit sanction had been given by each to the 
 other's deferred questionings. 
 
 "No! First you tell me. Come the other side because of the 
 smoke. No nearer up under my sunshade and then I can ruffle 
 your hair for you. Oh dear! It's so sticky with the salt water." 
 For there had been swims before breakfast. "No, I won't tell you 
 anything at all till you've told me a great lot heaps! Rupert 
 came to see you yesterday I know that much and you went 
 home and dined at the Gardens. Now go on after that !" 
 
 Charles, enjoying the drowsy spell of the sea after so long a 
 dose of the stuffy town, was able to listen to the musical plash of 
 the waves and the cry of the sea-birds; the laughter of the bathers 
 and their voices; the even beat of the oars helping a pleasure-boat 
 with windless sails over a mirror towards a sheet of silver that may 
 be wind; to listen to and enjoy all these, and yet to give, in easy 
 instalments, a narrative of the previous day's events. He began 
 with Rupert's arrival on the doorstep. He ascribed his scrupulous 
 care in omitting any hint of Miss Straker (the good trying-on 
 figure passed away down the street in his brain, but he said nothing 
 about it) entirely to the fact that the bill before the House related 
 to Peggy, not to himself. He would keep in the background, and 
 say nothing about any Miss Strakers. We understand. 
 
 He judged it best to make the most of his father's little exhibi- 
 tion of orthodox obstacle-mongering, and Peggy was somewhat 
 downcast for a moment. But she broke into a happy laugh of 
 relief when the story came of the schoolfellowship. "You mustn't 
 of course attach too much weight to the mere fact that Paracelsus's 
 father was at school with yours," said Charles, solemnly. 
 
 "Oh, you dear prosy old boy! The idea! Why, of course there 
 won't be any bother with papa. Just fancy! Fought each other 
 every term for six terms ! Do you know, I really believe if I hated 
 Rupert (or Paracelsus, as you will persist in calling him) Papa 
 would want me to marry him. And then they swopped specimens. 
 That's what Bob and Dan are always doing. I wonder if that was 
 phosphorus what's-his-name that tickled Alice's nose?" 
 
 "Necrophorus Sepultor? No he's a ghoul, I suppose lives on 
 corpses. By the bye (only it's a shame he isn't a ghoul at all), 
 I met that queer fellow Verrinder in the train yesterday. I'll tell 
 you about him presently." 
 
 Peggy didn't show any interest in Verrinder. But the ghoul
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 211 
 
 made her think of something she was wanting to talk about. "How 
 about that ghost?" 
 
 "Which ghost?" said Charles. He didn't want to tell Peggy 
 about the ghost the younger Miss Prynne saw on the stairs. It 
 didn't seem to him a fit ghost for Peggy. Brothers are mighty 
 particular, we can tell you! 
 
 "I didn't know there were two ghosts unless you count Alice's 
 private ghost with the spots? I meant the one Rupert told me 
 about what you and your absurd friend (well! he is absurd) 
 saw." 
 
 "I'll tell you about that presently. I want to hear more about 
 you and Paracelsus." 
 
 "There's nothing left to tell, dear old boy! We are a lady and 
 gentleman, and that's all about it. Here's his letter that came this 
 morning six pages! And what's more I've read every word 
 yes! while all that racket was going on, before we came out. 
 I'm dreadfully ashamed of myself, though, if you ask me. Here's 
 a little bit of postscript I haven't read " 
 
 "There's nothing to be ashamed of you're not the only lady and 
 gentleman." 
 
 "I didn't mean that I meant, all my good resolutions ! This is 
 about you." And Peggy, having excited as much curiosity in 
 Charles as can be felt after bathing in the sea before breakfast, 
 and then treating breakfast seriously, and then settling down to 
 smoke in the sun under favourable circumstances after doing this 
 Peggy becomes absorbed in the letter, with an animated serious 
 countenance. "One can't wonder at Paracelsus," thinks Charles, as 
 he looks drowsily at it. 
 
 "Who was the nice ladylike girl who went away down the street ?" 
 Peggy's question is, or would be to a bystander, merely a ques- 
 tion quite free of implications of any sort. But Charles's nature 
 was not cunning enough to see that his safest course would be 
 to say it was only Miss Thiselton, and explain her afterwards. 
 "Let's have a look at the letter," said he, as if he couldn't tell who 
 it was without the context. 
 
 "Well?" said Peggy, interrogatively, a few moments later; for 
 Charles read, and made no sign. 
 
 "Well what?" 
 
 "Who was the nice ladylike girl?" 
 
 "The nice ladylike girl?" Charles pretended he was inter- 
 ested in another part of the letter. "Oh yes of course not! 
 Let's see the nice ladylike girl that must have been Miss 
 Thiselton."
 
 212 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Of course it must ! Who else could it have been ?" There is a 
 spirit of mischief in this : but the fact is, that Peggy always sees 
 clean through her brother, as though he were plate glass. 
 
 "You don't knew Miss Thiselton. You've never seen her," says 
 he. Peggy's answer revealed the weakness of his position. 
 
 "Dear silly old Charley! As if there were a hundred and fifty 
 nice ladylike girls sand-hopping about all over the Studio just that 
 minute when Rupert came in. You are such a dear transparent 
 boy!" Certainly, make-believe wasn't Charles's strong point. He 
 never made any one believe. But then, he always confessed up, 
 candidly. 
 
 "Miss Thiselton, or whatever her name is, isn't a secret. I'm 
 painting Regan's head from her. She's very like Regan ' 
 
 "That's a recommendation!" 
 
 " to look at. But she's not at all like her in character." 
 
 "How do you know that?" Oh dear, how sharp people's sisters 
 are sometimes! However, Charley had to justify his estimate of 
 Miss Thiselton, somehow. 
 
 "I'm only guessing." He tried to recall something that would 
 accredit the young woman, and felt the land rather barren. "You 
 ought to sympathise with her, Poggy-Woggy, anyhow; she has a 
 
 younger brother who's a source of anxiety to her Charles 
 
 has a ridiculous, half -humorous expression as he says this. 
 
 "Oh, Charley dear ! You never were, and never will be, a source 
 of anxiety to me. Only you are so good-natured. What does Miss 
 Thiselton's younger brother do to make her anxious ?" 
 
 "Oh, runs into debt and she has to save his life. He's not a bad 
 boy, but silly." 
 
 "Well ! That's like you, too ! But now, dear old boy, listen to 
 me quite seriously. How much money have you lent Miss Thisel- 
 ton to help her with her younger brother ?" 
 
 "How do you know I've lent her any ?" says Charley, feebly. 
 
 "Oh, you are the transparentest, dearest old boy." And Peggy 
 doesn't press the subject, but goes on ruffling her brother's hair 
 for him. After a little, Charles, who always ends by complete con- 
 fession, after making nobody believe anything at all, resumes the 
 conversation. 
 
 "I want to do Miss Thiselton a good turn if I can. She says she 
 has a very fine voice " 
 
 "She says she has ?" 
 
 "Well she's a little odd about it, certainly." Charles gives 
 particulars, briefly, of Miss Straker's story of the voice. "You 
 see, if she could get some evening engagements, it would be time
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 213 
 
 enough to be discouraged when the voice actually did break down 
 which it may never do again. I'm sure we could find some one to 
 give her an opening." 
 
 "Of course we could. Any number, if the voice is really fine. 
 But one must know. How if I were to come to the Studio to hear 
 her sing, when we come back?" 
 
 "I've promised to call at her mother's next week to hear her." At 
 which a passing look of concern rests for a few seconds on Peggy's 
 face; a slight phase of apprehension. Are such simple brothers 
 as this one of hers to be trusted in the jaws of Miss Thiseltons 
 with splendid voices and French mothers ? She hoped he was but 
 hardly felt that cautions from her would be of any service. In 
 fact that they might precipitate instead of avert. Perhaps it would 
 be safe why should she be so nervous? She changed the subject. 
 "But when am I to hear about the Ghost?" Charles was not sorry 
 to get away from Miss Thiselton or Straker. Fortunately he had 
 said nothing about profiles, or eyelids. And as for the Park, of 
 course that wasn't Miss Straker. He decided on a platform of 
 Incredulity to tell about the ghost from. 
 
 "I don't believe it was a ghost at all. It was a lady who went 
 away without making a noise." And he describes all the circum- 
 stances, closely enough; but he shirks doing full justice to the 
 intractable character of the door-lock, as a resource for explana- 
 tion to go to. Peggy is sure she could pull that door to, and make 
 no noise. This groundless pretension piques Charles, who resumes 
 the door, and intensifies its fastenings. 
 
 "What was the figure like to look at?" Peggy asks, thinking 
 perhaps that if the door was as competent as all that, it might be 
 worth concession of possible ghost-ship, under protest, to examine 
 into the personnel of the spectre. 
 
 "You see my glasses were on the ground, and Jeff was pegging 
 away at Terpsichore. She left an impression of a grey head and a 
 good deal of crinoline. I saw the white hair as she stooped, in a 
 puff on the top " 
 
 "But, Charley dear, you couldn't see it as she stooped unless she 
 had no hat or bonnet on." 
 
 "No, that's true. It was funny.. But it was only an impression. 
 It all happened in an instant; and how was I to know who would 
 or wouldn't come into Mr. Bauerstein's gallery?" 
 
 "It was a ghost, Charley, it was a ghost !" But Charles discerns 
 the mocking tone in this, and is hurt. He wants to do the ridicule 
 himself, and other people to take the ghost's case up, that he may 
 pelt them.
 
 214 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "I don't see why you believe in Alice's ghost and make game of 
 mine," he says. 
 
 "Well then ! He shall have a little ghost for himself he shall 
 if he's good! But it really is very curious, now, isn't it? Seri- 
 ously ?" Peggy feels that Frivolity ought to give place to Psychical 
 Research. Charles accepts the position. 
 
 "We could turn on a Medium or a Clairvoyant. Jeff knows 
 one who saw fourpence in a child's stomach, and they had to turn 
 it upside down and shake it." 
 
 "Fourpence in coppers?" says Peggy, immediately on the alert 
 on the child's behalf. "Oh dear! I hope it wasn't fourpence in 
 coppers ?" 
 
 "I suppose it was a tanner. Pll ask Jeff." But Peggy looks 
 very uncomfortable. "I'll remember to ask," Charles continues. 
 "Anyhow, medium or no, I tell you what I will do. I'll hunt up 
 poor old Verrinder again did I tell you I met him coming along ?" 
 
 "Yes, you said so at Waterloo." 
 
 "I'll go to see him again, and try to find more about the house 
 and the people that had it. I'll make a point of going. What 
 was the name of the people ? Lemuel, wasn't it ?" 
 
 "No, not Lemuel Tremlett, I think it was. I know there was an 
 R in it." Which was an example of the sort of attention a story 
 receives from the amateur Psychophil. Fancy the feelings of a 
 ghost that is concerned to reveal buried treasure to impoverished 
 heirs ! Alas, poor ghost !
 
 CHAPTEK XX 
 
 OF MISS STRAKER'S COLD, AND HOW CHARLES WENT TO SEE HER AFTER. 
 OF HER GOBLIN MOTHER, AND HOW CHARLES SPOKE FRENCH. OF A 
 CHAT AFTER MUSIC, IN THE DUSK 
 
 WHEN Charles said adieu to Peggy and Alice and other members 
 of his family a week later, at the little railway station, his sister's 
 last injunction to him was to go and see Verrinder and pump him 
 well about his knowledge of No. 40. Charles said he would make a 
 point of it. That is such an incisive expression that it misleads; 
 one who uses it is apt to feel that promise in such terms is almost 
 as good as performance, and that he has already done his duty. 
 It is also clear that anything you are going to make a point of can 
 be "stood over" for special attention later, while anything you 
 are not making a point of had better be done right off, or it may 
 get forgotten. But it may be we are, in saying this, only trying 
 to concoct excuses for poor Charley, who is rather a favourite of 
 ours. Better perhaps admit at once that he ought to have gone 
 to see Verrinder, and he didn't. 
 
 What a pity he could not forget his promise to Miss Straker to 
 go and hear her sing! Perhaps if his recollecting it had involved 
 an admission that he was interested in a ghost, he would have for- 
 gotten. And then who knows how differently many things might 
 have gone? What a pity one cannot always foresee everything 
 and arrange accordingly! 
 
 He had done a good deal, in the sweet drowsy world of the 
 Devon beach surely in such a place the Lotus is at its best 
 to forget all about the profile and the eyelid and the voice that was 
 to follow. But he had not carried oblivion far enough to have 
 no curiosity about what it was he had nearly forgotten. This 
 curiosity would be satisfied when Miss Straker reappeared for 
 her next sitting. He was quite clear in his own mind that he could 
 satisfy it without danger. As to the visit for the purpose of hear- 
 ing her voice, that was business, don't you see? He took good 
 care to keep that separate. It was a promise, and he was bound in 
 honour to fulfil it. 
 
 Miss Straker was punctual to her engagement. She looked 
 
 215
 
 216 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 plain, and had a cold. Charles wasn't quite sure whether he was 
 glad or sorry for this. On the whole, he was inclined to be glad. It 
 justified him in not being in love with her which he never had 
 been, of course ! But it is always pleasant to feel that one has been 
 justified. 
 
 The weather had gone off lost all its beauty. Things generally 
 had collapsed and become flat. They had changed also at Sheila- 
 combe on the day he came away. But on the Atlantic when the 
 weather changes, things don't go in the direction of flatness. 
 Giant rollers were pouring in at Shellacombe, and bathing was a 
 thing of the past. While Alice was enjoying the experience of 
 her first really rough sea, Charles was wondering what possessed 
 him to promise to hear Miss Straker sing. He wasn't much vexed 
 though at things being so flat. It put matters on a clear footing 
 a business footing, in a certain sense. He was determined not to 
 allow them to get on any other. He would get Miss Straker one 
 or two good introductions if she really had a fine voice and 
 then he would wash his hands of her. 
 
 If Charles's communings with himself strike you as being rather 
 unreasonable, take this into account : that he was constantly deny- 
 ing the young lady's identity with that woman in the Park. Con- 
 tinual denials are like creeds, of which it has been said that no 
 man ever recites one until he doubts its substance. Even so no 
 man formulates his disbelief in anything until he doubts its false- 
 hood. If he had not been haunted by a misgiving that that woman 
 was really Miss Straker, it would not have been necessary to dis- 
 believe it so frequently. He tried to think of subtle ways of elicit- 
 ing from her where she had been on that Regents Park occasion. 
 But Charles had doubts of his own powers of finesse. He could 
 not even deceive himself. If he had been able, do you suppose 
 he would have been such an inveterate self -examiner ? No! He 
 would have allowed himself peace and quiet. 
 
 Miss Straker was to get over that cold before he went to hear 
 the voice. Charles seized the opportunity to throw an almost 
 hard-hearted tone into his recognition of the fact that this didn't 
 matter. Any time would do that suited the vocalist. His time 
 wasn't hers exactly, but he would be sure to be able to find an hour 
 or so. 
 
 In this story (perhaps you may have noticed it?) some of the 
 characters are known to and understood by us, the writer, down to 
 the ground. Others there are whom we can make no profession of 
 understanding. We can only conjecture and surmise about their
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 217 
 
 motives and feelings. Never mind why this is so; include Miss 
 Straker in the latter class, make Charles the most conspicuous 
 character in the former, and ask no questions. 
 
 Whether the young woman said to herself that so long as he 
 ended by coming to the house and hearing her sing, the interim 
 was of no importance, we have no means of knowing. It is possi- 
 ble that we do her great injustice by speculating on that point. 
 And remember this too, that, admitting that she had made up her 
 mind to entangle Charles and capture him, she was not, so far as 
 we can see, playing the game unfairly. For it is a game every 
 woman has a right to play as good a right as the swimmer has 
 to strike out for the shore. Kemember too the stakes she puts on 
 the table. 
 
 You may also, if you like, ascribe to Miss Straker a feeling of 
 dignity, and believe that this prompted her to have a cold and be 
 rather morose and sulky during that interim; a feeling which said 
 to her that she was not going to entrap this guileless and trans- 
 parent young man, and bring him within reach of a prehensile par- 
 ent, with any ulterior motives. Why, see! Was she not sniffing, 
 and being as unattractive as possible? You are welcome to this 
 view. It isn't ours. According to us, the cold was oppressive, and 
 she felt quite sure of Mr. Heath when it had gone, and she wasn't 
 going to exert herself to be pleasant until (so to speak) it should 
 be worth putting capital into the venture. 
 
 "But then that makes her out such a cold-blooded character !" we 
 fancy we hear you saying. Does it? And suppose it does, how 
 do we know she wasn't? 
 
 Anyhow, about a week after his return a week including three 
 sittings of Regan Charles found himself on his way to Warren 
 Street, Camden Town. He chose a day when Regan had been in 
 abeyance, so that no question of a personally conducted tour should 
 come in. It isn't called Warren Street, now, and there is no use 
 your looking for it under that name. We believe it is called 
 Delancey Street; if so, we prefer the former name. Charles was 
 just a little discomposed to find from Miss Straker that the pleas- 
 antest way to walk was to cross Regents Park to Gloucester Gate, 
 and then go past the York & Albany and turn to the right. When 
 she gave him her address before, he did not associate Camden 
 Town with Regents Park. Subjectively, that Park began for 
 him either at Hanover Gate, or some point in the Marylebone Road. 
 If you went through it, you came out at Primrose Hill, probably. 
 But you might get to Hampstead, or Highgate, or Berwick-on-
 
 218 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 Tweed. Now Charles's only active mental association with Camden 
 Town was a street called Osnaburgh Street, that you went to from 
 Iving's Station, and came away from as soon as you possibly 
 could. So when Regents Park came into court, Charles wished it 
 somewhere else. He drove it out by reflecting that where he saw 
 the woman was no nearer Camden Town than than places gener- 
 ally are. 
 
 It was a wild and gusty afternoon, bred of premature equinoc- 
 tials, when he found himself knocking at the door of a two-win- 
 dowed house opposite to a tavern in a garden that overhung the 
 railroad, which at this point was in a deep trench, braced against 
 landslips by iron girders. The dwellers near by live in an incessant 
 roar and rush of passing trains, and as Charles arrived a tunnel- 
 mouth was about to throw up a train shortly; but had only, so 
 far, covered the tavern aforesaid with smoke. It came, in a lei- 
 surely sort of way, as he looked out of the first-floor window, 
 waiting for a sloppy servant-girl to say "Mr. Heath" in some other 
 part of the house. He had told her to say it, in the passage; but 
 by mutual consent the recitation had been deferred. He was con- 
 scious that the voice of Miss Straker asked suspiciously if he had 
 been shown into the drawing-room: evidently he had had a narrow 
 escape of being left waiting "in the hall." He could not have 
 said after whether he heard this, or whether it was a reading of the 
 character of the sloppy servant that enforced it as a corollary. 
 He caught more clearly a French remark : "Tu as beau me gronder. 
 Je veux le porter. Je ne suis pas encore si vieille"; and Miss 
 Straker's reply : "Ah, mon Dieu ! La belle chose que d'avoir une 
 mere qui s'habille en farf adet en lutin !" It was odd to Charles to 
 hear her fluent French after his judgments of her for affectation 
 of acquaintance with the language. Perhaps some of her defects 
 of English speech were due to her early up-bringing. He then 
 heard her say impatiently: "Aliens, ma mere, Monsieur nous 
 attend!" and her mother: "Descends descends! Tu fais toujours 
 le brouillamini. Descendez aussi le caniche"; and then Miss 
 Straker appeared, preceded by a poodle. They had been very audi- 
 ble on an upper landing as the door was wide open, and perhaps 
 had been less careful about being heard as folks are when they 
 speak their own tongue abroad. 
 
 The young lady was certainly looking her best, and Charles was 
 sorry. He wanted to feel secure in his entrenchments; and that 
 Peggy's apprehensions, which he saw as clearly as she saw through 
 him, should turn out groundless. If they could be proved to have 
 no foundation up to date, independent impulses in the future,
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 219 
 
 quite unconnected with the previous profile and eyelid, might re- 
 main an open question. Not that he wanted Miss Straker at home 
 to prove repulsive. She 'was welcome to a certain allowance of 
 comeliness but it was to be exactly enough to make his visit pleas- 
 ant, without making him feel shy of what he should have to report 
 to Peggy, who was always headquarters with him. 
 
 "Mamma will be down directly," said Miss Straker, and shook 
 hands unprofessionally. The venue was changed, and she was no 
 longer even a half -fledged Model, but a young lady unexplained. 
 "Would you like tea, Mr. Heath ? Shall we have tea now, or shall 
 I sing? I think I shall sing better, after tea. What do you 
 think? I think Tea." And as Charles thought Tea too, she 
 pulled a bell which didn't ring. "Would you be so kind as to pull 
 that other one, Mr. Heath? Sometimes this one doesn't ring." 
 Charles did so, and felt an inch further inside the family circle. 
 He had pulled one bell on one side of the hearth she had pulled 
 the opposite one. All these little things have an effect on life, for 
 better or worse. 
 
 "Here is Mr. Heath, Mamma, in here," she continued, going 
 to the door; and Charles thereon thought he caught the words 
 "Toujours gouvernante je n'en ai pas besoin!" in a miffy under- 
 tone from the old lady. Her daughter may have governessed her, 
 but there was no doubt about her appearance it was distinctly 
 goblin-like. Charles, describing her afterwards to Peggy, could 
 only testify to brilliant parti-coloured ribbons, like flames that 
 appeared to radiate in every direction from a little old (or oldish) 
 woman who might have been good-looking once, but not on her 
 daughter's lines. If she had been good-looking, it would have 
 been piquancy, quite free from anything the least serpentine. 
 
 "I am very pliz-to-see. You-Misterre-Eace." The good lady 
 speaks English right enough, with only an occasional French 
 phrase, but cuts her sentences into segments, independently of 
 their meaning, usually ending each segment in the middle of a 
 word, and with an overpowering French accent: "If I wass at- 
 liberre. Tee to sank you ass I shoode laigue. You woode not find 
 me ingrate. But I am underre the sum of my daugh. Terre and 
 she will not all. Ow me to spik." This is the nearest we can man- 
 age to Mrs. Straker's English, phonetically. She ended in French 
 for the benefit of her daughterre. "En effet, Mademoiselle me 
 tient toujours en frein"; and her daughter, who was making the 
 tea, said parenthetically, "You mustn't mind Mamma, Mr. Heath." 
 
 The bystander of a family tiff never knows what to say, and 
 perhaps is safest saying nothing. But as Charles had hardly
 
 220 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 opened his mouth in the house before the battle, he felt he really 
 must speak at the armistice, not to appear taciturn. "I'm sure 
 Miss Straker bullies you awfully, Madame," he said, eluding the 
 question of the gratitude. "But I mustn't quarrel with her about 
 it, and upset the apple-cart, or she'll throw me over and I shan't 
 be able to get my head done." But though Madame speaks fair Eng- 
 lish, subject to amendments, she does not know all its slang and 
 colloquialisms. 
 
 "Throw you ovare? Comment! Ovare where?" And Made- 
 moiselle explains : "Monsieur a peur qu'il soit bouleverse au milieu 
 de son travail que je lui manque si nous nous desaccordons." This 
 is accompanied by a shaking-off action of the hand not employed 
 tea-making, to illustrate. It is a very pretty white hand there is 
 no doubt of that ! 
 
 "Ma foi, non! But now I underr. Stant what you mean. 
 *Throw you ovare' it is slanck argot." 
 
 "That's it! We're a slangy lot we English. Americans are 
 worse. I don't think you're much to boast of, nowadays, in Paris." 
 But it is almost as difficult to speak limited English that a for- 
 eigner will be sure to understand, as to speak another language. 
 The goblin is puzzled, and her daughter has to interpret. 
 
 "Monsieur dit que nous autres, nous sommes aussi argoteux, 
 comme les Anglais comme les Americains." 
 
 "Ainsi disait toujours ton pere ze Dictionnaire was gone to ze 
 Deville. Mon mari, Monsieur, my oz-band." Charles felt that 
 interpretation, carried this length, reflected on his education, and 
 began trying his own hand at French, rashly perhaps. 
 
 "Je puis parler un peu Frangais, mais je n'ose pas, parceque 
 j'ai toujours peur d'user les " 
 
 "Mais oui mais oui continuez! Tout va bien Monsieur n'a 
 pas du s'arreter." But Charles has to go helplessly to the daughter 
 to be rescued. He laughed at himself. 
 
 "There now, you see, I wanted to say that I was always afraid of 
 using the wrong words -what's the French for 'the wrong words' ?" 
 Neither mother nor daughter are very prompt to reply. One says 
 "parler inexactement," the other, "parler a travers." 
 
 "Yes, but what's the exact French for 'the wrong words' ? That's 
 what I want to know !" 
 
 "Peut-etre les mots inexacts les mots mal-choisis." 
 
 "Then when I got the wrong umbrella in Paris and wanted to 
 tell the man at the Hotel it was the wrong umbrella, ought I to 
 have said le parapluie inexact, or mal-choisi ?" 
 
 "Won't you have another cup of tea ? You've had two ? yes, but
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 221 
 
 have another. No? Very well, then. Now we'll have music. 
 Would you be so kind as to close that window, Mr. Heath ? You're 
 nearest to it." Charles did as requested. 
 
 "Hope you haven't been feeling cold ?" he said. 
 
 "Oh no ! It isn't that. It's because it sounds so in the street, 
 and the people stop. What sort of music do you like best, Mr. 
 Heath? Gounod's Berceuse? Will that do?" 
 
 "Certainly, but anything you like- " 
 
 "Gluck?" 
 
 "By all means ! Whatever you yourself prefer." 
 
 "I don't care. One song's the same as another. Perhaps I sing 
 this best. I'm sorry our room's so small, Mr. Heath. Never mind 
 turning over. I can do that. You'll hear best in your old place." 
 
 The song was the Gounod she had mentioned. It was a song 
 Charles had never cared for; it wasn't in his line. He would have 
 preferred some Gluck. But the voice ! It was simply bewildering 
 that is to say, bewildering as coming from a young person to all 
 seeming so unmusical. For Charles had decided in his mind that 
 she was an altogether unmusical character. Probably she was. 
 But her voice was superb, for all that. 
 
 She followed on with a stornello of Gordigiani and then "Pur 
 Dicesti," and others; but seeming quite indifferent to which she 
 sang, or what sort of music. It was apparently only necessary 
 that it should be a tax on any ordinary singer's high notes. She 
 seemed perfectly happy at the top of the human gamut, singing 
 with a piano tuned up to concert pitch. Charles sat on, sat on, 
 listening to one song after another. The dusk of the evening 
 grew, and the goblin went to sleep in an armchair, and woke with 
 starts at snore-crises, and said ma foi, she had been presque 
 endormie! But Charles still sat on, and another song came. At 
 last Miss Straker said we should have to have lights, and she was 
 sorry, because it was much nicer without. After half-a-dozen songs 
 at least, there could be no immediate hurry for more, if only from 
 mercy to the singer. Also acoustic advantages of distance from 
 the music ceased and determined. To remain at the other end 
 of the room would surely appear needlessly stiff and ceremonious 
 for the goblin's protests at intervals covered all reasonable claims 
 of chaperonage. Charles crossed over to the piano, and sat beside 
 it in the half -dark. He was a little intoxicated with the music. 
 But he was conscious of a wish to retain formality of relations, 
 provisionally at any rate. He could make any concessions at any 
 time; but, if he committed himself by a word, he could not with 
 his ideas of honour retract one letter of it.
 
 222 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "I cannot understand," he said, "what you told me about the 
 voice breaking down. You have sung to me for quite an hour and 
 a half, and there seems no sign of fatigue." 
 
 "None whatever ! But it might break down now at this moment ; 
 anything the least upsetting a person I did not like coming into 
 the room might do it." 
 
 "But how does it break down?" 
 
 "Simply stops " 
 
 "Would you be afraid of taking an evening engagement to sing 
 at a party?" 
 
 "Not a bit! Only the people might be disappointed. I should 
 be obliged to tell. None of the agents will recommend me because 
 of it. I broke down at a swell party at Lord Ealing's, and it was 
 my last chance with the agents. It had happened before." 
 
 "And you could go on singing now, and have no fear of a break- 
 down?" 
 
 "Singing to you none whatever." The accent on you was very 
 slight. It might have meant anything from "you alone, whom of 
 all other I would soonest sing to," to "you when you are the only 
 person in the room, and not such an important one neither." Per- 
 haps Charles ought to have had a greater alacrity towards the latter 
 interpretation. He did not catch at it. After all, he was not such 
 a stoic that sentimental confidences with a head of very beautiful 
 hair at least, two side faces that taken apart were certainly very 
 interesting, and a hand that gleamed white in the dusk on the key- 
 board, should have no charms for him. Charles was young, and 
 male, and dangerously inexperienced for his age in the range of his 
 own susceptibilities. He fondly imagined that a limited study of 
 Peggy and her friends had given him an insight into womankind. 
 As if they had ever even Peggy herself told him the whole truth 
 about anything! And if he had been told now, that this girl was 
 saying to herself, "I have only to wait quietly, and this young 
 man will jump down my throat of his own accord," he would have 
 repudiated the suggestion indignantly. Mind you, we are not say- 
 ing any such thing was true; and we have no means of fathoming 
 Miss Straker's thoughts as she sits sketching a slow tune with her 
 finger tips on the silent piano, with Charles well ! a little farther 
 off would have been safer thinking to himself that we could do 
 without the lights a bit longer. We are only saying if Charles 
 had been told this he would have snapped the teller's head off; 
 while we should have said, "May be so may be not !" 
 
 "Surely the model business must be very distasteful to you?" 
 
 "Money has to be earned, Mr. Heath. Of course when Mamma
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 223 
 
 and I came to London we thought the singing was going to be a 
 great success. Pesciatino was so hopeful. You must not think it 
 was put aside too easily. We made many trials before we gave up. 
 But of course one cannot like sitting to artists. No woman could. 
 Oh dear ! What am I saying ?" 
 
 "Why not? I quite understand." 
 
 "I was not thinking of you when I said artists. I am glad to 
 sit for you, Mr. Heath." Surely there was no need to qualify this. 
 "At least I mean Well! I only mean artists are not all alike. 
 Hadn't we better have the lamp ? Just listen to Mamma !" 
 
 "I like sitting in the half -dark." 
 
 "So do I. But she won't sleep at night, if she goes on like 
 ihat." And the conversation ran on, or sauntered on, like this 
 Charles couldn't have said how long till a clock struck and he 
 jumped up suddenly saying he must be gone, it being seven o'clock, 
 by Jove, and he had no idea ! 
 
 "Maman, eveille-toi ! Monsieur s'en va H veut te f aire ses 
 adieux." But the goblin denied having been asleep, and Charles 
 took his leave, saying that he should certainly try what he could 
 do in the way of evening engagements for Miss Straker.
 
 CHAPTEE XXI 
 
 HOW CHARLES WENT TO BELGIUM, AND CAME BACK. HOW MISS STRAKER 
 SANG TILL ELEVEN O'CLOCK. ALICE'S SPECIMEN. PROPHETIC POLLY. 
 HOW CHARLES COULD LOOK HIS SISTER STRAIGHT IN THE FACE ABOUT 
 MISS STRAKER 
 
 WHEN Charles next saw his sister the equinox was past, and the 
 gales that had been in such a hurry to get to work that afternoon 
 of his visit to Miss Straker had come to an end reluctantly after 
 a busy life exceeding term-time. They had satisfied themselves that 
 frost was at hand; that fog would be forthcoming; that every day 
 would be shorter and chillier than its predecessor; and that the 
 metropolis would be miserable enough now without having chimney- 
 stacks blown down and petticoats blown up and umbrellas blown 
 inside out. The early riser, rubbing the window-pane clear for 
 better vision, could see the hoar-frost glitter in the early sunlight. 
 He could then, by waiting a little, see the smoke of the early 
 kitchen fires go straight up and spread itself around, and thicken 
 and thicken and thicken until it was an early fog, and its nature 
 and origin could be analysed and investigated and made a Blue- 
 Book of, and its connection with the kitchen fire denied. And no 
 doubt the equinox knew this quite well, and felt that London was 
 provided for, and went off on another job. 
 
 Charles had not been in London the whole time. He had spent a 
 week in Belgium, going in the boat from Antwerp to London 
 Bridge. It made him think of Mrs. Gamp and the Ankworks 
 Package. It was a mill-pond sea, having a rest after recent exer- 
 tions, and if it had not been foggy the voyage would have been 
 pleasant. As it was, Charles felt it would have been edifying to 
 have Mrs. Gamp on board, and hear her opinions on the subject of 
 the steam-whistle. He was very glad when they got into the 
 Scheldt, and still gladder when he had found his way to a Hotel 
 and was having coffee out of the thickest of all possible cups, and 
 listening to a carillon playing "Voici le sabre, le sabre, le sabre." 
 There is no pleasanter sensation in the world than feeling you 
 have really got abroad, after being in England. And the coffee 
 is the thing that drives it home to you. 
 
 224
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 225 
 
 Charles wandered about Antwerp, conscious of defective culti- 
 vation. He felt that his organ of Rubens ought to have been 
 more developed before he came there. He was very glad Peggy 
 wasn't with him in connection with the anatomical demonstra- 
 tion picture in the Gallery. But he can't really have cared very 
 much about Art, for he got bored, and went by boat to Temsche 
 and back. And next morning he went to Audenarde, and the caril- 
 lon said it was la fille de Madame Angot. And then he went on to 
 Bruges, and found that St. Ursula couldn't be seen for another 
 week, because of some rearrangement of the Gallery. So he saw 
 what he could and went on to Ghent. He really went much too fast 
 to see anything. Travellers by themselves are very apt to do this. 
 However, he was amused, rushing about. 
 
 He spent an hour or two at several other Flemish towns, and then 
 went back to Antwerp, where he found a steamboat just start- 
 ing for Rotterdam, and thought he should like to see Holland. He 
 had still a day of his return ticket left. But alas ! before he had 
 got half-way he found the next boat back would be too late for 
 the London packet. So he had to get out at Dordrecht to catch 
 the boat that had already started from Rotterdam. He spent two 
 hours in Holland, walking about at Dordrecht. He caught the 
 London boat though, and reappeared at London Bridge just eight 
 days after he started. 
 
 You think that all this has nothing to do with our story ? Yes 
 it has. For it shows that whatever impression Miss Straker had 
 produced on the susceptible young man had had ample opportuni- 
 ties for vanishing, in all reason. Just think! Eight whole days, 
 spent in about that number of picturesque old towns. We are sure 
 that, when we were twenty-four, no young lady would have lasted 
 through that. However, we don't believe that this one really did. 
 It was an unfortunate curiosity akin to what he who firmly 
 abstains from a novelty in nectar feels as to what it would have 
 tasted like had he drunk it that made Charles discover, on his 
 return to his Studio, that it was absolutely essential that Miss 
 Straker should come next day, before his impressions of Flemish 
 work had faded; otherwise Regan might suffer. He couldn't get a 
 letter to her in time for an answer, and it would be just as easy 
 as not for him to call round at Warren Street in the course of 
 the evening to secure her. In those days there were no sixpenny 
 telegrams, reply paid. 
 
 So he must needs have a ride in a hansom to what he himself sus- 
 pected of being a danger ahead, merely because he had nowhere in 
 particular to go to for his family were not due in Hyde Park
 
 226 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Gardens till next day, and even his father had been away the last 
 fortnight at Shellacombe. If he had only been content to bide for 
 a talk with his sister, things might have taken a different course. 
 Mind you! If Charles had been irresistibly attracted to this girl, 
 we should not have had a word of blame for him. But he was say- 
 ing to himself all the while that he was perfectly detached and 
 independent. The only evidence that he had to the contrary was 
 that he said it so often. 
 
 He went to Warren Street and soothed his conscience by keeping 1 
 the hansom waiting half-an-hour, as though forsooth he meant to 
 go soon. Then he settled down to stay on, and dismissed it. Miss 
 Straker was as good as her description of her own powers when 
 there was no one she disliked in the room; for she sang to Charles 
 and the goblin and the poodle till past eleven o'clock. Possibly 
 it is only because we are so fond of poor Charles that it seems 
 to us to have been somewhat sad it certainly was neither bad, 
 nor perhaps even mad but it was at least sweet enough to make 
 him feel, as he let Miss Straker's very white hand leave his, at 
 the street door, that he was running away from himself as well 
 as from her, and that he had (this time) got away safely from 
 both. 
 
 We hope we are not doing this girl, with her beautiful rippling 
 hair and superb voice, and slight obliquity of visage, a great injus- 
 tice. But the transition to the family party at Hyde Park Gar- 
 dens somehow seems to remove us from a doubtful atmos- 
 phere to a healthy one. The comers home had brought the fresh- 
 ness of the sea with them, and Charles had a feeling difficult 
 to describe in drawing comparisons with his previous evening. 
 It was the first time he had lived in two worlds apart, and though 
 he had no sort of repugnance to the two worlds merging, he had a 
 haunting sense of its impracticability. Supposing Miss Straker 
 (and as he carried the sentence no farther in his mind, why should 
 we) how about Peggy? Oh dear, why did they seem so anti- 
 podean ? 
 
 Charles, while denying Miss Straker overtly, had in some depth 
 of his inner consciousness a speculation going on about the recep- 
 tion of a young lady exactly resembling her into a family exactly 
 resembling his. In this subliminal drama the parallel of Peggy 
 went to call on the parallel of Miss Straker, and found it good 
 found it in fact fulfilling all sorts of self-denying functions, and 
 an example of heroism in respect of its adoption of the trade of 
 Model. All the revelation of character went in the direction of 
 sound moral qualities, tending to justify the parallel of himself, to
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 227 
 
 show its judgment, and to exonerate it from too unconditional a 
 surrender to mere beauty on which, however, Peggy's double laid 
 more stress than his did; in fact the latter spoke of Miss Straker's 
 to the former as squinting, and got indignantly extinguished. His 
 father's parallel kept curiously quiet, but his mother's was active 
 on the score of Family: was, however, just on the point of surren- 
 dering to the warm advocacy of Peggy's, when the original of 
 Charles found he had arrived at Hyde Park Gardens in the nick 
 of the departure of unloaded vehicles and the middle of a Chaos of 
 sea-blown, sun-tanned arrivals, kissing him when female and asking 
 questions : 
 
 "I am going," thus the voice of Alice, clear above the turmoil; 
 "I am going to show Mr. Charley the thpethimen I've collected I 
 collected it under a great big stone ever so big ! Oh, it was such a 
 big stone. And it kicked, the thpethimen did, awfly but I held 
 on tight, and Dan he took it and cleaned it out, and it wouldn't 
 die for ever so long. Such a beautiful thpethimen! And oh, it 
 does smell no nice." 
 
 "To be sure, Alice-for-short dear, I must see that specimen. It 
 sounds a beautiful specimen." 
 
 "But the boys are going back to thchool," says Alice, ruefully. 
 She says it with confidence in its relevance to a sympathetic mind. 
 She and Charles and Peggy get out of the mainstream of trunks 
 and arrivals into a backwater in the parlour, where the parrot 
 lives. The excitement without is taking form in Polly in a sort 
 of whirlwind-dance, upside down, round the top of his cage, 
 with a curt, dry remark, at intervals "Better keep that door 
 shut." 
 
 "Alice is to go to school, too ! We've settled it all," says Peggy. 
 "But you, dear boy, you do look so townified. Why wouldn't you 
 come for longer to the sea?" 
 
 "I've been all over the Low Countries, barring Holland 
 couldn't get there in time. I've had plenty of change. I only got 
 home two days ago, so I don't see how I can look townified." 
 
 "I've such a lot of things to talk about that I don't know which 
 to begin with " 
 
 "Please, Miss Peggy, may Polly come out, just this once just 
 only this once. He'll promise me to be good won't you, Polly?" 
 But he declines to commit himself may even have conscientious 
 misgivings how far it is safe to do so, for he says in a very 
 saccade manner indeed: "The bird makes such a row you can't 
 hear yourself speak." 
 
 "Nonsense, chick! The idea of having Polly out now. In fact
 
 228 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 I think he had better be covered up." Perhaps he had, for he 
 has begun calling for the Police, at the top of his lungs. 
 
 "But I shall show you my thpethimen, Polly, when you do come 
 out," says Alice, as consolation, and Polly falls into an undertone 
 about something that amuses him very much. 
 
 "I really have, though, Charley dear, heaps of things to talk 
 about. Only first I want to know about the young lady that sings 
 Miss Straker." 
 
 Charles was a little disconcerted by the suddenness of Miss 
 Straker's appearance into the conversation, having quite forgotten 
 that in his last letter to Peggy he had said: "I heard Miss Straker 
 sing last night her voice is wonderful." 
 
 "Who is Miss Straker? Where did you hear her?" 
 
 "Didn't I tell you about her ? At Shellacombe ?" 
 
 "No! That was Miss Thiselton. Bless the boy! He's got such 
 a lot of young ladies he doesn't know which is which !" 
 
 "It's the same young lady. She sat for me as Miss Thiselton. 
 But her real name is Straker." 
 
 "Oh Charley dear!" 
 
 "What, Poggy-Woggy?" 
 
 "Is it the same girl that went away down the street?" 
 
 "Why shouldn't it be?" 
 
 "I didn't say it shouldn't. I only asked if it was." 
 
 "Of course it was!" 
 
 "Well then ! Why need we be so touchy ? But you're a dear old 
 boy. Now I must run or I shan't be ready for dinner. Come 
 along, Alice. Where's Partridge, I wonder." And Peggy departs 
 upstairs in the wake of the family, with Alice attached. 
 
 Charles was ready for dinner. So he went upstairs to the draw- 
 ing-room. But first he uncovered Polly, who said thereon without 
 emotion, "Straker." He repeated it three times with perfect dis- 
 tinctness, and then broke into a genial laugh. Charles covered him 
 up again. He felt that too great a prominence might be given to 
 the name if Polly shouted it all the evening in the hearing of the 
 household. 
 
 "And now, Charley darling, do tell me more about Miss Straker." 
 This is in conversation after dinner in the back drawing-room 
 The rest of the family are playing games in the front. 
 
 "Why did you say, 'Oh, Charley dear,' downstairs about her?" 
 Peggy is far too truthful to stand on her indisputable right to say, 
 "Oh, Charley dear," and mean nothing at all. Besides, intonation 
 is worse than syllables.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 229 
 
 "Well! I did hope she was altogether a new one. Of course I 
 know nothing whatever against Miss Thiselton, or Straker. Only, 
 if it had been a new one, she might not have been " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Why, of course you know what I mean a Model and that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 "I don't believe she is that sort of thing. But no doubt she is a 
 Model in a sense. She sat for Mr. Calthorpe, who I believe knew 
 her first as a musician he's a good deal that way and he passed 
 her on to me." Charles went on and gave a circumstantial account 
 of his acquaintance with the young woman, stating facts but soften- 
 ing aspects. He said nothing about the Park incident: after all, 
 his having half-mistaken some one else for Miss Straker wasn't 
 evidence. He could not have told it either, without seeming to 
 have been three-fourths mistaken at least. 
 
 "But what I can't see," said he, when he had made a clean breast 
 of it, "is why I shouldn't get her a singing job even if she was 
 that sort of thing (in reason and moderation of course). If it's 
 bad for girls to sit for artists, surely it's better, when one can, to 
 get them something else to do. And this girl's voice is I really 
 can't tell you what it is! It's the most singular case. I should 
 like to know what Paracelsus will think about it." 
 
 "He'll be here directly," said Peggy, with confidence. "His note 
 only said he wouldn't be here to dinner. Yes, I should like to hear 
 her voice." But she looked very thoughtful over it too. 
 
 Peggy's confidence in the early appearance of Dr. Johnson was 
 well-grounded. She went out to meet his footstep on the stairs, 
 and Charles remained, feeling discreet. She returned in due course 
 which meant quite four minutes in this case bringing with her 
 a very medical attendant. The yachtsman or tourist had vanished, 
 and his degrees had reasserted themselves. Whether Rupert was 
 himself again now, or had been himself then, who shall say? 
 
 There was evidently room for a good deal of conversation about 
 Shellacombe but it came to an end. Then- Peggy seized an oppor- 
 tunity and said: "Now let's ask about the voice. You tell him 
 about it, Charley." And Charles, rather glad to have Miss Straker 
 broached on technical grounds, said : "Yes, we want your opinion," 
 and went on to describe the case. "You saw her at the Studio," said 
 he when he had done so sufficiently. "You called her a beauty. 
 Perhaps she's hardly that." On the whole he felt he had done 
 very well, considering; and that Paracelsus wouldn't get any mis- 
 taken impressions, as he called them, about her. He laid mental 
 stress on the importance of this. But when Paracelsus said he
 
 230 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 couldn't recall another case like it, but he would ask Huffer, or 
 Hoffer, or some such name, about it, Charles felt illogically that 
 he wasn't prepared to have Miss Straker dismissed so lightly. He 
 was rather difficult to satisfy, was Master Charley, and not quite 
 clear whether he wanted to talk about her or not. 
 
 But conversation is like frogs in a marsh, or birds in a wood. 
 It will die quite away, and make you expect the next topic; when 
 just one chirp of a nightingale or trill of a flute from a froglet, and 
 the whole performance is gone through again, da capo ad libitum. 
 
 "What was the name Straker?" asked the Doctor. "Is that 
 what Polly meant, I wonder! I thought it was traitor, and 
 couldn't make it out." 
 
 "I suppose his shawl's slipped off," said Peggy. "Sometimes it 
 does and then he begins. I thought I heard him shrieking, just 
 now." She went to the door again, and it was soon manifest that 
 Polly was shouting "Straker" at short intervals. Charles didn't 
 at all look forward to having to explain Polly's new word to the 
 family generally. And he was very audible. Even after the door 
 was closed it was difficult not to hear him, attention being once 
 aroused. And he certainly kept the question before the house. 
 
 "I wish you would go to see her, Master Rupert," said Peggy. 
 "You could pretend you wanted particulars of the case for a book. 
 What do you think it is ?" 
 
 "Something nervous, I fancy. Nothing to do with the throat 
 nothing in the organ itself." 
 
 "Does she look hysterical, Charley?" But the Doctor says looks 
 are nothing to go by, nor symptoms. Some women are hysterical 
 without any symptoms at all. 
 
 "Then, how do you know?" says Peggy, with severity. "But 
 even if she's not hysterical I should like to know more about her. 
 Because if this dear goose of a boy is going to sit listening to her 
 by the hour together . . ." 
 
 "I've only done so once or twice." 
 
 "... I should like to know what sort of a girl she really is." 
 
 "Why don't you go and see her yourself ?" Thus Johnson. 
 
 "Because I'm afraid I shouldn't like her. And then what to say 
 to Charley I couldn't, couldn't tell !" 
 
 "Do you think," says Charles, "I care so much as all that ?" 
 
 "Charley dear, don't be artificial. Oh dear! how transparent 
 young men are ! You're not much better yourself, Rupert, so you 
 needn't talk." 
 
 "But I really don't," says Charles. And reassured by his own 
 voice, he really thinks he doesn't.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 231 
 
 Rupert hasn't greeted the front room yet, for all he's been such 
 a long time chatting. At this juncture comes Mrs. Heath's voice, 
 asking, "Is that Dr. Johnson I hear ?" with an accent that seems to 
 imply that Dr. Jackson and Dr. Wilson might have come. He 
 goes away to an accolade, being very popular with all hands. 
 
 "Now, Charley dear," Peggy says, very seriously, "listen to what 
 I am going to say " 
 
 "I'm listening." 
 
 "Very well then. What I have to say is this Yes. Sit still like 
 that, and I'll ruffle your hair. That's right! Now about Miss 
 Straker " 
 
 "Fire away!" 
 
 "If you can look me straight in the face, and say, really and 
 truly I needn't be uneasy about you and her " 
 
 "Of course I can say that. Really and truly you needn't be 
 uneasy " 
 
 "Oh, you silly boy ! Do you think I don't know when you're pre- 
 varicating ? You know quite well what I mean." 
 
 "Perhaps I do. But then I don't know whether I do or not. 
 So it comes to the same thing in the end." 
 
 "Are you indifferent to this girl absolutely indifferent?" 
 
 Charles takes off his spectacles and polishes them. When you 
 can't answer yes or no to a question, it is well to have some stick to 
 whittle, some pipe to light, some stitch to take up. Polishing 
 spectacles is very good. Before Charles replies, he makes the 
 lenses bright ; then looks round at his sister through them. 
 
 "Absolutely indifferent is a large order," says he. "I don't 
 know that I can quite run to that." 
 
 Peggy knows nothing about Miss Straker only suspects and 
 doubts. And all her misgivings may be groundless. But Charley 
 is her brother of brothers her idol of old time. There is trouble 
 in her heart, and trouble in her voice. But its words are only, 
 "Very well, Charley dear, you would like me to go and see her, and 
 I'll go." Then Charles tries to pull a little philosophical indiffer- 
 ence into the conversation: "Yes, I should like to know what you 
 really think of her voice." But he feels he is a little behind 
 time with this. It may as well stand, however.
 
 CHAPTEK XXII 
 
 HOW PEGGY CALLED ON MISS STRAKER, AND MISS STRAKER WENT TO THE 
 GARDENS. HOW ALICE AGREED WITH POLLY ABOUT HER. CHARLES'S 
 FATHER THINKS HIM A FOOL. HOW MISS STRAKER WROTE A LETTER, 
 AND LANDED A FISH. BUT WHAT ABOUT REGENTS PARK? 
 
 PEGGY was as good as her word, and did go to call upon Miss 
 Straker. It was by appointment, and Miss Straker was at home. 
 It was an uncomfortable visit; but then it would have been more 
 so if there had not been the resource of its professional character. 
 Its object clearly was to forward the young woman's musical pros- 
 pects. The agents might have given her up, but that was no reason 
 why private introduction should not push her. Provided always 
 that the voice was all that Charles's fancy painted it. But even 
 with this background, the visit was an uncomfortable one. 
 
 Miss Straker sang, and was in good form. There was no doubt 
 about the voice. That was all right, at any rate! But why did it 
 present itself so strongly as a set-off, a make-weight, against some- 
 thing that wasn't ? What was it about the singer that made "at any 
 rate" so necessary ? Why did Peggy's mind employ the same phrase 
 about the goblin French mother as she was driven home after 
 arranging a day for Miss Straker to sing at Hyde Park Gardens to 
 her family and a few appreciative friends? What she then said 
 to herself was, "He wouldn't marry the mother at any rate!" Of 
 course not. Nor the poodle. But the appearance of this consid- 
 eration showed that however little Peggy might feel drawn to the 
 young woman, she had recognised fully the dangers of the situation, 
 and acknowledged to herself that her amount of beauty (with that 
 hair and all), coupled with such a voice, might be quite enough 
 to dazzle and entangle a boy of Charley's sort. But then, what 
 had happened after all to justify her in assuming that this was the 
 girl's motive and intention? Absolutely nothing, except perhaps 
 that it happened to be Charley, and who could help being in love 
 with Charley, for all his spectacles ? We, in this story, know more 
 about Miss Straker than Peggy did. Yet, for anything we know, 
 she may have been troth-plight to some other young gentleman else- 
 where, without having overtly deceived anybody. Unless, indeed, 
 you hold that she ought to have said to Charles, "That's the end 
 
 232
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 233 
 
 of the songs now go I'm engaged," or, "Leave hold of my hand, 
 
 Mr. Heath, it is another's ; a fair shake is one thing, but " ; and 
 
 so on. It always seems to us that it would be safer to forbid friend- 
 ship between what Mrs. Smith called young ladies and gentlemen of 
 opposite sexes, than to pretend to allow it and then be so nice and 
 critical about the demeanour of the former. Especially as we are 
 so very easy-going about the latter. This tirade of ours applies, 
 however, only to Miss Straker's attitude up to the date of her visit 
 to Hyde Park Gardens. After that, discrimination is called for. 
 
 As to the visit, it was a success. There was no hitch in the 
 singing, and no dissentient voice about its value. The young lady 
 was looking her best; and that, as we have said, was very strik- 
 ing when the line of sight was not exactly at right angles to the 
 axis of her eyeballs; it improved also in inverse ratio of their 
 inclination. Charles was internally triumphant, with the slightest 
 reservation analogous to the one Peggy had made in another con- 
 nection. "They could all see what a fine singer she was, at any 
 rate!" There were rates at which they could not see something 
 else, not specified. But there were many other things which one 
 could see, at any rate. Ellen said boldly that one of these was that 
 she wasn't a lady, and had evidently never been in good society. 
 "You're a nice young lady to talk," said her father; "why, you've 
 only been in good society yourself thirteen years." 
 
 "There now!" said the monkey, loftily, "that shows how much 
 Papa knows about things. As if I was in any society at all. Why, 
 I'm not out yet!" 
 
 "Then I vote you shut up !" said Dan, the youngest boy. "Alice 
 and I think she's awfully jolly. Don't we, Alice?" Now none of 
 these young people had had much opportunity of forming an opin- 
 ion, having only been in the room for a limited term, and then on 
 tolerance as it were. 
 
 "What does Alice-f or-short think ?" said Charles. "Come and tell 
 me, Alice-for-short." And Alice comes, ending with a leap on to 
 Mr. Charles's knee. 
 
 "I think," she says, struggling on the initial to avoid saying 
 fink. "I ^&ink the same what Polly thinks." 
 
 "What does Polly think ?" Alice warms up to narrative with her 
 eyes sparkling, and holding very tight to Mr. Charles's watch- 
 chain. 
 
 "Polly thuth-inks Miss Straker's quite, quite beautiful ! Polly 
 seed her sawed her of coorth! She came into Polly's room. To 
 see in the glass and take off her shawl. And oh, such a funny old 
 woman !"
 
 234 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "And Polly said she was quite beautiful ? Go ahead, Alice." 
 
 "Yes, only other words. Polly said, 'Just like me, just like 
 me,' and I said who. And he said, 'Straker,' very loud. And I 
 called him a vain bird yes, I did." And Alice adds emphasis with 
 nods. 
 
 "Perhaps Polly meant her mother, Alice?" suggests Peggy, with 
 gravity. But Alice gives a long incredulous shake of the head. 
 She knows Polly better than that. 
 
 "Well!" said Charles, after more comparison of notes about the 
 funny old woman and her daughter. "At any rate, Miss Straker 
 has Polly's good opinion." It is extraordinary how often this 
 reservation-phrase came in. She had a wonderful voice, at any 
 rate. She had great facility, at any rate. She had beautiful hair, 
 beautiful hands, teeth, figure, etc., all at any rate. Charles liked 
 her, at any rate. Peggy didn't dislike her, at any rate. Every- 
 body used the expression without noticing that every one else had 
 done so too. However, in spite of this, the visit was on the whole 
 a success. 
 
 If we had been Charles and had wanted to avoid an appearance 
 of being in love with Miss Straker, in the interval between this 
 party and a larger one to which musical influence was to be invited, 
 we should not have acted as he did. In our opinion, he would have 
 done better to discontinue sittings altogether at the Studio, and not 
 to call unnecessarily at Warren Street. Instead of which, what 
 between arranging at every sitting for the day after to-morrow, and 
 calling at the house in the evening to say to-morrow would do just 
 as well, he contrived to see a very great deal of Miss Straker in 
 the interim between the two parties. What precise form their 
 interviewings took on these occasions need not be set down in 
 detail; we are satisfied that the goblin would not have fallen asleep 
 if she had not had full confidence in her daughter, and as for 
 Charles we ourselves feel every confidence in him. No doubt their 
 behaviour was unexceptionable. But what concerns this story is 
 that when at the second party the young lady scored a most bril- 
 liant success, the opinion was freely expressed, in conversation 
 about her and Charles, that "anybody could see." In dealing with 
 interesting subjects of this class, Society does not always talk like 
 a book. Speech in fragments is more expressive. Society con- 
 firmed and extended the verdicts of the family circle ; the lady sang 
 magnificently, looked well, was quite producible all at any rate. 
 But always there was this same reserve. 
 
 However, anybody could see ! There was no doubt of that. And 
 as everybody looked (perhaps even more than they were asked to
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 235 
 
 look), everybody did see. Peggy felt uneasy, fretted, distressed 
 but she could not say exactly why she shrank from hearing what 
 she knew she should hear. There was a sort of stiffness, almost, 
 between her and Charley neither speaking to the other of Miss 
 Straker, Peggy's feelings taking the form of secret commiseration 
 for her brother, and his of a suspicion of it, coupled with as near an 
 approach to resentment against it as he could feel where Peggy 
 was concerned. Tension in various forms ran through the family. 
 Charles's mother offered him an inanimate cheek to kiss and with- 
 drew it on the spot. Hers was an attitude of regretful dignity 
 under trial; of fulfilled foreknowledge of disaster slighted by a 
 headstrong circle of relations; of an intention ultimately to bring 
 to book the real fons et origo malorum, her husband. The boys 
 were under tension in another sense. They were bottling up deri- 
 sion waiting for the signal that should let them loose on their 
 victim. Ellen alone, acknowledging no jurisdiction, bound by 
 neither man nor Mrs. Grundy, attacked Charles boldly on the sub- 
 ject, and asked him his intentions to his face. 
 
 "I don't care what Miss Petherington says," said Miss Ellen, 
 "I'm fourteen next July and I'm not going to hold my tongue and 
 be shished. What I want to know is, are we going to have Miss 
 Straker for a sister-in-law or are we not? Which is it to be? And 
 that old Guy with the ribands for an aunt? No Charley! It's 
 no use your glaring and looking inscrutable. I mean to make you 
 tell. Now, Charley dear is it to be Miss Straker or is it not?" 
 But Charles kept on looking inscrutable. "Is what to be Miss 
 Straker, Jumping Joan ?" he asked. It was a general nickname for 
 Ellen, from a well-known nursery rhyme. 
 
 "Is Miss Straker going to marry you or not? Now is that 
 
 plain, or shall I say it all over again ? Is Miss " But Charles 
 
 interrupted her to say Miss Straker hadn't asked to be allowed 
 to, so far ! 
 
 "Now isn't Charley ridiculous?" This was in appeal to Peggy, 
 the only other person in the room. "As if one didn't know that 
 ladies never propose!" 
 
 "Ladies never propose," said Charles, imperturbably, "without 
 consulting the gentleman's little sister Joan. Not real ladies." 
 
 "Now isn't Charley irritating? Anyhow I shall ask Papa what 
 he thinks. You see if I don't." But Charles and Peggy made but 
 a poor job of a laugh over it, when Joan had departed. Peggy 
 was more than half inclined to cry, in reality; while Charles could 
 only say he really hadn't proposed to Miss Straker, after all! "I 
 won't have you worried about it, my darling boy, anyhow," said
 
 236 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 his sister, kissing him. And he felt in two minds about whether 
 he wouldn't wash his hands of the whole concern, and pretend 
 he wanted to go away and study in Rome, or something of that 
 sort. 
 
 That evening he and his father were left alone, late. 
 
 "Charley boy," said the old gentleman, suddenly, "tell me about 
 Miss Straker." 
 
 It was Charles's nature and instinct to meet every question (from, 
 his father certainly) in the spirit of the questioner, and to reply in 
 full, without evasion or reserve. In the present case he hesitated, 
 not from any desire to keep back information, but because he really 
 could not see his way to wording it. It would have been an ease- 
 ment to him to be able to say: "I love this girl, and would marry 
 her if I could. Will you consent to her if ever I can? Will you 
 take her for your daughter, and help me to ask my mother to 
 accept her too ?" He could not manage this, and very strangely it 
 was the first four words he could not fill out. He could have asked 
 his father's consent to his marrying the lady easily enough. But 
 although he could have affirmed his intention as to action, he shrank 
 from anything that expressed or defined a feeling. Under pressure, 
 he might have said grudgingly that he supposed he was what peo- 
 ple call in love with her. But he would not have welcomed the 
 obvious rejoinder "If you only suppose it, hadn't you better try 
 to live without her, for her sake and yours?" Because, you see, 
 he had got to the point of wanting to marry her, and taking for 
 granted that he would not, could not, want to marry her unless 
 he loved her. What a pity he could not analyse his own feelings, 
 and collate them with the fact that he had only known Miss 
 Straker a few weeks! 
 
 "I can only tell you a very little about Miss Straker," said he, 
 replying to his father's question. "What I can tell won't take 
 long. She was introduced to me by a fellow artist, not as a pro- 
 fessional model, but as a young lady whose circumstances were not 
 very prosperous, and who would not mind earning a little money 
 by sitting provided the artist was a friend, or a friend's friend 
 
 well introduced, I mean " Charles hesitated a moment; his 
 
 father may have been looking a little incredulous. 
 
 "How do professional models generally begin?" he asked. "Do 
 they knock at an artist's studio, and say they feel like Hercules or 
 Venus, and don't the artists want a model?" Charles laughed. 
 
 "Very often," he said, "especially Venus. Only, you quite 
 understand? Venus wasn't in it this time." Yes, that was quite 
 understood. "However, I'll tell you the rest I know about her.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 237 
 
 Her father was a teacher of languages in Paris; whether he is liv- 
 ing or not I am uncertain; there is some reluctance to speak of it 
 and I don't like to ask he may be a sweep. She has a younger 
 hrother named Maurice whom I have not seen yet, and a mother 
 as per sample the other day." 
 
 Charles then recapitulated the story of the singing experience, 
 and honourably admitted how often he had been at Warren Street, 
 and that he had found the house very attractive. If he did not 
 state to a nicety the exact degree of familiarity that subsisted 
 between him and the young lady, we feel sure that (if you have 
 ever been young yourself) you will excuse him. Fancy, every time 
 there was any little kissing or squeezing or tenderness, if you had 
 to schedule it and frame a report! Charles, however, didn't mean 
 to flinch from any essential in his confession. 
 
 "I know, Father," said he, "that what you wanted to know about 
 was " 
 
 "Exactly!" said his father. "About your own relation to her 
 is there anything you can tell me?" 
 
 "Is there any?" Charles reflected. "I am not sure that I should 
 have her sanction for saying there was. She has never authorised 
 me to do so. Nothing has passed between us that would make it 
 unjustifiable in her to refuse me to-morrow, if I made her an offer 
 of my invaluable self." This was stretching a point; but it was 
 true this far, that the last time Charles parted from her at her 
 mother's door, they parted in silence. Otherwise, the parting had 
 been as loverlike as you would wish to see, or as the contributors 
 would wish you shouldn't. 
 
 "What is your actual relation, my dear boy, at this moment?" 
 Charles paused a moment then replied: 
 
 "If nothing but the official truth is to be told, none at all but 
 the official truth would be a lie. In my own heart I hold myself 
 pledged to her, and I believe she knows it. Whether she holds her- 
 self pledged to me I do not know. Have I any right to press her 
 to say she does, when I have not had any professional success and 
 may never have any am still a mere student ? When I took up the 
 profession of an artist, I knew it was a lottery, and was quite deter- 
 mined not to involve any one else in the risks I incurred myself, 
 I knew I might never be able to marry, and accepted the position." 
 This sounded heroic, and Charles felt happy over it. But his 
 father evidently did not. 
 
 "Are you sure you did accept the position?" said he. "It seems 
 to me that a resolution never to marry was very little use, unless 
 you also made up your mind never to fall in love let alone not
 
 238 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 showing it. You can't carry out the idea honestly short of run- 
 ning away from every girl you like." 
 
 Poor Charley looked very downcast. "I see it now," said he; 
 "it's just as you say, Father ! But, oh dear ! it is so insidious." 
 
 "Yes it's quite celebrated for that quality." The old boy 
 chuckled to himself over his son's candour but was sorry for him 
 all the more. "But wait a while, Charley boy, wait a while ! Hope 
 to see the way clear, and try to see straight." 
 
 All this occurred two or three days after the musical gathering, 
 and the second day after the parting in Warren Street which we 
 have hinted at above. Charles had received a note from Miss 
 Straker in the morning asking him to put off his next visit till 
 he should hear again from her. She had to go into the country 
 for a day or two. The letter was not stamped ; perhaps was brought 
 by the brother (whom Charles had not so far seen), and left in 
 the letter-box at No. 40. 
 
 When he got back to the Studio after the above interview with 
 his father, he found another letter waiting for him from the 
 young lady, with the postmark Watford. She had written from 
 the country, and it was a long one must have something in it. 
 Charles's face beamed with satisfaction as he opened it. It 
 changed as he read as follows: 
 
 PARPITT'S FARM, ON THE RICKMANSWORTH ROAD, 
 
 NEAR WATFORD, MIDDLESEX. 
 MY DEAR MR. HEATH, 
 
 I have made up my mind I should write to you, but do I 
 do right? I am inexperienced and do not know where to look for 
 advice, for you have seen my Maman, and as for poor Maurice, he 
 is a boy. But I know you are good and will believe me it is for 
 both our sakes I speak. 
 
 I have been awake all night thinking of our parting last evening. 
 And I am convinced it is right that I should speak without reserve. 
 There should be no concealments between us. 
 
 I am convinced that it is better for both of us that we should not 
 deceive ourselves. I feel sure, although I can scarcely tell you 
 what makes me, that happiness is not possible for us except at a 
 price I could not ask you to pay. I cannot ask you to renonce 
 your family for my sake. You will say there is no need. But, 
 indeed, indeed, I am right. Sometimes we women see these things' 
 more plainly than men. I can see so plainly that there is a gap 
 between us. I cannot ask you to make this sacrifice for my sake.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 239 
 
 Dear Mr. Heath, you must not blame me. You would not if you 
 could know what pain it costs me to write this. But I know that 
 / am right and that it is for your happiness that we should say 
 good-bye. It is best that we should forget. Think of me only 
 as your most affectionate friend 
 
 L. S. 
 
 Do not, I beg, say one word of this nor show this letter to your 
 good and beautiful sister. No one is to blame but I am sure of 
 what I say. Adieu ! 
 
 Was this letter written with a full understanding of Charles's 
 character, and an intention that he would behave exactly as he did 
 behave? For of course its effect upon him was (and we say this 
 hoping that we have made his character as clear to you as it is to 
 ourselves) that, in the first place, he scarcely slept. In the next 
 that, after an insufficient breakfast, he made straight for Euston 
 Station to catch an early train for Watford. In less than an hour 
 he was being driven to the address so circumstantially detailed in 
 the letter. He was told at the house that Miss Lavinia had walked 
 out but would be back shortly as breakfast was ready. He asked 
 in which direction she had gone, and went to meet her. When she 
 saw him, her exclamation was, "Oh, Mr. Heath you cannot have 
 got my letter." He made no immediate reply, but caught her in 
 his arms, kissing her passionately. Then he said, in a voice that 
 showed the tension of his feelings: "Your letter? It brought me 
 here. But I will not have it so! You are mine and I am yours. 
 Besides," he continued, becoming calmer, "indeed you are quite 
 mistaken in imagining things about my family they are not what 
 you think them. What a silly girl you are!" But for all that he 
 had his own misgivings. 
 
 We have said that we make no pretence of understanding Miss 
 Straker. But we wish that it should be noted that if she did intend 
 to bring about this result, no more skilful manipulation could 
 have been resorted to. It might have failed completely with another 
 man than poor simple, chivalrous Charley! Under the circum- 
 stances its effect was threefold. It assumed a more advanced 
 stage in The Lover's Progress than was warrantable, or than it 
 would have been safe to assume with every other man. A good 
 many young gentlemen, as we understand, have even gone the 
 length of kissing young ladies (not under mistletoes), and yet 
 both would have been surprised to hear that there were to be no 
 concealments between them. Secondly, under cover of this assump- 
 tion, it made a very explicit declaration of the tender sentiments
 
 240 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 of the writer without any appearance of over-forwardness on her 
 part. Thirdly, and chiefly, it anticipated the censures of the higher 
 respectabilities, and disarmed them by anticipation. How could 
 even a Title have descended in wrath on the social surroundings 
 of a girl who had of her own accord quoted them to free its son 
 from the rash undertaking of a moment of heedlessness. But 
 whatever suspicion passes through our mind, or yours, there was 
 none in Charles's, as he accompanied Miss Straker back to the 
 farm-house; where she was, as she explained, the guest for a day 
 or two, of a friend she had made in the course of her musical ad- 
 ventures with Agents in London. Her name was Clara Parfitt, 
 and she was a fellow victim with Miss Straker of the said Agents. 
 
 Naturally Charles, who had had no breakfast to speak of, 
 accepted an invitation to stop on and have some more. He passed 
 the morning intending to go by each train in succession, but they 
 all snorted away audibly from the station without him; slowly at 
 first as if to give him a chance to overtake them; and then faster 
 and faster, even as trains relieved to have the matter settled. He 
 stayed to dinner, an early mid-day dinner, farm-house wise. To 
 be brief, he forgot himself entirely in a fool's paradise, and Clara 
 Parfitt showed herself a model of sympathetic discretion; for she 
 undertook tacitly to play propriety, and deserted the part without 
 providing an understudy. What with one thing and another, the 
 succession of deferred departures ended in his just catching the 
 last train. 
 
 There were two roads to the station, and there had been some 
 debate as to which way the gig which was to take him was to drive. 
 One was the better road, the other the shorter. The couple were 
 considerately left to make their adieux clear of company. 
 
 The night had clouded over, and cold sleety rain was beginning. 
 By Charles's request, Miss Straker did not come out into the open. 
 She remained under the honeysuckle porch; the gig was waiting at 
 the other end of the garden walk. 
 
 "Good-bye, my dearest love!" said Charles. "Now remember! 
 No more doubts no more hesitations. You are mine and I am 
 yours." And then, after such a farewell as becomes a lover, he 
 was seated in the drifting rain beside the driver. "It's got rather 
 late," he called back to her, "but we shall catch the train." 
 
 "Tell him to go that way," she called after him, and pointed 
 to her left. The young man who drove turned round reluctantly. 
 "The ro-ad's a bad ro-ad," he said, "but belike it's a surer one, 
 taking count of the time." 
 
 Charles just caught his train. But whereas the young man who
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 241 
 
 walked over the gravel garden-path was joyous with an intoxica- 
 tion that comes only once in a life, the one that rode home in the 
 railway train was miserable with a misgiving that by the time he 
 reached Euston had grown to fever-point. 
 
 For the words, "tell him to go that way," were the words spoken 
 by the woman at the Park gate, and the movement of the hand that 
 pointed to the left was the movement of hers, and the voice itself 
 was hers, and the figure. And the worst of it was that she had 
 told him, unasked, that she herself had been, at the moment, else- 
 where.
 
 HOW PEGGY CALLED AGAIN ON MISS STRAKER, AND GOT LITTLE COMFORT 
 FOR CHARLES. MISS STRAKER's UNCERTAIN SOUND 
 
 CHARLES had promised to go to dinner at "the Gardens" next 
 evening. He did not go, sending instead a note to Peggy, telling 
 her not to expect him. He wasn't feeling very first-rate nothing 
 particular wrong ; only a slight cold, and he thought it best to keep 
 indoors for a day. 
 
 This was an unusual attitude for Charles. His normal course 
 would have been, being unwell, to cab to the family mansion to be 
 nursed. But he was always transparent, as Peggy said. She 
 saw at once there was a screw loose. "It's Miss Straker, somehow!" 
 she said, with insight. "I shall go and see." So on the morning 
 of the third day after Charles's interview with his father, Peggy 
 went -to the Studio. 
 
 "Oh, Charley, dearest boy, what is the matter?" said she to the 
 haggard worn-out figure she found there "instead of her brother," 
 was how it presented itself to her. Anything worse than a slight 
 cold, or a reasonable disquiet, had not crossed her mind. "Yes 
 you're quite in a high fever, and I shall send for Rupert." She 
 felt his hands and kissed him. 
 
 "No, Poggy-Woggy, please ! We won't have Rupert just yet. I'll 
 tell you all about it, and then I shan't be so bad. I didn't want 
 to come home and have Joan jumping all over me." 
 
 "Very well, dear! Come and let's be quiet and you tell me all 
 about it. Of course it's Miss Straker." 
 
 Of course it was; and as Charles told the whole truth, and 
 wouldn't tell anything but the truth ; and as he never could soften 
 anything without showing obviously that he was softening; the 
 story presented itself to Peggy as an ugly one enough. Still it was 
 impossible to say that there were no circumstances whatever in 
 which a young woman might be alone in a Park, yet blameless. 
 Only, how about Exeter Hall? It was a case for absolute suspen- 
 sion of opinion, pending enquiry. Peggy was thoroughly aware 
 that even in making such enquiries there would be danger. For the 
 sister who (however warrantably) stickles, doubts, negotiates, op- 
 poses, in the preliminaries of a brother's marriage, must be pre- 
 242
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 243 
 
 pared to stand or fall by the event. If it comes about, she will be 
 the sister in Law alone, not in affection, of her brother's wife; if 
 it does not, her brother will pass through a crescendo movement 
 of forgiveness, ending in a triumphant wedding-march with 
 another lady, with gratitude obbligato to herself. 
 
 Peggy was wise, and took up the position that the matter must 
 be cleared up at once, in justice to Miss Straker. It was probably 
 easily explainable, if only we looked it in the face. "You stupid 
 boy," said she, "you don't mean to say you would go on and marry 
 this poor girl without speaking to her about this? Then why not 
 speak now ? As she herself said, there ought to be no concealments 
 between you." 
 
 "No Poggy darling! But fancy my going to her first thing 
 after the way we parted only a few hours ago, and bursting all 
 this on her only because of a sound in her voice, a movement of 
 her hand. If it's all nonsense, as most likely it is, think of the 
 figure I shall cut!" 
 
 "That's true enough," said Peggy, "I didn't think of that. But 
 why shouldn't I go to see her, and try if I can't touch the point 
 without scaring her? I should soon see if there was anything 
 in it." 
 
 "How should you set about it?" 
 
 "Don't know goosey! till I try. I should be guided by the 
 conversation. Now just you let me go and see her at once and see 
 if I don't get enough to clear up the mistake it's only a mistake, 
 I'm sure! and I'll come straight back here and put your mind 
 at ease. Will she be at home?" Peace dawned in poor Charley's 
 storm-worn heart, and he kissed his sister and called her a duck 
 and an Angel. Yes, most likely she will be at home. So off goes 
 Peggy straightway. 
 
 Poor Peggy ! She had undertaken a difficult task. She felt like 
 Judas as she kissed what she did not suppose was certain to become 
 her sister on the cheek. "From what Charley tells me, dear Miss 
 Straker," said she,' "I think I may take it as certain that he has 
 chosen you for his wife, and that you have chosen him for your hus- 
 band. None of his family know it, except myself. And I have 
 come at once to tell you that whoever my brother loves, I love, and 
 to ask you, so far as I am concerned, to think of yourself as already 
 one of our family." She felt that she had been rather making 
 a speech, and wasn't sure she wasn't a humbug. Perhaps we all 
 feel this whenever we say anything consecutive. Honesty is sup- 
 posed to be fraught with jerks, and sincerity with sloppiness of 
 style.
 
 244 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Miss Straker's eyes sought the ground, and the fine eyelids 
 asserted themselves: "Oh, how kind how generous of you, dear 
 Miss Heath ! How can you forgive me ?" 
 
 "Forgive you for making my brother happy! That is easy 
 enough," Peggy laughed. The conversation that followed was 
 general but on the same lines. Peggy, however, dwelt on the 
 fact that her own action was quite independent of any of her 
 family, whom she had no right to commit in any way. But, said 
 she, no one of us would ever oppose Charley in anything he had at 
 heart. 
 
 "I think he loves me," said Miss Straker. As she sat on the sofa 
 beside Peggy, with her head drooped and her eyelids in evidence, 
 she certainly looked well. If Peggy had seen her on the stage, 
 she would have said how true to Nature. Seeing it done in daily 
 life, some slight idea crossed her mind that it was like on the 
 stage. 
 
 "You may be sure he always means what he says," said she, most 
 untheatrically. But she had somehow to get on to the Park ques- 
 tion. How should she do it? It got more and more difficult. 
 Suppose she was to try round by Exeter Hall, and see if she could 
 get a lift. "You are very fond of music," she went on; "so is 
 Charley." 
 
 "I suppose I am fond of music yes," said Miss Straker. "Some- 
 times I think I am not but only that I happen to have a voice, and 
 that has made me sing." 
 
 "You must be fond of music or how could you stand an hour 
 outside Exeter Hall, waiting for the doors to open ?" Miss Straker 
 looked blank. 
 
 "Oh no ! I never did," said she. 
 
 "How very funny ! Charles certainly told me you told him about 
 standing outside Exeter Hall one evening." 
 
 Was it or was it not the case that Miss Straker was biting her 
 lips, and looking a little pale? There was a pause of a few 
 seconds before she spoke. When she did there was the least shade 
 of snappishness in her tone. 
 
 "What can make Mr. Heath say so? It must have been some- 
 where else I said the Egyptian Hall perhaps ?" 
 
 "Very likely," said Peggy, conciliatorily, "but it doesn't the least 
 matter. Charley made a mistake." For Peggy had got a little 
 alarmed, and was not prepared to rush the position. "Perhaps," 
 she said, "you are fonder of music than you think, and if you had 
 to do altogether without it, you would miss it very much. I dare- 
 say you practise a great deal ?" But Miss Straker did not answer
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 245 
 
 the question, and seemed uneasy. She went back to the previous 
 conversation. "Are you sure he said Exeter Hall?" 
 
 "Quite sure." And as Miss Straker had revived the point her- 
 self, Peggy resolved to carry it a little further. "Quite sure. 
 Because he said he must have been mistaken in fancying he saw 
 you somewhere else the same evening." 
 
 There could be no doubt about it. Miss Straker was very dis- 
 quieted. She twisted her fingers into one another, cleared her 
 throat, and fidgeted as she sat. 
 
 "Where did he think he saw me?" she said. But the attempt to 
 speak unconcernedly was not a success. 
 
 "In Regents Park coming through a gate in^i the inner circle, by 
 the Botanic Garden. Some one was following the person he took 
 for you, and she asked the man at the gate to say she had gone 
 in the opposite direction." Miss Straker was certainly very pale. 
 
 "There is my mother," said she, as a knock came at the street- 
 door. She left the room hurriedly, as though to meet her coming; 
 but her steps mounted, audibly. One easily hears the difference 
 between going upstairs and going down. 
 
 "Et puis! Ne se trouve-t-elle pas a la maison ma fille?" said 
 the Goblin, coming in a minute or so later. "Ow-do-you-do, Mees- 
 seece? She-as-leave-you-by-your. Self-eet-ees-rude." Peggy, 
 wisely abstaining from school-room French, said Miss Straker had 
 just gone upstairs. She was afraid she might be unwell. 
 
 "She was veriwell zeessmor. Ning I will go and see," said the 
 Goblin, and went upstairs. 
 
 Then Peggy heard scraps of a colloquy which' was (like the one 
 Charles had overheard under the same circumstances) probably 
 more audible owing to the speakers' taking for granted it would 
 not be understood. 
 
 "Non non ! Je ne me sens pas malade . . . ne chuchotte pas 
 . . . ni tu n'as pas besoin de beugler. N'est il pas possible de parler 
 a demi-voix sans vociferer?" . . . 
 
 "Tu me reproches toujours ! . . . Mais, qu'est ce quelle a dit en 
 effet?" 
 
 "C'etait lui!" The rapid speech disappeared behind a closed 
 door, and became a murmur. Presently the door opened, and she 
 caught Miss Straker's words. 
 
 "Dis comme je le vous ai dit! Moi je ne bouge pas. Je reste 
 ici." The old woman said something which might have been 
 << Mon tyran," and came downstairs. 
 
 "Elle a un peu de vertige, ma fille. She-as-geedness-of-de- 
 head. Mais, Mademoiselle m'a bien compris ! Ce n'est rien !" For
 
 240 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Peggy had been betrayed in a rash moment into saying in French 
 that she comprehended. It let Madame loose, releasing her from 
 English. 
 
 "Ce n'est rien! ga va passer affaire d'une demi-heure! Plait- 
 il? Mais comment faut-il vous en aller si peu de temps! Vrai- 
 ment, si vous vous en allez, je dois payer 1'amende. Elle me 
 blamera." But Peggy insisted on departing. She had distinctly 
 heard Miss Straker say she would not come down again, so where 
 was the use of stopping? Neither she nor the Goblin really cared 
 for conversation, and the latter very likely did not know how 
 quick events had moved. If she had she would have broached the 
 subject, instead of talking about how her daughter bullied her. 
 She appeared to be referring to a recent blowing-up, without con- 
 sidering that Miss Heath was not supposed to know anything 
 about it. 
 
 "Ma fille me fait toujours le bouc-emissaire de ses bevues. Vous 
 savez bien ce que c'est le bouc-emissaire?" 
 
 But Peggy didn't know, and the Goblin didn't know what the 
 English equivalent was. This made both feel the limitedness of 
 their communion; so, after a little more reciprocal misunder- 
 standing, for civility's sake, leave-taking developed naturally with- 
 out dissatisfaction to either. 
 
 Peggy went straight back to her brother, thoroughly unhappy 
 about the whole concern. What did it matter if Miss Straker was 
 unable to account to him for the fact that she was out alone late 
 in Regents Park? There might be a thousand ways of explain- 
 ing that. But nothing could clear away the apparently deliberate 
 falsehood about her having been elsewhere at the time. And what 
 Peggy had overheard seemed to supply the motive for it. "C'etait 
 lui," the last words she had heard as the door closed, could only 
 mean that Miss Straker had caught sight of some one she thought 
 Charles, and had feared that he whoever he was also had seen 
 her, and had then fudged up the Exeter Hall story to cover contin- 
 gencies. Why, if she recognised him, she should not speak to him 
 and get his companionship and protection home was a mystery to 
 Peggy. But then she forgot that a young lady who did not know 
 her brother as she did, might not think him, as she did, an Angel 
 or if human, a preux chevalier at least. 
 
 She told Charley all her interview with the daughter, and so far 
 as she could be sure of the French, of the rest of her conversation 
 with the mother. It was all miserably unsatisfactory; almost 
 damnatory, so far as telling a lie went. Peggy saw, before she 
 left Charles, that his feverish misery and anxiety were changing to
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 247 
 
 angry conviction. Fearing he should rush into an extreme in this 
 direction, and do Miss Straker more injustice, she tried to soften 
 matters. "You know, dear Charley," she said, "there are so many 
 things it might have been. And think what a girl's terror would be 
 of one false construction that might have been put on her being 
 there alone at that time. Do you know; I almost think I myself 
 might have gone the length of a good round lie under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "No, you wouldn't, Peg. You would have up and explained. 
 You're only saying that to exonerate her." 
 
 "Oh, Charley ! You're getting too hard on her before you know. 
 Now do, dear boy, do as I say. Or let it be this way I'll write 
 to her at once, and say that I by my stupidity have made you un- 
 comfortable. Put it all on me." 
 
 "What good will that do ? I should have to tell her when and how 
 I recognised her the night before last when I came away! Oh, 
 Peggy, it will never be the same thing again. It's all spoiled!" 
 And the poor fellow broke down and was so miserable, that Peggy 
 saw there was only one remedy possible unreserved explanation. 
 If Miss Straker collapsed, and Charles threw her off as worthless, 
 was that such an evil? It would be less pain for him to know the 
 truth now and get it over, than to be undeceived about her too 
 late. Besides, who could say how completely she might not clear 
 herself? Anyhow, she was entitled to a frank indictment and a 
 fair trial. 
 
 It was settled that Charles should see her forthwith and should 
 speak plainly. Peggy was bidden to stay a week in the country 
 with a friend. She had to be off very soon to pack: in fact, she 
 looked at her watch over it. But Charley would write to her all 
 about it directly, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't go and do any- 
 thing desperate, that was a dear boy, would he ? Peggy kissed him 
 exhaustively, and said good-bye. But she went away with mis- 
 givings in her heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 'OF MISS PRYNNE'S SECOND GHOST, AND HER CAT, MOSES. SHE is NOT 
 
 SO SCRAGGY, AFTER ALL. PSYCHICAL RESEARCH. HOW CHARLES 
 BROKE MISS STRAKER QUITE OFF. MISS GEORGIE ARROWSMITH. 
 PEGGY WILL SEE MISS STRAKER AGAIN 
 
 POOR Charley could not screw his courage up to sticking point. 
 It was perhaps a relief to him that Mr. Jerrythought appeared, and 
 took him away to lunch. This gentleman, the largeness of whose 
 heart seemed capable of welcoming the widest possible circle of 
 friends, had recently been absorbed into the bosoms of the Miss 
 Prynnes on the second floor. This rapprochement had been effected 
 by a second appearance of the same ghost in the sacred bedchamber 
 of the ladies, at an early hour of the morning; when there was no 
 doubt the door was locked, and was found locked by the occupants ; 
 who when full daylight came mustered courage to get up and over- 
 haul the apparition of the gloaming. Its authentication as a 
 spectre had cleared Mr. Jerrythought's character, and expressions 
 of the remorse of the two youngish ladies for the injustice they 
 had done him were reported without reservation by Mrs. Parwig, 
 whom we think we have mentioned before. You may remember 
 perhaps that she did for the Miss Prynnes. She also did out 
 Mr. Jerrythought. But these doings out were sporadic she only 
 done the top-tenant out now and again, just to get him a little tidy, 
 or wherever would he 'a' been? Her function in the incident on 
 hand was to convey to Mr. Jerrythought the apologies of the two 
 ladies, and their sense of the injustice they done him, without 
 committing either party to an acknowledgment that it knew the 
 other party giv' Mrs. Parwig leave to say any such a remark passed. 
 Nobody was to know that anything of any sex whatever had been 
 seen prowling about the apartments of its anti-types. 
 
 Nevertheless the second-floor had felt that amends were due to 
 the attics, and had wished them a good-morning, on the stairs. 
 iThe attics were not going to miff off and be huffy, and had re- 
 sponded. Both were conscious that the substratum of events was 
 the ghost; but that if alluded to at all, it would have to be when 
 acquaintance was maturer. Another step forward was made owing 
 to a Persian cat, the property of the Miss Prynnes, finding that a 
 
 248
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 249 
 
 chair in the attic studio was good to sleep, curl up, and stretch on. 
 The first time this cat, whose name was Moses, appeared m Mr. 
 Jerrythought's room enjoying a refreshing slumber on the said 
 chair,, that gentleman, not realising its identity, conceived the idea 
 of taking it by the scruff of the neck and ejecting it. But Moses 
 was capable of intense deliberation combined with inconceivable 
 rapidity of action. When the scruff was within a yard of the 
 hand that was to take it, Moses began to consider placidly what 
 he should do when it should be within a foot. He turned the matter 
 well over in his mind, without undue haste, and decided that if it 
 came nearer he would get ready to move towards the door. When 
 it was an inch off, he varied his programme and went away with 
 a flicket, in the opposite direction. He left the room after trying 
 to rip the floor up, and yawning. But having seen that the chair 
 was good, he reappeared in it at intervals (without allowing himself 
 to be influenced by closed doors and windows) and when missed 
 downstairs would be reclaimed by his owners. Probably he was 
 mainly responsible for the visiting acquaintance between the sec- 
 ond-floor and the attics having so mellowed that comparison of 
 notes about the ghost had become possible by the time Charles 
 and Mr. Jeff were lunching together at Cremoncini's, at the pres- 
 ent moment of this story. Even Charles's painful preoccupation 
 (ascribed by Jeff to stomach) did not altogether prevent his paying 
 attention to this last appearance of the ghost. Let us follow Jeff's 
 narrative : 
 
 "She ain't so very scraggy when you come to shake hands with 
 her the youngest one I mean. It's more as a couple it tells, and 
 then you notice it. No! I should say the youngest she's Miss 
 Dorothea didn't run over eight and twenty to thirty. She saw 
 the ghost. They admitted they was in bed but then, of course, 
 I'm gettin' like an old acquaintance " 
 
 "But I say, Jeff, this was before it was daylight, as I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Yes, sort o' half-light." 
 
 "Then where the dickens would they be but in bed ?" And to this 
 Jeff replies enigmatically, "Some women are like that, when single." 
 And rather makes a parade of his knowledge of the varieties of this 
 strange animal. 
 
 "The scraggiest one she's Miss Laura she didn't see the ghost, 
 or only just. She's an excellent sort of female, you know, Charley; 
 I've nothing to say against her only it's no use trying to draw 
 a veil over her. It would be affectation! Because forty she is, 
 and scraggy to a degree "
 
 250 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "But about the ghost the ghost! How much did the scraggy 
 one see?" 
 
 "She couldn't see because her eyes don't come open easy first 
 thing in the morning. But Miss Dorothea saw her quite plain. 
 She had a lot of grey hair and a sort of sacque as they used to call 
 'em flowered silk and one hand to her side. I told 'em in my 
 opinion it was the ghost of the bones in the cellar you recollect ?" 
 
 "Rather! Why, it's not a twelvemonth ago. But don't you see 
 what it is, Jeff? They read all about the bones in the newspapers, 
 and how there was a flowered silk ball-dress, and then they go and 
 see a ghost to match. They don't see exactly the same thing 
 that would be flat and uninteresting. They make the dress a 
 peignoir, and the powdered toupee comes out grey hair. Then the 
 bones had been run through, so they stick her hand to her side. 
 But that's what it is, of course !" The code of honour in matters of 
 Psychical Research is so very queer that Charles thought nothing 
 of consciously keeping back Alice's detail of the hand on her side. 
 He was not going to encourage superstition. 
 
 "Now I say!" Jeff is indignant. "What on earth have the 
 Miss Prynnes to gain by cookin' up a ghost?" 
 
 "They don't cook it up, my dear Jeff ! Of course Miss Theodora 
 thought she saw the ghost, just as she described it." 
 
 "Thought be hanged!" says Jeff. "Besides, her name's Doro- 
 thea." He is very unconvinced, but it is because a slight has been 
 put upon his ghost. If the ghost had originated elsewhere he might 
 have gone on another tack. 
 
 Charles's temper is not at his best, because of his circumstances. 
 They make him supercilious and irritating. "I should be inclined 
 to refer the second ghost to a mere reflex action of the nerve- 
 centres." 
 
 "Reflex Grandmother!" interjected Jeff; "I tell you what, 
 Charley ! If you're going to talk rot, I shall 'ook it." 
 
 "Reflex action of the nerve centres, consequent on having seen 
 the first. The first one is less difficult to account for. It was out 
 in the passage, and we haven't got to deal with the difficulty of 
 the locked door." 
 
 "Who saw a ghost himself? Come now, Charley 'Eath, answer 
 that! Who saw a feminine form in a flowered silk dressing-gown?" 
 
 "Of course I did! I was coming to that, only you're in such a 
 hurry, Jeff! Well, we know that one wasn't a ghost, because I 
 never see ghosts. I ought to know. Well ! Mrs. Farwig goes and 
 talks all about that ghost to the Misses Prynnes, and they being 
 only a couple of silly hysterical women, of course go and see a
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 251 
 
 ghost of the same pattern. They'll see some more like it directly 
 you see if they don't!" 
 
 "Now, do, you, mean, to say," says Jeff, see-sawing his words, as 
 one who warms up to argument, "that Miss Dorothea Prynne is a 
 lady you wouldn't believe on oath ? And if so, why not a ghost on 
 the stairs as well as anything else ?" 
 
 "Because of its intrinsic improbability." Charles is rather proud 
 of this, but Jeff flouts it. "Intrinsic Grandmother !" says he. He 
 is in the habit of resorting to this form of sneer. It is not complex, 
 and appears to be to some minds exhaustive. 
 
 The discussion of the ghost goes on as such discussions do, not 
 exactly confirming the opinions of the controversialists (for they 
 may have none), but strengthening their respective determinations 
 to uphold the first thesis each has committed himself to. This is 
 called sticking to the point, and each enjoins the other to stick 
 to it at intervals; always meaning of course his own point, not 
 the other's. If the discussion is about a ghost, neither cares much 
 about the question, but each is usually in love with his own self- 
 assertion, as in the present case. 
 
 When each had told the other several times that he was per- 
 fectly unreasonable, Charles and Jeff went back to work; the latter 
 perhaps to wonder at himself for having espoused the cause of Miss 
 Dorothea's testimony so strongly, the former to recollect how 
 unhappy he was and what an unpleasant task he had before him. 
 For even if some explanation was forthcoming, the Exeter Hail 
 story was a fib must have been ! 
 
 As soon as ever he could brood over his trouble again undisturbed, 
 he brooded. Did it cross his mind, we wonder, in the smallest pos- 
 sible degree that he had just been able to take a certain interest 
 in a wrangle about a ghost, in spite of it? However, it is quite 
 true, no doubt, that it came back upon him in full force when left 
 to himself. 
 
 He brooded continually, but could not bring himself to go 
 straight to Miss Straker, as he ought to have done, and as he had 
 arranged to do with Peggy. Somehow it had seemed easier to him 
 to do it, in her presence. His courage had failed him now, and he 
 could not even bring himself to write until quite late in the even- 
 ing. Then after a long letter to Peggy, in which he said, "I am 
 writing to Lavinia," a convenient ambiguity, he wrote another 
 to the latter saying that all must be at an end between them. She 
 herself had truly said that there must be no concealments on 
 either part, and he could not but feel after what his sister had told 
 him of their interview two days since that his own confidence
 
 252 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 in her had been misplaced ; as apparently in order to avoid inquiry 
 into something possibly quite blameless in itself she had resorted 
 to a statement that was at least a subterfuge, and after such a 
 thing had once come to his knowledge it was impossible that his 
 feelings for her should remain unchanged. She had not treated 
 him as he had treated her. She could imagine what it cost him to 
 say farewell, but he could see no other course open to him. He 
 had much better have saved himself so many words, and written: 
 "You told me a lie about Exeter Hall, and you must have had a 
 good reason; so I won't marry you. It's off!" Why must letter- 
 writers always be so sententious ? 
 
 "Oh dear oh dear!" said Peggy, when she had read through 
 Charles's letter to her, containing an abstract of the above, "what 
 a mess that dear boy does get into whenever I'm not there to look 
 after him!" And then under pledges of strictest secrecy she told 
 the facts and showed the letter to a very great friend, "the eldest 
 daughter where she was staying" (we absolve ourselves from any 
 share in the construction of this phrase, by inverted commas), and 
 that young lady's remarks are worth recording. Though only 
 twenty-three, she had had great experience. 
 
 "Fancy breaking it off on high moral grounds ! As if that could 
 last !" Peggy felt her own position called for some justification. 
 
 "I didn't want it broken off, Georgie dear. I only wanted all to 
 be clear as soon as possible." 
 
 "Well, of course," said Georgie, who always posed as an author- 
 ity, "if there's to be a row, the sooner the better ! It's no use hold- 
 ing in it's worse when it comes." 
 
 "It's such an injustice to the poor girl " 
 
 "Bother the poor girl !" interjects Georgie. 
 
 " to pass judgment on her in this sort of way. What can she 
 
 possibly do ? Write and beg pardon ? What would you do yourself 
 now, Georgie?" 
 
 "I should write fast enough. But I shouldn't beg pardon. What 
 would it be for ? I might confess to the wrong murder. No ! I 
 should tell him it was clear he had never loved me that he didn't 
 love me now that it was evident he loved some one else naming 
 who, where possible. I should point out that he had slighted and 
 insulted me, but for all that I should never love another, and I 
 should wind up by suggesting that I should pass the rest of my life 
 praying for his happiness." 
 
 "But it would be so much better to have a complete explanation 
 and get it all clear " 
 
 "Would it though? Now look here, Margaret! My way, the
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 253 
 
 chap would be on his knees, begging my pardon, and promising 
 never to do so any more. Explanation-way, it would be jaw, jaw, 
 jaw, and there would never be an end of it! Besides, in affairs of 
 this sort it's no use bringing in foreign matter morality and jus- 
 tice and right and all that sort of thing. However, no doubt you 
 would be glad for this one to come to an end now wouldn't you ?" 
 
 "The only thing that would make me glad would be that Charley 
 should be happy, and now he won't be." 
 
 We are sorry that Peggy's friend, Miss Arrowsmith, has no more 
 place in this story, because it seems to us that there is much in her 
 suggestion that, in the court of Love, Love himself should be judge 
 and jury, police and witnesses, usher, gaoler, executioner that he 
 should write the records, grant the reprieves, forge the fetters, 
 sharpen the axes, keep the key of the stocks reward the deserving, 
 and reprimand the culprits. We have re-worded her; but if that 
 was what she meant, we are inclined to agree. 
 
 Peggy wrote back to Charles begging him to go at once and give 
 poor Lavinia a chance to defend herself. She also wrote to Rupert, 
 ordering him to go without delay to Charles, and telling him what 
 to say. He did as he was bid, going straight to the Studio. 
 
 "That's what Peg says I am to say, Charley," said he, when he 
 had finished. 
 
 "Miss Straker can write," said Charles, grimly. "What do you 
 think yourself, Paracelsus?" 
 
 "Tell me more about the Park incident. Was this man with her 
 there?" 
 
 "No he was following at some distance. She might have out- 
 walked or outrun him." He put his palette and brushes down, 
 and leaned his mahl-stick against the angle of the chimney-piece; 
 obviously, a pipe was better than trying to work when you couldn't 
 work. 
 
 "I don't think anything of the incident in itself," he resumed, 
 "if only she hadn't told that Exeter Hall story! No Paracelsus 
 dear ! I'm not the only man that ever was disillusioned. There's 
 nothing for it but to forget it." And Charles sits on and pulls 
 at a consolatory pipe, gazing at the fire on the hearth (for fire- 
 time came again, with decision, some time since), and his friend 
 stands opposite to him, in all the fulness of his own triumphant 
 happiness, and feels a greater pity from the contrast of their lots. 
 But, whatever his instructions were from headquarters (perhaps 
 heartquarters would be nearer the mark) he was not going to say 
 a word that would start the hare afresh. It was clearly best that 
 Charley should pass through this experience, and
 
 254 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 And what? What Paracelsus nearly said to himself was, "And 
 marry a decent woman." But he didn't quite say it; he paused 
 and amended the unissued thought into, "Peggy will find somebody 
 to console him." 
 
 But Peggy wasn't going to begin this quest till her conscience 
 was quite happy about Miss Straker. When she came back a few 
 days after, she found Charles had received no reply to his letter. 
 "But I tell you this plainly, Charley," said she, "if I had received 
 such a letter as yours myself, I should have torn it up in a rage. 
 7 wouldn't have answered it, and I'm not surprised at Lavinia not 
 having done so." She was to be Lavinia still, in Peggy's mouth 
 at least. Was Charles quite certain he welcomed the fact, after 
 doing so much forgetting of which the first forty-eight hours 
 had been so very painful and laborious? Would he not rather 
 have had some more definite assistance towards his present 
 attitude ? 
 
 "I tell you what I shall do," said his sister, "unless you positively 
 order me not. I shall go to Lavinia myself and talk about it, and 
 get at the whole truth. I suppose, Charley dear " 
 
 "Yes, Poggy-Woggy what ?" 
 
 "I suppose that if it all turns out a lot of mares'-nests, you will 
 be glad really glad?" 
 
 "Oh, Poggy dearest, who wouldn't be glad in my circumstances ? 
 What do you take me for?" 
 
 "A dear silly old boy. I shall go to Lavinia to-morrow, anyhow !" 
 
 How much better it would be if everybody always let every one 
 else's love affairs alone shut their eyes tight and looked the 
 other way. But we don't want to blame Peggy, mind you !
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 CHARLES AND JEFF GO TO SEE VERRINDER. HE WILL NOT USE HIS OLD 
 PAINTS ANY MORE 
 
 CHARLES felt much too desoeuvre to work effectually, and in the 
 course of his breedings over the position found himself sandwich- 
 ing into his personal reveries a good deal of Jeff's ghost; that was 
 the description his mind recognised the last appearance by. He 
 regarded his own as more authentic; Alice's original venture as 
 the most so. They lost value in proportion to the amount of sug- 
 gestion preceding their occurrence. 
 
 The ghost reminded him that he had never been to hunt up 
 Verrinder again. That would be a nice thing to do now. He 
 would get Jeff to come and they would go together. It was the 
 fifth of November; a grey negative day wasn't going to snow 
 wasn't going to rain much too apathetic! It would be a capital- 
 day for the fireworks. So Charles and Jeff decided, as they char- 
 tered a promising hansom for the expedition. They spoke of "the 
 Fireworks" as one of the necessities of the year as Protestants 
 and Englishmen ! 
 
 Jeff was acquainted with the general bearing Yerrinder had on 
 the house, and understood that light might be thrown on Charles's 
 ghost by him, and indirectly on his own. However much Charles 
 might regard it as "purely subjective," he intended to appropriate 
 any illumination thrown on the one as equally applicable to the 
 other. He spoke unhesitatingly of both subjectivity and objectivity 
 as Grandmother. His frequent use of this expression compels repe- 
 tition ad nauseam-. 
 
 "I was in two minds," said Jeff as the cab rolled away, "whether 
 to invite the Miss Prynnes to come too (of course askin' you first, 
 Charley, don't you know) ! Only they couldn't both have rode 
 bodkin." 
 
 "You're a nice chap ! Besides, I don't see why the Miss Prynnes 
 should be in it." 
 
 "They saw the ghost. No ! Really, Charley 'Eath, you may make 
 game; but Miss Dorothea's a very intelligent person." 
 
 "We couldn't have done it without two cabs, for all that." Both 
 
 255
 
 256 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 instinctively avoid discussion of how to divide the pictured images 
 of the four between the cabs they couldn't have done without, in 
 order not to grapple with the point of which should ride with 
 which. It is the elder Miss Prynne (a mere vague potentiality in 
 this case) that is the real stumbling-block. Charles feels a change 
 of subject would be considerate. 
 
 "I say, Jeff! You've lived in Paris. What does a Mossoo mean 
 by a misery-nosegay?" 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A misery-nosegay." 
 
 "Somebody's been 'oaxin' you. What's the French for it?" 
 
 "A Bouquet-misere. What's that if it isn't a misery-nosegay? 
 An old party said it to my sister Peggy." 
 
 Jeff puzzled about, trying the words over and over, and at last 
 announced that he'd spotted it. "It's what the Mossoos call that 
 picture of Holman Hunt's 'Le bouc-emissaire.' The scrape-goat, 
 don't you know, in the Wilderness. But then they call all sorts of 
 things all sorts of things ! You never know where to have 'em." 
 And with such conversation they whiled away the time during the 
 drive to Lambeth. 
 
 The neighbourhood seemed replete with Guys more so than in 
 what Charles accounted the more civilised regions north of the 
 Thames. A vigorous Protestantism seemed to flourish. As they 
 stood on the doorstep of the house Verrinder lived in the attics 
 of, an extremely young group of anti-Papists assailed their ears 
 with the corrupt and worthless modern substitute for the original 
 exhortation to sympathise, which was sufficient in our youth. In 
 old times they would have paraded their inability to see any reason 
 why Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot. Now they said, 
 "Guy Fox Guy, hit him in the eye," which seemed unhistorical. 
 The Guy, in their case, was a very small boy, conducted by hand, 
 owing to his mask not fitting, and obscuring his vision. He solic- 
 ited a penny to burn himself an appeal that would have touched 
 a harder heart than Charles's. 
 
 The first pulls plausible ones at two of the bells on the door- 
 posts were ignored. The second series, backed by a knock that 
 spoke impatience, was answered with reluctance. The function of 
 the door-opener, when it was at last opened, appeared to be to 
 oppose ingress, yet to act as a medium of communication with a 
 concealed authority. The result was not encouraging. The author- 
 ity would not undertake to say Mr. Verrinder was not in, but would 
 not interest itself actively. Its manner suggested disbelief that 
 any one could possibly want to see Mr. Verrinder. "Do you knoWj
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 257 
 
 Mr. Verrinder?" it shouted from its lair at tKe end of a long 
 passage. Charles said yes, unquestionably ! "I suppose you know 
 he's right up atop o' the house ?" Charles said he had been up to 
 Mr. Verrinder's room once before. The authority thereon appeared 
 in its shirt-sleeves, rolled up, and stood soaping its arms at the 
 end of the passage. "I suppose," said their owner, a sallow and 
 depressed man, "I may rely on you two gentlemen to say I never 
 give leave, to exornerate me from bein' 'awled over the coals; if so, 
 up you goes, and welcome!" Charles gave the required under- 
 taking, and the door-ward relaxed. "It ain't Mr. Verrinder so 
 much as my missis I'm keepin' in view," said the soaper, still luxu- 
 riating in soap-strokes all down his arms. 
 
 Charles and Jeff passed up the wooden stairs; not followed by 
 the girl who had opened the door, but conscious that the soaper 
 came out along the passage and glanced up after them. 
 
 He went back, seeming satisfied. No tenant appeared on the 
 way up, except a sudden young man, who flung his door wide 
 open, said abruptly, "Oh, I beg your pardon," quite unreasonably, 
 and shut it again with a slam. 
 
 The door of the room Charles had entered by on his previous 
 visit was closed, and no answer came to his knock. He knocked 
 more than once. Verrinder evidently wasn't there. "I shall risk 
 trying the door, as we've come such a long way," said Charles; "he 
 may be asleep." But the door was locked. They pushed cards 
 tinder the door; then turned and went downstairs. 
 
 Charles went down in front. Jeff did not follow closely. "It's 
 no use stopping, Jeff," said Charles, "we must give it up and leave 
 a message." But Jeff hung back. "What's the rumpus, Jeff 2" said 
 Charles from below. 
 
 "Just come up here half-a-minute. It's rum! At least I can't 
 make it out." Charles went up again. The reason he was sum- 
 moned was that Jeff, as his eye came on the level with the keyhole, 
 saw that it was black; while he had noticed that light was coming 
 through the opening they had pushed the cards through. 
 
 "The key's in the lock," said Jeff. 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 "How did he lock the door when he went out ?" 
 
 "There's another lock." 
 
 "No, there isn't. He's in there still." 
 
 "Oh no! He came out by the other door there's a door to the 
 other room. Come along, Jeff! We'll mention it downstairs. De- 
 pend on it, Mr. Soapy knows. Come along!" But for all that 
 Charles remembers clearly that pictures were piled thick against
 
 258 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 that other door. It was from there Verrinder took the portrait of 
 Phyllis. 
 
 "Hain't you found him ?" says the soapy one, coming forth dry, 
 and pulling on an overcoat. He has been smartening for an 
 excursion, and must be utilised before he reaches the street door. 
 He means going, clearly. 
 
 "We haven't found him. And his door's locked inside. And 
 the key's in the door." 
 
 "S'pose he's out !" The speaker ignores the difficulties in the way 
 of this solution perhaps does not perceive them. "Amelia!" A 
 response comes from the basement. 
 
 "Mr. Verrinder's gone out, ain't he?" The maid-of -all-work 
 comes to the surface. 
 
 "He hasn't took in his milk nor yet the can nor yet I haven't 
 heard him." Then she ends up, as it strikes Charles, most incon- 
 secutively. "I shouldn't worrit, Mr. Tatnall, if I was you." But 
 she waits, wiping her hands on her apron. 
 
 Mr. Tatnall appears to be considering in fact to have for the 
 moment put aside his intention to go out. He seems to hope that 
 sucking his cheeks in and feeling for inspiration on their new- 
 shaved surfaces with his thumb and middle finger will lead to 
 results, but does not seem satisfied with what he gets. Presently he 
 half asks, half affirms : "He's been at his game again," the question- 
 ing half being addressed to Amelia, who in return says, "What did 
 I say to Missis?" 
 
 "What is Mr. Verrinder's game?" asked Charles. 
 
 "What did the 'Pothecary call it this time?" Thus Mr. Tatnall 
 to the servant, who still stands wiping her hands on her apron, and 
 seeming to pin her faith on it. 
 
 "Mr. Verrinder said go to the photograph shop. That's where I 
 got it." 
 
 "That's about it, gentlemen!" said Tatnall, beginning to move 
 away satisfied. "He stoopifies himself with chloroform. He'll 
 come round soon. You knock at his door again in a quarter of an 
 hour he'll answer to you. Give him a quarter of an hour." And 
 off goes Mr. Tatnall, more interested in his appointment than in his 
 top-tenant. 
 
 Charles and Jeff decide on giving him a quarter of an hour ; the 
 former very uneasy, remembering that Kavanagh had purchased his 
 cyanide of a photographer. They will take a walk round, and call 
 in again shortly. An inspiration seizes Amelia, and she takes her 
 hands from her apron to point through the open street-door. 
 
 "If you was to walk round by the Horspital and ask for Dr.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 259 
 
 Fludyer, he knows Mr. Verrinder." Her speech is full of elision 
 and implication, but it serves its turn. Charles quite understands, 
 and knows "the Hospital" is Bethlehem Hospital, or Bedlam. 
 
 Dr. Fludyer is easily attainable knows Verrinder had better 
 come round, and will be ready in a minute. 
 
 "Can a man kill himself with Chloroform ?" asks Charles, as they 
 walk briskly towards the house. 
 
 "He's only got to take enough of it." 
 
 When they arrive, Amelia has reblacked her hands, and has to 
 have a new wipe. They all go upstairs. This time the sudden 
 young man only peeps out discreetly and retires in silence. 
 
 They knock at the door again under tension. "He was there 
 last night," says Amelia, perhaps anticipating an enquiry. 
 
 "I'll take on myself to have the door broken open," says the 
 doctor, after a moment's consideration. "Unless there's another 
 way in." Charles remembers the lead-flat sunk in the roof, and 
 suggests the question of its attainability. There may be a trap- 
 door. Yes, it is slowly elicited that there is. Up them steps ; 'ooked 
 up to the ceilin'. Also that there is a young man has been out 
 on the roof many's the time and he may happen to be downstairs 
 now. Amelia goes to seek him though why it has been so difficult 
 to get at this trapdoor and this young man is not clear. However, 
 he comes with alacrity, is out on the leads and finds the window 
 unfastened, and gets through and opens the door in much less 
 time than it took to discover his existence. How the room smells of 
 chloroform ! 
 
 There are the remains of a scanty supper on the table or rather 
 what gives the impression that the supper was scanty. On a peg 
 on the half-open door of a cupboard Charles identifies the napless 
 hat and highly polished coat. A defective umbrella stands open 
 on its circumference to dry in a corner. Last night was drizzly. 
 He had come in wet, had eaten in his loneliness whatever two cold 
 chops off the neck and the balance of those cheerless potatoes repre- 
 sented; and had (so it is silently supposed) gone away to rest on 
 the other side of that closed door each hesitates to open, 
 either from doubt or certainty of what may be found on the other 
 side. 
 
 Dr. Fludyer acts first as he knew him best and goes into the 
 room; the others follow. The smell of chloroform gets stronger. 
 The bed is occupied. The doctor, going first, turns down the cover- 
 lid, which has all the appearance of being pulled tight, for com- 
 fort, round the back of the nightcapped head. He takes hold of the 
 ehoulder, and shakes the motionless figure. But it remains stiff
 
 260 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 and unresponsive. It will never respond to human touch again. 
 Whatever its occupant's story on this earth was, it is over 
 now. 
 
 But he must have become insensible, and died, one might almost 
 say, in comfort. The figure is in the attitude that most courts 
 e l ee p a perfect pre-arrangement for a long night's rest. Tho 
 only evil feature is the towel pressed close round the mouth and 
 nose, and firmly held in front with both hands. He had poured 
 the chloroform on it, and so lay down to sleep. "Yes," said Dr. 
 Fludyer, as he removed it, "he did this every night; at least every 
 night when he couldn't sleep without it most nights, I fancy. 
 This time he took more than he reckoned on. About twelve hours 
 ago ! . . . What ? . . . Oh no ! nothing to be done. Stone-dead." 
 
 The three men and the girl go back into the sitting-room without 
 a word, closing the door very gently. All are white but the doctor ; 
 the girl is ashy white. Of course it is all in the doctor's line, he is 
 merely grave to hurt nobody's feelings. In this case it is doubt- 
 ful if there is any one to hurt. "I will see to all there is to be 
 done," he says; "there is no immediate hurry. Did you two gentle- 
 men know poor Verrinder well ?" Charles tells in the fewest words 
 how very little he has known of him, and ends by volunteering to 
 be of any use. 
 
 "There is nothing to be done that I cannot do," says Dr. Flud- 
 yer; "unless you know of any of his relations? He assured me 
 that he was absolutely alone in the world, except for the one person 
 through whom I happened to know him. A patient over at the 
 Hospital." He nods out at the window, towards the dome of the 
 madhouse. He speaks with reticence, and Charles does not like to 
 press enquiry. His acquaintance with the dead man had been so 
 slight. He repeats that he has told everything he knows of him, 
 and feels that he and Jeff have no reason for remaining; may even 
 be de trop. But the doctor continues speaking of him: 
 
 "I knew him fairly well poor chap ! So far as any one could 
 know him. But he was very reserved. I don't think he was really 
 so poor as he seemed but he would not spend anything on himself. 
 Once he said to me that he was putting by money in case he should 
 ever have a home again." The doctor had followed Charles's 
 glance round the bare apartment. 
 
 "Will there be an inquest?" said Charles. 
 
 "I think probably not. I don't think you need anticipate being 
 bothered about that." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of the trouble." 
 
 "Well, anyhow, I think there won't. I shall make an autopsy <
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 261 
 
 there's sure to be fatty heart or something of the sort. The dose 
 of chloroform I allowed him could not have killed a healthy man." 
 
 "How do you know he didn't exceed it ?" 
 
 "I don't know he may have done so. I could only give him 
 directions and trust to his doing as I told him. I'm afraid when 
 there's a craving for anesthetics, promises are worth very little." 
 
 "He didn't kill himself, I suppose ?" said Charles, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Intentionally ? Oh no oh dear, no ! He only did what he may 
 have done fifty times before, for anything I know. He overdid 
 the dose, and this time the heart-complaint met it half-way. You 
 say you met him at the Royal Academy Schools? He was talking 
 about them to me a little while ago said one of the young men 
 had given him three tubes of colour seemed very much pleased 
 about it." 
 
 "I recollect. One of the chaps did. I recollect his talking about 
 his old box of colours, and how there were some old bladders in it 
 that he said had belonged to Reynolds." 
 
 "Oh yes ! I've seen that. It's under that bookcase. I daresay 
 you feel curious to look at it." 
 
 It was pulled out and placed on the table, near the potato desola- 
 tion. Charles opened it, and felt in touch with an earlier world. 
 Fifty years or more ago an artist, who must have known these 
 colours were authentic, had given this box to a young man full 
 of hope, longing for and believing in his use of it in the future. It 
 was all past now, future and all, and the years had borne no fruit; 
 and the heart that had beaten so high, that long half -century ago, 
 was dead at last. The colour-tubes in the tray were hard, and the 
 dippers clogged with dried heeltaps of oil and varnish. The badger 
 softener was indurated and awry, and the blade of the palette- 
 knife had a waist. Charles felt curious to see one of the little 
 bladders of which he had heard, if one remained, and, seeing none 
 above the tray, lifted it to search. Underneath lay a letter. Dr. 
 Fludyer was giving some direction to the servant. 
 
 "Here's a letter directed to you, doctor." Charles handed it to 
 him as he spoke. He felt it was time for him and Jeff to be going. 
 To stay on would be like waiting to hear the contents of the letter. 
 Charles closed the box, and prepared to go. Dr. Fludyer merely 
 looked at the direction and slipped the letter in his pocket. 
 "I expected this," he said, "but it was an odd place to hide 
 it away in. Very lucky! Will you two gentlemen leave me 
 your names and addresses? I ought to be off too. They want 
 me round there. I shall come back in an hour or so." Charles 
 said, as he handed him his card, he would come over in a day or
 
 262 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 two to hear the results of the post-mortem. But the doctor replied, 
 "Don't come I'll write!" and they said good-bye and went down- 
 stairs. 
 
 The perverse young man put his head out again, and said, "Is 
 it from Nesbitt's?" and begged more pardon when he heard it 
 wasn't. As they reached the street-door a latch-key clicked in it, 
 and Mr. Tatnall entered. The appointment had involved beer, 
 manifestly! His depression and sallowness had disappeared to- 
 gether. Charles felt disinclined to be his informant about his 
 tenant's death, or doleful changes to ring in any form ; feeling that 
 really Mr. Tatnall would have to pretend solemnity and be hypo- 
 critical, and the clash would be too great. The beer however 
 asserted itself, and told its human bottle to say, jocularly: "Hain't 
 he slept it off yet? Won't you give him another quarter of an 
 hour?" 
 
 "Shall we, Charley? Would it be any use?" 
 
 "Not a bit of use. Come along!" 
 
 And they went away, leaving Mr. Tatnall to hear the news from 
 Amelia, or otherwise, as might happen.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 HOW ALICE KNEW ALL ABOUT IT. ALICE'S RING AND THE JEWELS 
 THEREON. MISS STRAKER^S LONG LETTER, WHICH CHARLES DID NOT 
 READ TO HIS FATHER. BUT HOW ABOUT EXETER HALL ? OP SCRUNCHY 
 DAYS AND SQUASHY DAYS. HOW PEOPLE TALK. WAS CHARLES PER- 
 HAPS UNFAIR, AFTER ALL? 
 
 CHARLES was looking no doubt very miserable and depressed 
 when he went to see his family the evening after this. He did not 
 know how far the whole story of himself and Miss Straker had be- 
 come public property, but he had an uneasy sense that he was being 
 treated considerately, and this made him uncomfortable. As he had 
 quite made up his mind that the whole thing had come to an end, 
 it would have pleased him best that it should never have been 
 known to have existed it would have been comfortabler that even 
 Peggy should have been in ignorance of it. But he could not find 
 out how far the event had taken substantial form in the eyes of his 
 family. As often happens after any exciting occurrence, it was 
 not easy to recall exactly what had passed and in what order of 
 events, and to assign to each recollection its own proper import- 
 ance. It certainly seemed to him this evening that there was a dis- 
 position to treat him as the killed and wounded after a battle, 
 physically as well as spiritually; the former tendency showing 
 itself in concessions of the most comfortable chairs or sofa- 
 cushions, or the best place in front of the fire, or having a fresh 
 brew of tea made instead of letting him drink that horrid black 
 stuff; while the latter took the form of an almost flamboyant 
 silence about love-affairs and engagements, and indeed young 
 ladies in general they being the true gist of such matters but 
 Miss Straker in particular. 
 
 This atmosphere of Red-Cross effort on Charles's behalf in- 
 creased if anything at dinner, later in the evening. There was no 
 company ; therefore the presence of Champagne had to be accounted 
 for. Charles perceived in it not only a benevolence towards him- 
 self, as one prostrated by the strain of trying experiences, but also 
 an element of Bacchanalian rejoicing at a fortunate delivery from 
 a regrettable embarrassment. He was grateful for tke former not 
 
 263
 
 264 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 for the latter. Nobody (unless it was his father) had been in his 
 confidence, and he would have appreciated a more vigorous ignoring 
 of the whole thing. He could not shake free from the idea that 
 Archibald wanted to wink at him, and say "Well out of that 
 scrape, Charley, old chap !" that Robin wanted to offer some form 
 of congratulation, but that if he did speak he would take refuge 
 in some inapt abstraction; for example: "It's always something 
 of that sort," or "There's nothing like making one's mind up," or 
 even "You can't help things happening, don't you know!" He 
 felt perfectly certain that if informed of the Park incident, his 
 brothers would discern in it a fishy start, and that Ellen was simply 
 longing to break out against Miss Straker. As for the boys, they 
 were at school, and although he paid Alice a visit in Mrs. Part- 
 ridge's dominions (where she continued to live either because Mrs. 
 Partridge didn't want to give her up, or from mere normal con- 
 tinuance), he said nothing to her about Miss Straker. She is still 
 so very young, thought he to himself. 
 
 But the truth is Alice was old enough to understand a great deal 
 about it; little girls always do. Our own opinion is that the 
 younger they are the more they know, and that inexperience comes 
 on them unawares between childhood and womanhood. The fact 
 is, Alice had catechised Peggy, and acquired a compendious insight 
 into the plot of the story. Charles had been very fond of Miss 
 Straker; ever so fond as fond as that indicated by palms held 
 far apart and Miss Straker was naughty, and Charles was sorry. 
 That was all, and was clear. He may have suspected that the 
 pathetic blue eyes behind his little protegee's rough hair were 
 brimming over with pity for Mr. Charley, and that she was quite 
 at a loss how to console him. She could sit on his knee, however 
 even under the circumstances in which he found her this evening, 
 just retiring for the night; and Alice was very nice in a suitable 
 costume, and it was possible to criticise her toes. Charles thought, 
 as he always did about Alice, what a good day's work he did 
 that day he put her in a hansom and brought her home to the 
 Gardens. 
 
 He had said but little to Peggy before dinner about Lavinia. 
 Peggy had not been to see her yet, but would do so if she got an 
 encouraging answer to a letter she had written two evenings back. 
 None had come so far. Their long talk had been about Verrinder, 
 and the end of Charles's fruitless excursion to see him. Peggy 
 was much concerned at his untimely death untimely in the sense 
 that it took away the last chance known to them of throwing light 
 on No. 40. Charles must find out about what would be done with
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 265 
 
 his pictures, and try to buy that one of Phyllis Cartwright. They 
 had just been talking about the ring and the ghost, or rather 
 ghosts, when Charles's attention was caught by something in the 
 next room, and Peggy did not succeed in recalling it till dinner was 
 announced. 
 
 "Now let's look at the ring!" said she to Charles, when the 
 latter came into the drawing-room after smoking time that is, 
 after his smoking time; for the others remained behind. Any 
 abnormal action of his was put down to his recent love-affair, and 
 his abrupt withdrawal after smoking one cigarette was nodded 
 over, and said, hm! or ah! about, as by sagacity that could quite 
 pierce the meaning of that. Sagacity may have been right this 
 far, that he did go upstairs expecting, or hoping, to find a letter 
 had reached Peggy. But the post had not yet come. 
 
 "Yes ! It's always fun guessing over mysteries," said he. For 
 Peggy had been propounding an idea that the names of the 
 stones on the ring or their initials formed some sort of posy, or 
 anagram, that might afford a clue to work upon. "Let's have a 
 look at the ring. There's the post!" . . . 
 
 "No it's not. That's Rupert. He's only come for a short time 
 though, as he has to get back to a patient. Now, look here ! You 
 know that ring of Aunt Sarah's, with ruby, emerald, garnet, ame- 
 thyst, ruby, diamond all the initials spell regard, which was, I 
 suppose, the sentiment our great-grandfathers felt for our great- 
 grandmothers " 
 
 "It sounds chilly, nowadays! Let's look at this ring the same 
 way. The emerald's the biggest. It ought to begin there. What's 
 the next one?" 
 
 "Amethyst, silly boy ! Call yourself an Artist and not know an 
 Amethyst when you see one. Come here and help, Rupert ! That's 
 a ruby, comes next. Well! That spells ear; emerald, amethyst, 
 ruby. That's a pearl comes next. I suppose you know a pearl 
 when you see it?" . . . 
 
 "Why didn't you take the diamond for the initial ?" asks Rupert ; 
 "that would make dear; there would be some sense in that." 
 
 "To be sure! Sharp boy, go to the top of the class. Then 
 another emerald. Then a sapphire. Then what's this? a topaz. 
 'Dearest !' Well done us ! And the next letter's P. I say, Charley, 
 darling, it's going to be Phyllis." 
 
 "There's no reason, remember, why it should be Phyllis merely, 
 because there was once a person of that name at the house." 
 
 "I know dear prosy old boy ! But there's no reason we shouldn't
 
 266 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 make it Phyllis, if we can. What's this next stone?" But alas! 
 Nobody knew. It was a red-brown stone, followed by a deep blue 
 opaque one. Then an opaque yellowish white one. Then another 
 sapphire. 
 
 "How disappointing!" said Peggy. "You see, even if we got 
 the letters we want, there's not enough of them. We've only five 
 and we want seven. There is the post !" And Peggy put the ring 
 back on her finger, and it wasn't examined again for many many 
 years. 
 
 For, even as she drew the ring on, a letter was being brought up- 
 stairs that was to make a difference, and a great one, in the lives of 
 both. "It's her handwriting," said Charles, affecting Stoicism. 
 The moment he saw the letter he began thinking about believing he 
 had done Miss Straker an injustice. Her not writing had fortified 
 him. If she had not told him a lie, how simple to write and say 
 so. He had not been able to see, as Peggy did, that his own letter 
 was one that keen resentment and sense of undeserved wrong 
 might leave unanswered just as much as conscious guilt. He had 
 taken the letters from the servant to pass on to his sister; but she 
 left Miss Straker's in his hand, to open himself, if he liked. He 
 continued to practise Stoicism, and laid it on the sofa, between 
 them. 
 
 "Well Charley?" 
 
 "I know there can be nothing satisfactory in it " 
 
 "Then I suppose I must open it. What a goose you are, Master 
 Charley! Isn't he now, Rupert?" Rupert gave an amused nod of 
 assent. "Now let's have the letter," said he. 
 
 It was a three-sheet letter, and Peggy became absorbed and atten- 
 tive. Charles carried his affectation of stoical indifference the 
 length of taking the opportunity of telling Dr. Johnson all about 
 Verrinder. It cost him a visible effort, but he may have been satis- 
 fied with his performance. 
 
 "You're always coming in at the death, Charley," said Johnson. 
 "I know Fludyer. Man with a complete set of artificial teeth. Met 
 him on a very interesting mental case male patient thought he 
 was his own aunt, and was always boning her caps and bon- 
 nets " 
 
 "You've always got some rum new mental case, Paracelsus 
 
 "Well! It's a subject I've always had a hankering for. I do get 
 a good deal of practice that way, somehow. I've had charge of any 
 number of loonies " 
 
 "And now you've got a whole family on your hands !" This was 
 who continued "Now don't disturb me. I'm reading."
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 267 
 
 Which was most unfair, as no one had invited her into the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Verrinder died of the Chloroform, of course. But Fludyer will 
 find enough fatty heart to certificate on. He'll deserve the grati- 
 tude of an overworked coroner. Besides, if he doesn't, they'll 
 be down on him for allowing a patient to have so much Chloroform. 
 You didn't get any more out of him about Verrinder did you? 
 Who was the patient in the Hospital ?" 
 
 "I think he didn't want to tell me. He might tell you 
 perhaps." 
 
 "They are reticent about this sort of case, naturally. I'll remem- 
 ber to ask about him. If we talk about Verrinder, he's pretty sure 
 to mention him, and then it will come easy." 
 
 Peggy got to the end of the letter, and said, "Is that all? Stop 
 a minute!" Then she harked back, reperused, harked back again; 
 then folded the letter abruptly. 
 
 "Don't read it now, Charley, if I let you have it." Charles 
 promised. "Read it quietly by yourself, and think it well over." 
 He put it in his pocket, and then left the room. He had said he 
 would smoke a pipe in his father's room late, and have a quiet chat. 
 Mr. Heath Senior had gone away from the party in the front room, 
 a few minutes ago. 
 
 "I hope I've done right," said Peggy to Johnson, when the door 
 closed. 
 
 "Are you afraid of a recurrence of symptoms? I'm not. I be- 
 lieve he is, as he said, disillusioned. However, I don't know what's 
 in the letter, of course." 
 
 Charles and his father settled down to a really comfortable chat ; 
 one which ignores bed, and is conscious of toddy and lemons and a 
 full coal-scuttle. "We'll turn off the gas here, Phillimore," re- 
 leases that prime-minister. And nothing remains but to inaugu- 
 rate the conversation each anticipates, and both fight shy of, after 
 a very elaborate arrangement of preliminaries. 
 
 "We've quarrelled with our sweetheart, I understand? Hey, 
 Charley boy?" Charles gives a shrug, which means nothing, but 
 acknowledges that the Bill has been brought up for consideration. 
 The old boy procures a reprieve of a moment or two in connection 
 with choice of lumps of sugar for toddy, and then says vaguely: 
 "Sweethearts? Sweethearts is it? Well, we're all mighty fine 
 people ! Now tell us all about it," and leans back in his arm-chair, 
 a listener with closed eyes. 
 
 Charles remembered that his father had had no official informa-
 
 268 'ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 tion about anything that had happened since they last conversed 
 on the subject. Since then the actual sequence of events was, that, 
 tinder the influence of a letter from Miss Straker (which had 
 jumped to the conclusion that what was no more than a well- 
 advanced flirtation gave her a right to anticipate a decisive decla- 
 ration), he had hurried on to an eclair cissement, and become the 
 declared lover of the young lady, with no more knowledge of her 
 character and antecedents than we have been able to communicate 
 to the reader of this narrative; probably with less, for we (and 
 you) are under no tender influence from either a profile or an 
 eyelid, and the wonderful soprano is only a hearsay to us. That 
 then he had, as he thought, identified her beyond a shadow of 
 doubt as having been in Regents Park under circumstances that 
 seemed to him inexplicable, at the very time that she assured 
 him she was waiting at Exeter Hall door to hear The Messiah. 
 That thereon he had written putting an end to all relations between 
 them, and had had no answer. That Peggy had thought him wrong 
 and hasty, and had written to Miss Straker. That he had the 
 reply to her letter in his pocket, unread. All these things Charles 
 now told his father, and ended by saying that yes, certainly, now 
 it was all over between them. 
 
 "Unless indeed," he added, "this letter contains what I expect 
 it cannot and will not contain a complete explanation of the 
 Park business, and her lie (because it was a lie!) about Exeter 
 Hall." He touched his pocket with an implication in the action 
 that the letter would remain there for private perusal later on. His 
 father seemed quite to accept this as natural and just, and pre- 
 ferred no request to see it. 
 
 Perhaps Charley himself felt he could more easily wait to know 
 its contents, because he wished to establish justification in his 
 father's eyes on the materials of the status-quo. He wanted his 
 position to be logical from existing data, and if the letter should 
 contain disturbing new elements, to have time to think them 
 over before acting on them, or committing himself. The thought 
 was not clearly outlined, only hazy. 
 
 "I cannot see," said he in conclusion, "that I should be doing 
 Miss Straker any good by attempting to renew a relation that I 
 feel has been destroyed. If I could conceive any possible explana- 
 tion ..." He paused. 
 
 The half-closed eyes of his listener opened somewhat and 
 turned round towards him. "Charley boy," said he, "you've been a 
 fool ! You've been a fool all along. The best thing you can do now 
 is to put this girl out of your head and attend to your work. Go
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 239 
 
 away to some of these foreign places Italy Rome and study 
 the Fine Arts there. Miss Straker won't break her heart about 
 you not she !" 
 
 Charles flushed perceptibly. He wasn't quite so cool yet that he 
 could bear to hear her spoken of slightingly by any one but himself. 
 His father continued : "Quite right to look indignant ! But she 
 won't, for all that ! You go to Italy and Rome you needn't 
 stick about the money. Besides, if I wasn't here to pay the bills, 
 there's a lot of money of your Aunt Grace's that will come to you. 
 Just you think about it!" 
 
 Charles didn't think the suggestion at all an unpleasant one, 
 but he didn't like being told he was a fool. He knew he was, but 
 would have preferred to be complimented for his wisdom in know- 
 ing it. Feeling he hadn't much to say in self-defence, he pulled 
 away at his pipe till its extinction, and waited on until his father 
 came to the end of his cigar, without saying anything. The cigar 
 went on to its extremest end, the smoker resorting to a penknife 
 point to hold it when it scorched his fingers. As he closed the pen- 
 knife he turned to his son, and said: "Ah, well! We're not all of 
 us as wise as we might be. You know why your aunt left you that 
 money, Charley?" 
 
 "Because she was sure I should never make anything by my pro- 
 fession. Perhaps I shan't." Charles felt quite hopeful though, in 
 his heart, for all that. Little he knew of the days that were to 
 come, when men then scoring by annual thousands were to live in 
 dread of bankruptcy. He was in some mysterious way to be 
 lucky, said Hope. However, it was satisfactory to think that his 
 aunt had left him two , hundred a year. He felt hurt that she 
 should have insulted him in her will. "Because he will never do 
 anything as an artist" was the reason asigned for a life interest 
 in five thousand pounds ; he wasn't to be trusted with the principal, 
 perhaps wisely. 
 
 "It won't do to marry on, my boy. However, I don't believe you 
 would marry without my consent and your mother's, and of course 
 if we liked your wife we should help you. I'm very glad you are 
 off with Miss Stretcher what's her name ? because so far as I can 
 see neither your mother nor I should have liked her. By the bye, 
 how long had you known her altogether? Three months?" 
 
 Charles didn't answer, but raised the question of bedroom can- 
 dlesticks. 
 
 He was a bit cowardly about reading the letter, but when he 
 found himself alone in the bedroom, still reserved for him as a
 
 270 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 resource against the severities of Bohemia, he had no further 
 excuse for not reading it. He opened it and read as follows : 
 
 "DEAR Miss HEATH : 
 
 "I will write to you, but not to your brother he has treated 
 me cruelly oh, cruelly! and I will not see nor speak to him 
 again " 
 
 Charles was not prepared for such Prussian tactics. He wished 
 to monopolise the position of the initiator the injured person who 
 had a right to resentment. The letter went on on lines identical 
 with those suggested by Georgie Arrowsmith. 
 
 "But I forgive him. It is not because my own feelings towards 
 him have changed or could ever change, that I write this. It is 
 because I see now that he does not love me that he has never 
 loved me. Happiness could never have been ours, even if the great 
 social obstacles between us could have been overcome. I cannot 
 bring myself to think that these have had any share in his hasty 
 and unfeeling conduct for I will call it no worse than that 
 Oh no ! He is too good and generous that can never have influ- 
 enced him!" 
 
 Charles's conscience wriggled uneasily; now (upon his honour) 
 was he positively certain he had never said to himself that at any 
 rate if he did lose Lavinia there would be peace and quiet, and 
 not a beastly bobbery? No! His conscience absolved him of that. 
 But as to whether he had felt a little released from a goblin 
 mother-in-law well! it would give him the benefit of the doubt; 
 bring in the verdict not proven. He was rather glad to get on 
 to the substance of the explanation: 
 
 "I have nothing to conceal about the circumstances which your 
 letter tells me was the provocation to all this cruelty and unkind- 
 ness. I will write it all without reserve, for I know I am safe in 
 your hands, but I do not say allow (Charles erased) Mr. Heath to 
 read it. Still, do as you think best! I say this because I do not 
 wish him to reproach himself, and he cannot but do so when he 
 knows the innocent cause of my presence in the Park at that late 
 hour! I will tell you everything, as I would have told him 
 indeed I would had he asked me. 
 
 "Our great trouble I mean me and my mother is my poor 
 father." Charles stopped abruptly, let the letter fall on his knees, 
 while he stroked his beard. His mouth thought of giving a whistle, 
 but decided not to. "Why! she said he was dead," said he, to 
 empty space. However, he went on with the letter : "He is of un- 
 sound mind, and we have to live apart from him. But he follows
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 271 
 
 us about. I cannot in a letter tell the whole story. But we left 
 Paris through him, and he followed us to London. He does not 
 know where we are living. I must tell you he does not seem insane, 
 but it is impossible for my mother and myself to live with him." 
 
 Charles paused, considered and decided that it was excusable to 
 call the father dead, under the circumstances. He was softening, 
 but this did not make him suspect himself. He read on: 
 
 "On that evening I caught sight of him coming from a coffee- 
 shop near the Chalk Farm Tavern. I did not know he had come to 
 London, but I knew if he saw me he would follow me home. He 
 was disputing with a cabman about the fare. I walked away 
 towards Primrose Hill, and when I reached the gate, saw he was 
 following. I went as quick as I could across the Hill and got to 
 the Park gate near the Gymnasium. They were just closing, but 
 I got through and I thought most likely he would not, and after 
 running a little more I walked slower to recover breath. I was 
 afraid to go towards where we lived for fear he should follow. So 
 I went the other way. Half-across I saw Mr. Heath in front, and 
 did not want to overtake him. All the same I felt safer, seeing 
 him"; (Charles softened perceptibly at this point) "just before 
 we reached the gate I heard a step behind and then saw my father 
 had got through and was still following. I hung a little back 
 to make sure Mr. Heath was through the gate, and then asked the 
 gate-keeper to send the man, who was following, the wrong way, if 
 he should ask which way I went. He was good-natured and said 
 yes. All this while your brother must have seen me, and thought 
 it might be me. But he was in the shadow and I thought he had 
 gone on. When I got home, going round, I was glad but I am 
 afraid now that any time my father may find out where we are. 
 
 "Dear Miss Heath, if you feel inclined to blame me, for all this 
 plotting and scheming, think what it must be to be followed by a 
 father who has before now threatened the life of both your mother 1 
 and yourself. Of course she and I both know it is his head that 
 is affected but he seems so sane that every one else is mis- 
 led. . . ." 
 
 "But how about Exeter Hall ?" said Charles to himself. He went 
 on reading the letter, which dwelt on how the writer had all but 
 taken him into her confidence next day how she reproached her- 
 self now for not having done so. But only let Peggy think what 
 is meant by the existence of insanity in any family what the 
 effects of its publication are! Was she wrong in this conceal- 
 ment? Perhaps she was. But she never intended to prolong it. 
 And then things had followed on so suddenly ! She really had been
 
 272 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 taken by surprise. But the fact was, that had it not been for her 
 mother, she would have told everything, and made no reserves. 
 "But how about Exeter Hall?" thought Charles again. Was that 
 the whole of the letter ? No here was a postscript overleaf. 
 
 "P. S. : As to what you say about Exeter Hall, I am completely 
 puzzled. I am sure that Mr. Heath mistook something I said. 
 But I cannot make out what. I waited with a friend at the 
 Egyptian Hall two nights before. I can recollect nothing else it 
 could have been." 
 
 That was all ! Charles read it through again, and yet again. Its 
 first effect upon him was to increase the exasperation he felt against 
 the attitude of his family. He found himself resolving that he 
 would give it hot to that young monkey Joan, if she let him have 
 any more of her nonsense. He chose to regard this resolve as in. 
 quite another department of his mind, and having no connection 
 with the letter. Probably it was the thin end of a wedge, which 
 was well in and working forward by the time he re-enveloped the 
 letter, and was at liberty to pretend he was not going to allow 
 himself to be influenced by it. It was a wedge that went con- 
 tinually forwards, never slacked back in the least; it was easy to 
 foresee that at its thick end Miss Straker would be acquitted. But 
 before coming to that point it stuck once or twice mainly over 
 Exeter Hall. Charles began the series of reflections that ended 
 in a sound sleep with an unalterable certainty that it was Exeter 
 Hall and last night not the Egyptian Hall and the night before 
 last. The certainty was relaxing to a concession that it must have 
 been the night before last, and he must have been mistaken, when 
 oblivion ensued. Next morning this concession was recalled, but 
 with a feeling that some protest ought to have been made as a 
 set-off. So he decided that perhaps it was the Egyptian Hall, after 
 all. But it wasn't the night before last oh dear, no ! 
 
 It is so easy to remember any number if you can only remember 
 not to recollect any other numbers at the same time. But woe 
 be to you if you once begin to speculate about whether it was a 
 two or a three! 
 
 Charles had got himself so muddled over it by the time he got 
 down to breakfast, and found Peggy the only arrival, that he feebly 
 said when they began to speak about it: "Let me see! Was it 
 Exeter Hall I was so certain it was, or the Egyptian Hall? Oh 
 yes, it was Exeter Hall, of course." And he really felt comforted 
 when Peggy assured him this was the case. She kept back a con- 
 viction that Charley was being unfair to Lavinia on the strength
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 2Y3 
 
 of a very shaky memory; and she didn't say "Miss Straker" in 
 her mind, foreseeing that she might turn out Lavinia after all! 
 But she wasn't going to say anything to influence him one way or 
 the other thought she wasn't, anyhow ! Each felt that the past 
 night had had a softening effect, and that now what they had to 
 talk about was not so much whether excuse could be found for 
 Miss Straker as how they could make amends to her for the amount 
 of injustice done, whatever it was, without plunging into too great 
 an extreme of reinstatement. Peggy's sense of justice was strug- 
 gling against the dread of taking the responsibility of throwing the 
 lovers into one another's arms again. 
 
 "You know, Charley," said she, "I do feel that the whole busi- 
 ness was too hasty too much like the way people make love on the 
 stage." 
 
 "Or mistakes off it isn't that what you mean, Poggy-Wog ? In 
 fact, you consider your brother a pig-headed goose?" 
 
 "That's it, dear! You put it beautifully. You see, I can't help 
 feeling (you won't be angry, dear, if I say it? Promise!) feel- 
 ing glad it's all over, because I do think Lavinia may be right, and 
 that you never really really did care about her. At least, not 
 as much as you thought." She is getting her ship into all sorts 
 of shoals and troubled waters, and knows it. But the need of find- 
 ing some way of making up for injustice goads her on "So I 
 can't pretend I should be glad for your sake that it should all come 
 on again. In fact, I do think, Charley dear, that you and Lavinia 
 are better apart." She said "Lavinia" feeling that a harshness 
 might be safely softened it was a mistake. Besides, the idea of 
 being asunder is fraught with the idea of coming together, and in 
 our opinion Charles was not in a state of mind to be trusted with 
 it. "All the same it seems unkind to to believe we were mis- 
 taken don't you see? and not to to " Peggy felt the 
 
 waters very unsafe indeed ; wished she was out of them. She had to 
 pretend to arrange Charley's beard and moustache for him, in- 
 stead of finishing the sentence. He did it for her. 
 
 "And not to go and tell her we think it's all explained and 
 we're very sorry for everything, but that for other reasons real 
 good ones this time I would on the whole rather not marry 
 her." 
 
 "Oh, Charley dear how can you be so nonsensical?" 
 
 "How would you put it then, Peggy?" But Peggy couldn't tell. 
 Charles cut the Gordian Knot. 
 
 "The question is simply whether the story is true. If it were 
 true, Miss Straker would be to me all she was before, and I should
 
 274 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 be thoroughly ashamed of myself for my hastiness, and should go 
 at once and ask her to forgive and take me back. But is it true ?" 
 
 Peggy had been so nearly wrecked before that she took refuge in 
 silence. "We must confess to being unable to see what she ought 
 to have said. She felt very doubtful if it wasn't cowardly to leave 
 Charles to think she thought it false, and might have found some- 
 thing to say, in time, but an eruption of fastbreakers stopped the 
 colloquy. 
 
 Alice, in the natural course of her identification with the family, 
 had become an established incident at breakfast. "The boys" had 
 been the main agents in bringing this about, and had in conse- 
 quence become very unpopular with Mrs. Partridge. We are sorry 
 to say that Dan, the youngest, had denounced that old retainer as 
 wanting Alice all to her beastly old self. This was, however, in 
 secret communion with his brother. He and Ellen took the place, 
 in the Heath family, that Nihilists, Doukhobors, Agnostics, Turks, 
 Heretics, and Infidels generally hold in the Human family. Usu- 
 ally the espousal of any cause by Jack and Ellen was enough to 
 ensure its condemnation and opposition by their seniors. But 
 occasionally a case occurred that was ower good for banning and 
 ower bad if not for blessing at least for spontaneous encourage- 
 ment. Such a one was Jack and Ellen's demand that Alice, who 
 had merged in the family meals in Devonshire, should continue to 
 do so in London, so far as breakfast was concerned at least. Alice 
 was really welcome everywhere, but the elders felt it a duty to 
 sustain her nondescript position somehow; hence she may be said 
 to have slowly become a member of the family under protest. 
 
 On the occasion in hand, Alice was among the earliest of the 
 fastbreakers at Hyde Park Gardens. All were rather early this 
 morning, as Mr. Heath Senior, having shaved (as aforesaid) over- 
 night, meant to get to the city at ten. Hence Peggy's interview 
 with Charles had been cut short. Let us try to hear as much of 
 the conversation as we can through the rattle of knives and forks, 
 and mere demands for more milk, less milk, one more lump, and so 
 on, that drown and interrupt. 
 
 "Of course you may have scrunchy toast if you like, Alice dear. 
 Why isn't Alice to have scrunchy toast, Ellen?" 
 
 "Because little girls ought to be consistent. Alice said yester- 
 day (No ! I'm not a tyrant any more than everybody else is) that 
 she liked thick toast, light brown all over, and now she wants it 
 thin and hard and the black scraped off " 
 
 "Of courth I do! Because yethterday was Thurthday " 
 
 Thus Alice, implying that some scheme for the better organisation
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 275 
 
 of life has to be observed. Peggy enquired, "Why thick toast, 
 slightly browned, on Thursday?" 
 
 "Because Thurthday is a thquashy day, like Monday. All the 
 others are scranchey and crickly, except Thaturday." 
 
 "Now, Peggy, isn't that ridiculous? As if Wednesday wasn't a 
 lot squashier than Monday." But this view of Joan's is com- 
 bated by Charles, who takes Alice's part. 
 
 "Alice is quite right. Thursday and Monday are soft and 
 squashy, with no crust. The others are crusty; only Saturday is 
 doubtful. She's perfectly right, so come now, Joan!" But Jump- 
 ing Joan is not a young person who can be contradicted with 
 impunity. She rounds on Charles with the spring of a panther. 
 
 "I should like to know what Miss Straker would say to that !" 
 On which Miss Petherington says with a chilling hint of remote- 
 ness from the conversation in her tone, "I think, Ellen, you had 
 better eat your breakfast." And Mrs. Heath, who has accrued, and 
 is abounding spaciously behind the urn, enquires once for all, 
 "Ellen, am I, or am I not, your mother ?" 
 
 "Suppose you write and ask Miss Straker, Joan?" says Charles 
 himself, good-humoured and unmoved. He is really fond of this 
 demonstrative little sister of his, and usually very much amused at 
 the way she hits out all round, and adjusts the universe : "Because 
 I could take the letter, you know." Mrs. Heath's attention is 
 aroused. 
 
 "I think, my dear Charles, but I know I shall be set aside, I 
 should have a right to be told when Miss Straker is to be asked, 
 and what she is to be asked to. But do not consider me!" 
 
 "You don't understand, Mamma dear! It's not an invitation 
 let's see, what was it she was to be asked?" For Peggy, who says 
 this, has been quite bewildered by the rapidities of the conver- 
 sation. Alice cuts in with a real desire to clear up obscurities, and 
 place things on a proper footing. 
 
 "Miss Straker is to be athked if Thurthday and Monday aren't 
 squashy, and other days crusty " 
 
 "All but Saturday, doubtful!" says Charles. And Alice repeats 
 after him, "All but Thaturday, doubtful!" Her eyes gleam with 
 earnestness, and her small face is serious without trace of a smile. 
 The company feel a wish to kiss her; but it's breakfast, so they 
 can't. Mrs. Heath either ignores the triviality, or does not see the 
 gist, of the conversation, and says freezingly, "At any rate we 
 have no day free till Wednesday. And I beg that no arrange- 
 ments may be made without my knowledge and sanction." 
 
 "Mamma dear indeed nobody's making any arrangements it's
 
 276 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 all a mistake! Nobody's* being asked anywhere, etc., etc." This 
 was a sort of joint-stock remark, joined in by several. Now Mrs. 
 Heath was not so unobservant and stupid as might seem for con- 
 currently with this discussion there had been another among the 
 males, rather loud and absolutely incomprehensible to bystanders. 
 Here is a chance sample: 
 
 "It's Slack's business not mine. You must write at once 
 the moment we get to the office." 
 
 "What am I to say? I don't even know if it was her own 
 niece " 
 
 "It's no concern of ours, anyhow! If it had been properly 
 packed, it would have been eatable enough. What could possess 
 Slack to shout so loud, I can't imagine!" . . . And so on. We 
 merely give a fragment. As this and much more cross-countered 
 continually with the dialogue about Alice's squashy days, Mrs. 
 Heath had good excuse for misunderstanding. But she had none 
 for rejecting all explanations, and adhering to a false conception 
 on its own merits, while admitting tacitly that it had no founda- 
 tion in fact. 
 
 "I may be right, or I may be wrong, my dear Margaret. I am 
 accustomed to be corrected. But I do say, and I will say, that I 
 ought not to be asked to receive Miss Straker. The Kemp-Brownes 
 are a different thing. There has been no occurrence there of any 
 sort or kind." Charles has been getting more and more nettled at 
 the semi-allusions to himself and Miss Straker, and at this point 
 the worm turns. 
 
 "Am I asked to the Kemp-Brownes', Poggy- Woggy ?" says he in 
 semi-sotto-voce across the table. 
 
 "Oh yes, Charley dear, you're asked." Peggy looked at him 
 apprehensively nearly asked him not to be a goose. 
 
 "I shall go to the Kemp-Brownes'!" he said; "I don't see any 
 reason why I shouldn't go to the Kemp-Brownes', and I shall go." 
 
 This resolution had a certain note of defiance in it. The Kemp- 
 Brownes were very musical people, and a Miss Straker evening had 
 been pending ever since this family had heard her sing at Hyde 
 Park Gardens. Of course Charles might go, and remain at the 
 other end of the room never speak to the singer, or even listen to 
 her. But that wasn't his meaning! Yet it was impossible to lay 
 hold of a mere acceptance of an invitation to a friend's house be- 
 cause a young lady was going to sing there about whom there had 
 been an occurrence of a sort or kind. An uncomfortable feeling pre- 
 vailed which might have dispersed naturally if the talk had died 
 down naturally. But it was cut off short by the other end of the
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 277 
 
 table getting overwhelmingly loud. Mr. Heath's temper had been 
 ruffled by points under discussion between him and Archibald, the 
 eldest son in the business, and at this juncture it climaxed. He 
 went the length of striking the table with his hand. 
 
 "I don't care what McCormick says ! He has nothing to do with 
 the matter. I should say the same if he was the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. As for Ekins, he's a colossal idiot !" 
 
 "There was nobody at Kew at the time," says Archibald, meekly 
 and apologetically; and the outsiders whose attention is attracted 
 by the vehemence of things, feel inclined to support Archibald and 
 help to point out that there really was nobody at Kew, without 
 knowing of any reason why there should have been, or anything 
 whatever about it. 
 
 "I shall be very cautious another time, and so I tell him plainly," 
 thus Mr. Heath, with a gesticulating forefinger, "I shall be very 
 cautious another time about leaving anything whatever in the 
 hands of Withers & Shanks. I don't care whether it's wool or 
 pettitoes. You may tell him I said so. No ! I don't want any 
 more tea. You may tell him I said so. Is the cab there, Philli- 
 more?" Yes, it is; and off goes Mr. Heath fuming against some 
 person or persons unknown, who will remain unknown to us, as 
 they do not come into this history. 
 
 Peggy saw that the circumstances of Charles's rupture with 
 Miss Straker were responsible for the condemnation her family had 
 showered upon that young lady without waiting for a full and true 
 account; that this very condemnation, half -heard and perhaps 
 exaggerated by him, had stimulated his readiness to turn round 
 and believe himself wrong; and that any word she said might 
 either do the same thing, or be most unfair to a girl who appeared 
 at least to be in a most unfortunate position. If it had been to 
 save Charley from certain unhappiness she might like enough have 
 flung all other considerations aside but was she sure it would 
 save him? Might there not be infinitely worse Miss Strakers in 
 the bush? What had she against her, personally, but a slightly 
 drawly, theatrical manner? After all the question was, would 
 Charley be happy with her? She couldn't say yes but could she 
 say no ?
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII 
 
 HOW MISS PRYNNE HUNTED FOR MOSES. HOW CHARLES WILL BUY 
 PHYLLIS CARTWRIGHT. JONAH AND ST. MARGARET. HOW CHARLES 
 WENT FOR A WALK IN REGENTS PARK. AND OVERHEARD A CONVER- 
 SATION. HOW HE FOUND MISS STRAKER AT HOME 
 
 WHEN Charles got to the Studio he found a letter from Dr. 
 Fludyer. Cause of death was as he anticipated, heart. Chloroform 
 contributory. Business instructions were given in Verrinder's let- 
 ter to himself, and a will had been found as indicated therein. As 
 soon as formalities should have been complied with the pictures 
 would be sent to auction. Charles said to himself that he would 
 go to the sale and buy Phyllis Cartwright. It txirned out that it 
 was to be otherwise. 
 
 For when he came to think over the events of the last three 
 weeks, it became more and more manifest to him that the situation 
 between himself and the young lady had been mainly of his own 
 creating. Of what value were plighted troth, vows of constancy, 
 and so forth, that would not stand the strain that had been put 
 upon his ? It had all hinged -on his own accuracy of recollection, 
 and if he had really loved the girl surely he would have doubted his 
 own hearing rather than condemn her in such an off-hand way. 
 And then how unjust his family had been ! If they were all ready 
 to rejoice over his manifest devotion to Miss Straker coming to an 
 abrupt end, would it not have been kinder more straightforward, 
 to speak plainly not to give such an uncertain note in a matter 
 involving so much to all? People usually expect every one else to 
 cut and dry their conduct; to open with a flip and shut with a 
 click. Charles was no exception. He growled to himself and 
 nursed a sort of working resentment against his family, to be 
 discarded when done with. He could not consent to be over- 
 weighted by the opinions of people who could be so unjust for 
 plainly as they all showed their condemnation of Miss Straker, they 
 actually did not know, or knew very imperfectly, the grounds of 
 his secession. He could fancy Archibald saying, "So Charley's 
 thrown that young woman of his overboard. Good job, too!" and 
 Robin repeating something acquired from an older mouth, such 
 
 278
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 as, "Easy enough to see which way the cat would jump," or, "Are 
 you surprised? I'm not"; and Joan announcing audibly all over 
 the house that Charley's Lavinia was an insidious minx, and she 
 didn't care if Charley did hear her say so. 
 
 No ! It was altogether weak and wrong to let himself be swayed 
 by their shallow decisions; a clear abdication of his own individu- 
 ality, a renunciation of his claims to manhood. He owed it to 
 himself, and to Lavinia if his vows were worth a straw, to act pre- 
 cisely as he would have acted if there had been nothing to consider 
 but their two selves. Peggy was of course an isolated case, always 
 for separate consideration. But then Peggy would admire and 
 excuse any action of his that was based on a shrinking from wrong, 
 stimulated by a generous or chivalrous motive. If he went straight 
 to Lavinia here and now, for forgiveness and recall, he knew that 
 Peggy would applaud him in her heart, advienne que pourra! 
 
 But he would do nothing in a hurry ! To soothe himself and get 
 in a calm frame of mind, he would have a good look at Regan, and 
 see if she was really dry. If he ever did finish Regan (and obvi- 
 ously he couldn't do that without Miss Straker), at any rate she 
 would have a thorough drying! And if he didn't, at any rate it 
 was no fault of his ! An inspection of Regan glaring apace with a 
 chin well ahead of her eyes, and clenching two well-balanced fists, 
 ended in a decision that at any rate it was too late to do any work 
 now. This phrase had recrudesced; but to some new end, not yet 
 determined. As no work was possible, the next best thing would 
 be to pay Jeff a visit in his Studio. He hadn't been there for 
 ever so long. 
 
 The Miss Prynnes' door was half open, and did not know 
 whether the person who held the handle inside was staying in or 
 coming out. Whoever it was, he or she heard Charles's footstep 
 and inclined to staying in. He passed up and met a sound of 
 voices Jeff's and the younger Miss Prynne's. The former testi- 
 fied that if its owner saw Moses, he would bring him down at once. 
 The latter that it would be sure to be all right. Moses was always 
 disappearing, and always turning up. Further that tea would be 
 five, and Jerry was to be sure not to be late. Oh no, that he 
 wouldn't ! The voices seemed to mingle with alacrity and exhila- 
 ration. Charles paused a minute on the stairs with a sudden 
 amused look. Some idea had dawned on him. "No!" said he to 
 himself, "that would be too ridiculous!" Only, as Miss Dorothea 
 passed him on the stairs, with the smile of her interview still on 
 her face, and a good-morning for himself that borrowed a chance 
 cordiality from it, he added, internally, "But why not ?"
 
 280 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 "What a time you have been !" said the door-handle holder. And 
 her sister replied, "We 'were looking for Moses." The door closed 
 on a sense of a slight domestic ruction. 
 
 "Any more ghosts, Jeff?" 
 
 "No, only 'untin' for the cat." Mr. Jerrythought also had a 
 pleasant twinkle on him, and a slight flush. "Well, I'm blowed! 
 there he is all the time." And there he was sure enough, cir- 
 cling round the visitor's calves. It was as nothing to Moses to 
 cease to exist when hunted for, and to re-materialise when con- 
 venient. 
 
 "Half a minute till I take him down, Charley!" And Jeff cap- 
 tures Moses, purring like a forge in full blast, and bears him away 
 to his owner. 
 
 "I was just going to give you up and go," says Charles, some 
 minutes after some many minutes when Jeff reappears apolo- 
 getic. 
 
 The rescued Terpsichore had an easel to herself, as having inter- 
 esting qualities. We have noticed that works of Art that are being 
 cared for and cosseted over, soon 'develop qualities. It is well 
 known that new things seldom have any qualities whatever. It is 
 a puzzle to the metaphysician, but presents 110 difficulties to the 
 artist. Terpsichore, who probably was painted in an afternoon, and 
 then looked banale, and crude, and commonplace, and meretricious, 
 and affected, and flat, and appealed to no sympathies, and touched 
 no chord, and in whose composition no Treatment was visible, and 
 Values entirely disregarded this very Terpsichore now that she 
 had had her life saved at such expense, and been provided with a 
 gilt frame (only the gilt was kept down and not allowed to stare), 
 had become endowed with qualities, and had had a good deal of 
 style distinguished in her by a sensitive and thoughtful Omnis- 
 cience in fact the Cultivated Critic himself had visited Jeff's 
 Studio and discerned in Terpsichore an interesting example of 
 something it was dutiful to be interested in. Under glass, the por- 
 tions the Destroyer's hand had spared suggested the beauty of the 
 half-vanished bits he had had a good scratch at, and very nearly 
 abolished before the Preserver caught him at it and chased him 
 away. 
 
 "What are you going to do with her ?" Charles asks. 
 
 "Interestin' memento !" says Jeff. "Shan't part with her. Miss 
 Dorothea was saying the frame would bear puttin' down a little 
 more. What do you think ?" 
 
 "Was that when you were looking for the cat, Jeff?" 
 
 "You go alongj Charley ! You're always poking your f tin ! No
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 281 
 
 Miss Dorothea really is a very sensible person! Ain't it time for 
 lunch ?" 
 
 It isn't, just yet. But it will be. In the meantime \ve can 
 converse a good deal about Verrinder's death ; about the old jug this 
 story began with; even about each other's work, which we regard 
 with lukewarm interest, each preferring to stimulate the other into 
 talk about his own, under pretence of advice he doesn't mean to 
 take. But when Charles came to look back on this conversation, 
 it certainly struck him that Miss Dorothea figured in it very often 
 as an extremely sensible person, and wondered whether anything 
 would come of it. 
 
 Mrs. Farwig, on the stairs, suspected Charles of having been un- 
 derfed lately. She had noticed it these three days, and mentioned 
 it to her husband. She referred several times to this last fact; and 
 not only had she said to Farwig that Mr. 'Eath hadn't been look- 
 ing himself this long time past, and what he wanted was keeping 
 up, but she had dwelt upon the same theme to our old acquaintance- 
 Mrs. Twills, whose memory clung about No. 40, even as Petrarch's 
 about Vaucluse, or Dante's about Florence. Mrs. Farwig seemed 
 to adduce the number of times she had mentioned any circumstance 
 as cumulative evidence of its primary certainty. As she had stood 
 her pails on the stairs, durin' cleanin', and she herself had stood 
 between her pails, Charles and Jeff could not avoid a longish collo- 
 quy, a good deal of which was foreign matter, and reviewed the 
 difficulties of bringing up a young family on an uncertain income. 
 However, the pails were removed in time, and Mrs. Farwig made a 
 bad finish, oratorically, with the words, "Ah, well as I say !" And 
 then Charles and Jeff got downstairs. 
 
 But they did not get away to lunch. For Mr. Bauerstein, the 
 dealer, intercepted them, and drew them into his room to see a 
 Morland. Charles evaded giving an opinion about it by saying he 
 thought Morland such a very equal artist. Being applauded for 
 this he rashly ventured further on the same lines, and said he 
 thought Reynolds an example of an unequal artist. But the opin- 
 ion of Europe was evidently against him. He retired ashamed. 
 Then they decided they really must get away, or they wouldn't 
 get lunch till dinner-time. They might have done so, had Charles 
 not recollected as he was leaving the house that there was some- 
 thing he wanted to say to Bauerstein. It related to the sale of 
 Verrinder's pictures, and a short conference ended up thus: 
 
 "Then you'll bid for it for me, up to fifteen pounds ? I can't well 
 go beyond that." 
 
 Yes Mr. Bauerstein would undertake the commission. Ha
 
 282 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 would bid tip to fifteen pounds for Charles. If he bid higher it 
 would be his own purchase. What did Charles say the name 
 was? "Villis Gardride"? Charles wrote it down for him, with all 
 other needful particulars. But this delay just made the departure 
 for Cremoncini's overlap with that of Pope and Chappell, who were 
 loquacious in the passage as Charles came forth to rejoin Jeff. 
 Pope's vulgar tongue was audible as he left the old ballroom by 
 the door his and Jeff's private ghost, as they called her, had 
 come out at. 
 
 "Expectin' a beggar to know about Transubstarntiation ! A 
 Protestant beggar ! And him a Dean !" 
 
 "What did you say to him, Mr. Pope?" Thus Chappell, who is 
 always a little uneasy about what may happen when the Firm's 
 divinity is gauged by experts in his absence. 
 
 "Said the religious pardner was takin' a morsel of bread and 
 cheese and a glass o' sherry, but he'd be round in five minutes." 
 
 "No you didn't say that, Mr. Pope, I do hope ?" Mr. Chappell 
 is alarmed, but advantage is only being taken of his being matter- 
 of-fact. Had he been on the other side of the passage, he would 
 have seen that Mr. Pope had closed one eye, for the benefit of him- 
 self and Mr. Jerrythought. 
 
 "Not in those terms, pardner! But in the spirit of the remark. 
 My pardner always says 'refer him to me' he says. So I 'and 'em 
 all over to 'im Deans, Minor Canons, Vicars, and Curates. Bish- 
 ops and Archbishops come by appointment and he sees 'em him- 
 self." This explanation he addresses to Jeff. 
 
 "What did you say this time though, Mr. Pope ?" Chappell seems 
 uneasy, and would rather know. 
 
 "Said I would sooner he should talk to you about it. Said my 
 own views were those of the religious public, without distinction 
 of creed or sex " 
 
 "No you didn't say that, I hope ?" 
 
 "Somethin' to that effect. It sounded all right. Anyhow, he's 
 goin' to send the templates, and he'll run to three pun' a foot for 
 figure-work, and ten shillins for grisaille. And when he comes 
 again, you'll 'ave to talk to him about Transubstarntiation. So 
 look out for squalls." 
 
 Charles had come into touch in the middle of this dialogue. 
 Seeing him suggested a new topic to Mr. Chappell. "That was Mr. 
 Heath's sketch of Jonah and St. Margaret he liked, wasn't it, 
 Mr. Pope?" 
 
 "Ah, to be sure, Mr. Heath ! He was very much took with your 
 sketch. I pointed out to him the propriety of the treatment "
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 283 
 
 "There's a stone mullion between them, anyhow," said Charles. 
 
 "Not from that point of view, I don't mean. I was referrin' to 
 the leadin' incidents in their lives. One got swallered by a whale 
 the other by a dragon a feller feelin' they'd have! 'A pretty 
 idea,' I said, 'standin' of 'em side by side.' He agreed, the Dean 
 did. Anyhow, you'll have to drore 'em out to scale, and I'll lend 
 you a hand over the lead-lines." 
 
 Charles cordially thanked Mr. Pope. It gave him quite a sense 
 of pleasure that he should really do something, however small, that 
 should bear fruit as professional. He felt not a little ashamed of 
 his superior tone about Pope & Chappell when he first made their 
 acquaintance through Jeff. To whom he apologised as they walked 
 away to lunch together; he couldn't well do so to Pope himself, 
 although he was longing to make amends for his churlishness. 
 
 So long as he was in contact with the varied little world that had 
 drifted into No. 40 ; so long as he was sitting with Jeff at Cremon- 
 cini's, chaffing the waiter, who was a Genoese, and endeavouring to 
 reconcile the Italian of the latter with some slight experience he 
 had of the Purgatorio; so long as he was walking back with his 
 companion through the pea-soup that flooded the street, in a singu- 
 lar fit of post-mortem summer that had come off the Atlantic with 
 a gust of southwest wind and blown the early frosts away, and 
 was making folk anticipate green yules and full kirk-yards 
 so long as these things were, and he had distraction, he was in no 
 danger of doing anything in a hurry; not if the situation was of his 
 own creating, ever so ! 
 
 But when Jeff had gone away to his five-o'clock appointment to 
 tea with the sensible Miss Dorothea and her indisputably scraggy 
 sister; when he had declined to accompany him in response to an 
 invitation he seemed to have no hesitation in giving, and was left 
 alone, as he alleged, to write letters because it was too dark to work ; 
 when he had filled out half-an-hour with a pipe of the celebrated 
 Latakia, and had remarked to himself that Jeffs acquaintance with 
 Miss Dorothea seemed going ahead at a great pace and he never 
 reflected on the great pace at which another acquaintance had 
 gone ahead recently; when he had done all these things, and found 
 no more to do, and really had no letters to write how often one 
 says one has, when one hasn't! why, then he was very distinctly 
 in danger of doing something in a hurry ; only he didn't know it I 
 He fancied he had got a really good opportunity for reviewing the 
 position with the extremest deliberation, and went out for a walk 
 through the pea-soupy streets in the wind that smelt of the sea, 
 and watched the scavengers scavenging (we presume) the soup-
 
 284 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 with wide toothless rakes, and spooning it into tureens on wheels; 
 which being put in motion spilled most of it, and carried away the 
 remainder to some destination known only to the Parish. 
 
 Obviously the proper way of not doing anything in a hurry would 
 have been to go for a walk in Hyde Park and Kensington Gar- 
 dens, and then go home to dinner and have a good long talk with 
 Peggy who could say that she hadn't been to see Miss Straker? 
 It would have been much wiser in him to do so, instead of what 
 he did. 
 
 He did start towards Hyde Park. But when he got to Langham 
 Place he turned to the right. He would walk up to the end of Port- 
 land Place, through Park Crescent, and go to "the Gardens" along 
 the Marylebone Road. He called somebody, or something he 
 wasn't clear which to witness that he wasn't thinking of going 
 near Regents Park; still less Camden Town. 
 
 But when he got to Park Square he reflected that he really 
 wanted a bit of a walk, and it was so nice and airy across Regents 
 Park in this unseasonable delight of a balmy wind, and then round 
 by the outer circle and St. John's Wood, and Maida Vale. A cap- 
 ital walk, and long enough! Of course he would be within a 
 quarter of a mile of Warren Street. 
 
 His mind turned resentfully on the passing imp that had mur- 
 mured this in his ear. What sort of weak character did that imp 
 take him for? Could he not trust himself within a quarter of a 
 mile of this girl? Aye, that he could! He could trust himself 
 to take no rash step unintentionally. As to what he should or 
 should not do as the result of matured intention why, the inten- 
 tion wasn't mature yet ! If he were to mature such an intention 
 between, for instance, the corner of Park Square and the Zoological 
 Gardens, he wasn't going to be intimidated by the opinion of an 
 insignificant imp like that! Let him and his fellows scoff at his 
 headstrongness, rashness, vacillation, inconsistency what did he 
 care? If he really only felt convinced that Miss Straker's story 
 of her father was substantially true, he would go and sue for for- 
 giveness at once. Why did he doubt its truth? It was only that 
 Exeter Hall recollection and see how hazy he had been about 
 that! 
 
 Then he became conscious of what Peggy would have said to him 
 at once had she seen him now: "You foolish 'boy! Can't you see 
 you are thinking all this because you are hankering after Warren 
 Street, and the nearer you get the more you will think it." He 
 Acknowledged the shadowy Peggy's insight ; pulled himself together 
 (''ad crossed the Park resolutely. He felt Spartan, and sat down,
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 285 
 
 on a seat, near the Primrose Hill entrance he knew so well, to rest 
 after such a moral effort. 
 
 His ear was caught by conversation in French not very far off. 
 Words not familiar to him he could not catch, but easy phrases 
 and repetitions he made out clearly enough. The voice that spoke 
 first was a young man's, 
 
 "Elle est malade . . . elle n'a pas pu venir . . ." 
 
 "Ce sont des mensonges, et tu es menteur, mon fils . . . elle ne 
 1'a pas voulu . . ." 
 
 "Xe suffit-il pas qu'elle vous a envoye cet argent? . . . pourquoi 
 la fatiguer ainsi? . . ." 
 
 " Je ne veux pas la fatiguer, moi ! . . . Ecoute toi ! Je t'attends 
 une demi-heure! . . ." 
 
 The two voices then fell and Charles heard no more until they 
 assumed the winding-up tone, which always brings louder speech. 
 The elder man became audible first and that of the younger re- 
 mained inaudible, being always pitched in a lower key. 
 
 "Alors nous sommes d'accord ! Tu viens ici me porter de 1'argent 
 et moi je t'attends samedi a cette heure. . . . Non! Non! Ma 
 foi je 1'entreprends ! Elle peut se fier de moi. . . . Mais mon 
 adresse? Pourquoi veut-elle connaitre mon adresse? . . . Faut 
 ecrire au Cafe au dela . . . comme avant." 
 
 The young man then walked away westward. The other called 
 after him, "Maurice !" and then seemed to change his mind, adding, 
 "Non non ce n'est rien ! Va-t-en !" Then he turned to go in 
 the opposite direction, and Charles saw he would pass near him. 
 There was a gas-lamp close by, and as he passed, stowing away in 
 his purse the money he had received, Charles saw him plainly. An 
 appearance at once clerical and dissolute was too distinctive to be 
 mistaken. There was no doubt whatever about it. He was the 
 man that had followed Miss Straker, and been misdirected. . . . 
 
 Charles's resolution was taken. He walked straight to the house 
 in Warren Street. As he crossed the road towards the house, he 
 thought he saw Lavinia just retiring from the window; and, a 
 moment after, came a chord on the piano. If Charles was at this 
 time guilty of any self-deception, it was in forcing his mind a little 
 to the belief that she had not seen him approaching. 
 
 Was Miss Straker at home? The sloven he asked the question 
 of seemed ambiguous, so he asked it in another form: "Shall I find 
 her in the drawing-room ?" The sloven replied, vacuously : "If you 
 
 was to go up and see " He heard her singing above at the 
 
 piano. He left the sloven as a hopeless case, and went upstairs. 
 
 Just as he opened the door, after knocking slightly, he heard
 
 286 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 the instrument closed noisily. The sound must have drowned his 
 knock, as no answer came. He looked in without speaking. The 
 girl was leaning forward over the piano-lid, her face in her hands. 
 He spoke to her by name, and she looked up. 
 
 "Why have you come ?" said she, almost with asperity. 
 
 "I have come," he replied, "to ask your forgiveness. Will you 
 forgive m?"
 
 CHAPTER XXVIH 
 
 ET NOS MUTAMUR IN ILLIS 
 
 IT was a fine morning in May. The inhabitants of Soho were 
 feeling cheerful from the first outburst of real sunshine the year 
 had granted them. The streets, if not quite dry after a long sea- 
 son of continuous rain, were going to be dry soon ; and the new char- 
 woman who was cleaning the front-door steps at No. 40, seemed 
 sanguine of a permanent result. There were almost as many two- 
 horse carriages with coronets on them as omnibuses in Regent 
 Street, and cabs were scarcely being allowed time to disgorge their 
 plebeians, by the impatience of fresh plebeians to take their places. 
 County families in full vigour had cleaned their windows and put 
 scarlet geraniums in their balconies and incited myrmidons to be 
 ready with rolls of carpet to shield the feet of arrivals from the 
 cold inhospitable paving-stone. But we must not be led away to 
 Berkeley Square; our proper place is at the old Soho house, known 
 to us only by its number in the street, where on this May morning 
 the new char was cleaning down the steps, and a "harmonieflute" 
 barrel organ was playing 'Ernani involami' several times over. 
 
 She was a new char; there was no doubt of that but as is the 
 race of leaves, so is the race of chars, and their employers aro 
 always turning over a new leaf. Mrs. Farwig no longer did down 
 the steps and did out the house, but the hieroglyphic of Pope & 
 Chappell was bright upon the door-post, and the two human Crea- 
 tures it vouched for were, as usual, at work in what had been the 
 front parlour; combining the painting of glass against the light, 
 and the provision for more to come, with the reception of visitors 
 anxious that somebody else should not be forgotten, and that they 
 themselves should be borne in mind as his commemorators. 
 
 "I'm speculatin'," thus Mr. Pope to Mr. Chappell, and then 
 pauses a few seconds to concentrate on a stipple, "I'm speculatin' 
 we shall hear of a wedding." Mr. Chappell says simply and 
 briefly, "Who?" 
 
 Mr. Pope appears to pause and consider among possible couples ; 
 and finally asks, as one who believes he has struck oil, but would 
 like belief strengthened: "What do you say to our first-floor?" 
 
 287
 
 288 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 "What made you think of Mr. Heath?" 
 
 "Why your grumblin' at having to 'unt up his St. Margaret's 
 leads." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Pope, I'd a right to grumble. I've had to trace them 
 all over again, anyhow. But I don't mean, what made you think 
 of him, himself what made you think he was going to be married ? 
 7 never heard he was." 
 
 "Only a sort of speculative idear of mine, partner," said Pope. 
 <r No man less likely, I should say, if you was to ask me I threw 
 out the idear " 
 
 "Somebody must have said something about it else how on 
 earth should you come to think it?" 
 
 "I didn't think it a mere fioatin' idear ! only 'ang me if I can 
 see why our first-floor shouldn't get married as much as any one 
 else's " 
 
 "Of course not I never said he shouldn't, anyhow." 
 
 "You never said he shouldn't, partner, I grant you ! But, to my 
 thinkin', you took up the gauntlet " 
 
 "No I didn't. I didn't say as much as you did. You said no 
 man was less likely. Why did you say that ?" 
 
 "Well ! because I thought it. Look at the thing all round." But 
 Mr. Pope and Mr. Chappell didn't look at it all round, for the 
 office-bell jangled, and an Architect came in to find as much fault 
 as he could, and to denounce ten clerestory windows for want of 
 repose, and only allow a little grudging praise to the "Jonah" 
 Pope was at work on, on the score of the breadth of treatment of 
 the whale. . . . 
 
 While this goes on, let us as is our prerogative look round at 
 the office, and see what the changes have been since we were here 
 last. For a feeling is on us that changes have taken place, though 
 we cannot say off-hand what they are. Let us look at them in 
 detail. 
 
 We cannot recall every drawing of a window that hung upon the 
 walls on our previous visit, but surely surely that great seven- 
 light perpendicular window over the chimney-piece was not there 
 then? What a piece of work to have done in the time! And all 
 this swarm of major and minor Prophets, Apostles, Archangels, 
 Nativities and Flights into Egypt, Good Samaritans and Unjust 
 Stewards, fitted into every possible type of window tracery, Nor- 
 man, Decorated, Early English, late Tudor, even Inigo Jones and 
 Christopher Wren surely the walls were not then all but hidden 
 behind these? 
 
 Well! look a bit closer look at Mr. Pope and Mr. Chappell, as
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 289 
 
 they stand there agreeing with everything the F. R. I. B. A. says, 
 with a view to complying with none of it in practice. When we 
 saw him first. Pope's hair was black, iron-grey at most, with a 
 tendency to whiten towards the whisker. Now it is most strangely 
 silvered over and though Chappell seemed then to mean to be bald, 
 there was nothing about his respectable head that suggested an 
 onion or an egg. Now his head is more than respectable it is 
 venerable a head most propititious to an ecclesiastical business; 
 and both of them have a certain family effect and give an 
 impression of suburban residences, fraught with daughters and 
 croquet lawns. And what is the speech we catch from the good- 
 looking young man of twenty-odd who comes in with a drawing, 
 and hands it to Mr. Pope : "Is it this one, father ?" And the reply 
 is : "That's it, Kit ; put it on the table." 
 
 Why, surely now that time that Charles Heath came first into 
 their office with Jeff, to make the Firm's acquaintance surely 
 Pope spoke then of a child of four, who also was Kit, and who 
 asked embarrassing questions about religious Art. You must 
 recollect that ? What does it all mean ? What is the meaning of 
 Pope's grey head and Chappell's bald crown, of the signs of work 
 and prosperity on the walls, of the venerable employee addressed 
 as Buttifant who brings in window-lights to show, of the many 
 footsteps that come trooping down the stairs outside and make 
 Chappell say that's the chaps going, and it must be twelve-thirty ? 
 
 What indeed? It means that sixteen years have passed, not 
 sixteen weeks (as, for all the story has told yet, it might have 
 been), since Alice broke the jug and Charles shielded her and 
 brought her home, a small forlorn midget, to his father's house; 
 since she stood by her mother's deathbed at the Hospital, and heard 
 her speak, that one time only, in the voice that, but for drink, 
 would have been her own ; since she saw the memorable ghost upon 
 the stairs. 
 
 But the story knows nothing yet of what has come to pass in all 
 those sixteen years. It comes, as Rip Van Winkle came, to note 
 the signs and memories of many changes that have been wrought 
 in the absence of its chroniclers. It knows nothing yet, but that 
 Charles is an unmarried man, and still a tenant of the first-floor 
 Studio at No. 40. Let it or let us, if you prefer it so go up 
 and look at him. 
 
 We wonder, as we go, who else remains in the house of those we 
 knew. Some one has gone away else where are all "the chaps" at 
 work about whose footsteps Chappell saw it was twelve-thirty? 
 Either Jeff or the !Misses Prynne have given up their tenancy.
 
 290 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Judging by the sound of those feet we should say both. There must 
 be a dozen painters or more at work upstairs orders for large 
 east-windows, and whole clerestories in a lump, are not done 
 single-handed ! 
 
 On the stairs we pass a bearded man a man in early middle 
 life, whose face gives, or leaves, the impression that he is really 
 younger than he looks. It is sad and careworn, but handsome and 
 thoughtful and attractive, and we should stop to look at him if we 
 were not in such a hurry to get to our old friend Charley. Will 
 he be much changed changed out of all knowledge in these 
 sixteen long years? 
 
 We cannot see him now, for his door is shut and locked and he 
 is gone away till two. A notice on a slate on the door says he will 
 be back then; so we turn to go, disappointed. And then as we go 
 down, it dawns upon us that that was he that man we passed upon 
 the stairs. Of course it was! Think of the spectacles and all! 
 We should have recognised him. 
 
 But it may be we recoiled unconsciously from doing so, and 
 could not bear to think that he should look so sad at heart. Were 
 we not, perhaps, shutting our eyes to his identity, and hoping to 
 see again the young bright artist we left here, sixteen years 
 
 When the F. E. I. B. A. heard it was twelve-thirty, he recollected 
 that he had an appointment at that time, and fled in a cab. Pope 
 and Chappell and Kit, the son of the former, who had come in from 
 upstairs to join his father at lunch, passed the time in discursive 
 chat. They did not leave till one so there was a cool twenty 
 minutes. Pope resumed the previous conversation. 
 
 "Bad job it was, that marriage of his! Don't you go making a 
 runaway match with a ramshandry sort o' half-French girl, with- 
 out your father's consent, Kit, or I'll disinherit you." 
 
 "Did old Mr. Heath disinherit him ?" asked Kit. 
 
 "Not he! Easy-goin' old cock! No I believe he allowed 'em 
 two or three hundred a year and Charles Heath had a trifle of his 
 own with the cartoons he did for us they made up to seven or 
 eight 'undred. But Lard! if it had been seven or eight thousand 
 she'd have walked into it." 
 
 "What was her name, Father ?" 
 
 "Scraper," replies Pope with confidence; but is corrected by 
 Chappell, and Kit evidently says to himself, "I thought so." The 
 speaker continues : "I don't think the old boy forgave him for some 
 time. They didn't get the three hundred at first and they must
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 291 
 
 have had a rough time of it. Children coming, and his painting 
 large pictures nobody bought." 
 
 "Can't say I wonder," says Pope; "I wouldn't have 'em at a 
 gift. But he's a nice feller! Amoozin' way he has of puttin' 
 things, too! How many kids ? Two?" 
 
 "Two, I fancy. First a girl and then a boy, like the children's 
 game. The girl died." 
 
 "How did he come to make it up with his father ?" Kit, who asks, 
 is young and penetrating, and wishes to go to the root of all sub- 
 jects. Mr. Pope can't throw much light. 
 
 "What was it Jeff said, Mr. Chappell?" He passes the ques- 
 tion on, and Chappell is little better, but can record that the recon- 
 ciliation was brought about "by Lady Thingumbob, the wife of 
 Sir What's-his-name you know, the great physician married 
 Miss Heath great beauty she was you recollect ?" 
 
 "Sir Eupert Johnson, I know. He's a tremendous swell now. 
 What's his gag, Kit ? You know about things. Is it stummick or 
 oviariotomy or softenin' on the brain?" Kit seems a very well- 
 informed boy has quite outclassed his father. He believes Sir 
 Rupert Johnson is the great authority on the Brain. 
 
 "Ah! to be sure!" says his father, "when Royalties' brains get 
 softenin', they send for him to pronounce or he oviariotomises 
 'em." He treats those useful and much maligned members of so- 
 ciety in the reckless tone of one who doesn't expect ever to make 
 their acquaintance. Kit recalls the conversation back to Charles 
 Heath; he asks when his wife died. His father replies: 
 
 "She ain't dead. She don't mean to die in a hurry." 
 
 "I thought you said Mr. Heath was a widower, Father ?" 
 
 "No, poor beggar ! Good job if he was, 7 should say. If he were, 
 "he'd marry again fast enough! No, he's divorcified her a vinculo, 
 and she's enjoyin' guilty splendour with Duke Bailey or Duke 
 Humphy." For a little while before this time the famous Bab 
 Ballad had appeared which introduced that lawless couple to its 
 readers. 
 
 "The Catholic Church," says Chappell, with severity, "does not 
 sanction the marriage of divorced persons." 
 
 "Don't it? Well then, all I can say is, it ought to give double 
 allowance to the party that divorced 'em. Bigamy to balance, don't 
 you see ? That would work 'em up four square again, like at first." 
 But Mr. Chappell doesn't relish this trifling, especially before a 
 young man; he puts on his out-of-doors coat and his hat and goes 
 away to lunch. Mr. Pope begins following his example Kit seems 
 to cling to the conversation.
 
 292 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "I say, Father !" 
 
 "What do you say, sonny?" 
 
 "I thought Mr. Heath's wife was dead ?" 
 
 "Well she ain't." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I should have heard certain!" 
 
 "Look here, Father. I thought she was dead. Gwen thought 
 so too." 
 
 "Your sister thought so well you were a couple of wise young 
 customers. She's alive and kicking." Nevertheless, Mr. Pope 
 pauses with one arm in an out-of-doors sleeve, as though waiting 
 contradiction. 
 
 "I mean, Father, that when we saw that advertisement at break- 
 fast this morning we thought it couldn't possibly be her, if she was 
 dead already." 
 
 The arm goes no farther into the sleeve ; its owner fixes his eyes 
 on his son's face. 
 
 "What advertisement?" he asks, with aroused interest. The 
 young man repeats it conscientiously, word for word. " 'At Wies- 
 baden, on the 5th instant, Lavinia Straker. Friends and relations 
 will kindly accept this the only intimation.' " 
 
 Mr. Pope gives a short whistle, and says, briefly, "My wig!" He 
 then pulls on the long delayed coat, and he and his son walk out 
 together. Presently he remarks, as the result of meditation: 
 "There may have been fifty Lavinia Strakers." Kit, however, is in 
 a position to quote a high social authority. 
 
 "Gwen thought not," says he, "because the advertisement looked 
 so," and his father seems to understand this so we need not 
 examine it critically. But Kit's conclave with his sister is not to 
 escape without comment. 
 
 "Nice young pair of half-hatched chicks, you and your sister, 
 to be talking about the poultry yard and you never asked your 
 mother, I lay!" 
 
 "Gwen said mother would shut her up," says Kit, somewhat rue- 
 fully and then the subject of an ill-made template displaces the 
 poultry yard, and lasts till lunch.
 
 CHAPTEK XYTX 
 
 HOW PEGGY HAD BECO3IE A GREAT MAD-DOCTOB's WIFE. HOW ALICE-FOR- 
 SHORT HAD BEEN ALICE FOR LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A WOMAN. 
 HOW THE PARROT HAD FORGOTTEN NOTHING 
 
 KIT POPE was quite right about Sir Rupert Johnson. He was 
 the great authority on the Brain. Not that he was mistrusted in 
 other departments of Medical Science, but that that was his great 
 and superseding speciality. For any one to assume he was in his 
 senses in the face of the contrary verdict from Sir Rupert Johnson 
 would have been held a sufficient proof of insanity in itself; so 
 that no one whom he pronounced mad had any chance of proving 
 the soundness of his mind but by acquiescing in and insisting on 
 its unsoundness. 
 
 But our old friend Master Rupert was singularly merciful in his 
 judgments. He had said again and again to the many people who 
 had come to him to get his help towards putting under restraint 
 some person whose property they sought control over : "If you want 
 to lock this man up because he has a harmless delusion, you must 
 get another doctor to help you. I won't !" And he would maintain 
 that almost everybody had some delusion or other if he would only 
 confess it, whereupon his enemies would allege that he had said 
 that everybody was mad. He was appealed to once to aid and abet 
 in consigning to an asylum a girl who believed she was followed 
 by a white dog. "Put her under restraint!" said he, "what do you 
 want to restrain her from ? The only thing you object to is that she 
 thinks she is followed by a white dog she'll think so just the same 
 in Colney Hatch." The story went (but how it came to be known 
 who can say?) that he once said privately to a man who thought 
 he was Napoleon : "I see, Emperor, that what you say is true but 
 why can't you hold your tongue about it ? They won't believe you." 
 [And that patient was cured in no time; but if he is still living, 
 probably thinks he is Napoleon to this day. A quoi mal? The 
 fact was, Sir Rupert did not believe that fancies of this sort proved 
 that the brain was diseased; so, as long as they were harmless in 
 themselves, he thought it best to let them alone. But if Napoleon 
 had begun recruiting, he would have locked him up. What a pity 
 there was no one who could do the same to his prototype, who was 
 
 293
 
 294 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 correct enough in his belief that he was Napoleon, or is usually 
 thought to have been so. 
 
 As we have seen from the conversation of Pope and Chappell, 
 Rupert Johnson and Peggy Heath were married; as to the date of 
 their marriage, the fact that they had four boys and three girls 
 leaves us none the wiser, but the circumstance that two of the boys 
 were at Harrow makes it likely that it came about not so very long 
 ( after we parted from Peggy at Hyde Park Gardens sixteen years 
 ago; that day when Alice asked for scrunchy toast because it was 
 Friday. Anyhow, it was ten years since they moved into the house 
 in Harley Street, and they had been a long time in Welbeck Street 
 before that. Sic transeunt human resolutions ; all the benefits that 
 were to accrue to the human race, by way of example, from Miss 
 Margaret Heath's singleness, were lost past all recovery. Whether 
 the subtlest eft of all the field felt the balance was in his favour, or 
 wished he had let matters alone, who can say? But he must have 
 been a little disconcerted at the successful family of seven all 
 more or less with their father's strength and their mother's beauty, 
 and the character of both, who in holiday times rendered the 
 house in Harley Street untenantable except by persons of the 
 strongest nerves and most forbearing dispositions. 
 
 When after a long absence we come back full of expectation of 
 change, we are often almost irritated at the pertinacious sameness 
 of some of the people and things we had left behind. We our- 
 selves are exactly the same, of course; our persistent unalterable 
 ego is so absorbing in the foreground of our Self, that trifling 
 changes in details of that composite entity count for nothing. We 
 went away a complete carcass; we come back minus a leg, an arm, 
 an eye or all three or, for that matter, all six, tons compris. 
 What concern is that of yours? Mind your own business! It is 
 our Self that left you broken-hearted at our departure; that wrote 
 you, duly, those letters that grew less and less, and waned, until 
 at last they all but ceased, and then came only to ask some little 
 favour something we couldn't get in the colony, or we wouldn't 
 bother you, but if you could get it would you forward per etcetera, 
 care of somebody. It is this very Self that has come back to you, 
 we warrant it, look you now! And we know, intensely and un- 
 changeably as we remain the same, that Time has been at work in 
 our absence, and has made hay with your identity that was as the 
 fresh green pasture of the Spring. Whatever we are, we know that 
 you will have grown very fat, or very thin, or very serious ; or lost 
 your hair or your teeth, or your looks. Venus will have fled, and
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 295 
 
 the colour that was so becoming so more than becoming. Bui 
 we can make allowances we know the way of life; and we and 
 our luggage drive up to the door you waved your farewell to us 
 from, ten fifteen twenty years ago, and have no misgivings 
 because we are no longer a child and can realise all about Time,, 
 and change, and that sort of thing, don't you know ? 
 
 And here, after all, we find you. Well! we'll be hanged if we 
 can see the difference, when all's said and done. You are (some- 
 times) so very, very little altered compared with what we ex- 
 pected. Your hair is still all your own, and much of its old colour; 
 your teeth may be new, one or two of them, but that won't part 
 us, even if you confess up about them; your hands may be a bit 
 larger but what of that ? They are sweet and full of life and wel- 
 come, and your voice and manner why, surely they are the very 
 same we remember in the old years which, if not quite unfor- 
 gotten, we are so very easily reminded of. And then in the first 
 flush of our long-looked-for return, we and you are full of gladness, 
 and think it will all be as it was in the days before our parting. 
 
 But it isn't ! The chill comes soon, and we know that our rejoic- 
 ing is dying down. It won't come back, the old time, for all we 
 swept and garnished our hearts to receive it. And then we look 
 round at the things that be, the new young lives that have come 
 and grown in our absence; the vacant places that were full, the 
 homes that have been cleared away; the tenements or dwellings 
 or mansions that have risen where they stood ! And we settle down 
 to the actual, and try to find some solace for the loss of the things 
 that were; but perhaps, after all, if we got them back, they would 
 interfere seriously with the things that are, and that we really 
 must attend to. 
 
 However to go back to what we were saying this firm con- 
 servation of appearance and identity has its irritating element. 
 It is most frequent between the twenties and the forties ; and what 
 a lady of forty can forget about little incidents of her twenties, 
 and the way she is wrapped up in the new young lives she is (to 
 a great extent) responsible for, may make the outsider you or 
 ourself feel very flat indeed. 
 
 But what is the end and object of all the lecture? It is to pre- 
 vent the reader of this narrative imagining that the beautiful 
 young matron who, on the late May morning when we saw Charles 
 Heath on the stairs at No. 40, and thought he must be somebody 
 else, was writing a letter in Harley Street and being dreadfully 
 hindered by two very little girls that this young woman, who 
 might have been described as Margaret Heath and more, could rec-
 
 296 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 ollect nearly so much of the first half of this story she makes part 
 of as you can who have just read it. But you can recollect her 
 well enough there she is, her very self, only perhaps there is in 
 her figure a declaration that it intends to approximate to her 
 mother's, as we knew her, in another sixteen years, and the hand 
 that holds the pen has lost the girlish beauty of the one that wrote 
 to Mrs. Wycherly Watkins, and has got a new beauty of its own; 
 its strength and self-reliance rest on it as a garment, as it pauses 
 above the paper, even as a hand that thinks, and does not mean to 
 write a word that need be altered or erased. And at this moment 
 the younger child, a little three-year-old, captures the arm it be- 
 longs to, and makes further writing impossible its owner has to 
 appeal for succour. 
 
 "Alice dear, do come and take Alee away, and show her pictures 
 of something horrible, or let her spin the terrestrial globe round. I 
 shall never get my letter done. Yes sweet Ducky ! That's a Ben- 
 gal Tidy and the other's a Serpm." 
 
 "Wiss is to eat wissf 
 
 "Whichever you please, my pet but go away to Aunty Lissy, 
 and let Mummy write." And then as she refuses, flatly, but 
 sweetly, to go to Aunty Lissy, her mother calls again, in a raised 
 voice, for Alice. . . . 
 
 She will come in from somewhere directly our old own Alice- 
 f or-short ! Shall we know her again ? Oh ! yes why, we recognised 
 Peggy at once! There will be no difficulty about Alice. 
 
 Here she comes; we can hear her rustle beyond that door. No! 
 this is Aunty Lissy, Peggy calls her so, and very pretty she is. 
 Never a sweeter face to be found in all the length of Harley Street 
 will you take the wager ? But we want to see Alice. . . . 
 
 What did we expect to see ? We fancy we hear you ask this ques- 
 tion. Not a little girl with a sort of comic manner, all her own, 
 after all these years? Oh! no we knew she would be a woman, 
 theoretically. Nor did we think she was going to be plain, with 
 those big blue eyes and that little oval face, so well set on her small 
 round throat. We suspected she would turn out pretty, but it was 
 to be on lines we were prepared for and nothing, in Alice-for- 
 short that was, prepared us for Aunty Lissy that is. Not that, 
 now we come to look at her, we do not feel that it is really she; 
 as we look her identity dawns, grows stronger, becomes irresistible. 
 We see it now but what a funny way of remaining the same! 
 Not at all the one we should have chosen. But it's done now, 
 and we may take her as she stands, and be glad that after all she 
 has turned out such a very pretty woman.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 297 
 
 Such a very pretty woman! That's it! It's the maturity we 
 resent we wanted her to be, in some sense, a child still; older, of 
 course taller, of course; more dignified, of course heaps of 
 things, of course. But not a woman. 
 
 Well! it can't be helped we must accept her, self-possession and 
 all. Let us be glad she has kept her pale blue eyes and her small 
 round throat, and thankful that her hair is much the same colour 
 mouse-colour with a tinge of chestnut; does that convey any idea 
 to you ? And let us be grateful that she has never overpassed the 
 average height, but is petite and compact still. Oh! dear! how 
 very petite and compact she was in those old days what a small 
 midget it was that was pulled with a rope up the precipice at Surge 
 Point, and left Dr. Jomson behind her, upside down. We must 
 accept the inevitable look facts in the face and drop the subject. 
 Or the story won't go on. 
 
 When Peggy, having been rescued by Alice, or Aunty Lissy, from 
 the aggressions of the small thing of the same name, had finished 
 her letter, she folded it and allowed the other small thing, because 
 she had been so good it seemed, to lick it and stick it to for a treat. 
 Then she wrote another letter, and the silence of the back drawing- 
 room in Harley Street acknowledged only the scratching of her 
 pen; a murmured recital from a picture-book of the senior baby, 
 whose name was Phyllis; a hushed demonstration in Zoology, 
 chiefly fictitious, in the room beyond to keep the junior baby in 
 check, and a distant murmur of carriage wheels implying that 
 visitor-time was coming or had come. A premature Summer had 
 set in with a rush; as sometimes happens in May, and then we 
 know we have to enjoy it while it lasts. 
 
 Lady Johnson (that was Peggy Heath's name now, and we can't 
 get over the oddity of it) finished her last letter rapidly, as a letter 
 easily written and involving nothing; she fastened and directed it 
 as one does, much relieved, at the end of a batch of letters, and said 
 triumphantly "There !" 
 
 "Now you may ring the bell, Phillips," she went on, addressing 
 the little girl; "only pull it down very gently and when you've 
 got it down, don't hang on the handle but let it go back click. 
 That's right." And the bell was so successfully rung that it went 
 on for ever so long, and had hardly stopped when a he-servant, in 
 suppressed livery, entered the room with promptness in his manner 
 and responsibility on his countenance. 
 
 "These letters must go at once, Handsworth. These for the 
 post these by hand send James. And say he must take the 
 underground and tell nurse she can come for these children."
 
 298 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Peggy spoke of these children as accidents she had not encouraged, 
 and Handsworth disappeared with the letters and his instructions. 
 While the door stood open, a parrot was audible below; we should 
 perhaps have included him in the current noises; but really when 
 the door closed again it almost shut his voice out, so substantial 
 was it and so close at the joints. 
 
 "Your baby's very quiet in there, Alice." 
 
 "She's gone off like a top on my knee; I'm writing over her." 
 And the scratching of another pen could have been heard by a 
 sharp ear. "Come here she's sweet !" Peggy went into the little 
 patch-room where Alice was writing, and put her arm around the 
 adopted aunt's neck from behind. Both gloated over the sleeping 
 lapful. I wish you could have seen them. 
 
 "Did you hear that parrot, Alice?" 
 
 "Oh dear, yes! I heard him. Isn't it funny? He only does it 
 now at intervals. I haven't heard it for months and months." 
 
 "I was trying to think when he began was it when she " 
 
 "Oh no ! Ages before that. Why, it's as long as I can recollect." 
 
 And then both ladies said together, as by an inspiration: "Oh 
 yes! I know I remember," and Alice says, for both, what they 
 remember : 
 
 "It was that day, of course, when she first came to the Gardens 
 and sang." And Peggy goes on with the reminiscence: 
 
 "I know. I recollect it all now. It was when that old mother of 
 hers was in the front room and he picked the name up and 
 shrieked it all the evening. Poor Charley!" 
 
 The nurse came in and the children were conveyed away, one 
 awake and one asleep. As the door opened there came again from 
 afar, clear and unmistakable, the name the parrot had shrieked be- 
 fore "Straker !" 
 
 "There now!" said Alice. "Well! he is a funny Polly. What 
 on earth has made him rake that up now? I wish he would put 
 the kettle on instead, and then we'd all have tea." 
 
 "We needn't wait any longer for tea. Ellen won't come now." 
 And Lady Johnson pulled the bell for tea. "I'm not at home if 
 anybody comes, Handsworth," is the postscript to her instruction to 
 bring it. She went on: "Charley will come in and will have a 
 nice quiet time. I really am getting to hate people more and 
 more " 
 
 "What nonsense, Miss Peggy!" for the old first name of all had 
 clung to its owner, as far as Alice was concerned, and we are glad 
 she has not forgotten it, so far, in the story. But read on, and you 
 will see she will vary her nomenclature, most perversely, as she
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 continues: "You know you don't hate lots of people, so come now, 
 Lady Johnson " 
 
 "I mean I hate people that call and leave cards, and are at home 
 on Thursdays Music." 
 
 "Very well, Lady Johnson, then I shall tell the Stossingers you 
 hate them, if it's that. Besides, it's very good music." 
 
 "Very good music, and we're going ; but it isn't to-day and to-day 
 is Thursday the Stossingers is the fourth, and the eleventh." 
 
 "Yes and to-day's the fourth." 
 
 "It can't be ! At least, if it is, I've dated my letters wrong." 
 
 "Then you've dated your letters wrong look at the newspaper 
 it's out there somewhere." On which Peggy went to seek for it, 
 and Alice waited, leaning back in her chair and looking round 
 after her to hear the date confirmed. She heard the newspaper 
 rustle as Peggy picked it up; and said interrogatively, "Well 
 Lady Johnson who's right ?" Her accuracy was admitted. "Quite 
 right, dear; it is to-night. I don't mind going at all." But the- 
 speaker had caught on to the paper, and had begun to think of 
 something else. She was looking at the Births, Deaths, and 
 Marriages. 
 
 "Salmon Wainwright. Wasn't that a Miss Wainwright with 
 those people at Brighton where Ellen stayed ?" And Alice replied : 
 "No, not Wainwright Pulborough"; and neither seemed to think 
 the error in recollection anything to be surprised at. Alice had 
 dipped her pen to go on writing, when Lady Johnson, who had not 
 put the paper down, gave a short sudden cry of surprise cer- 
 tainly scarcely pain: 
 
 "Oh ! Alice, oh, my dear ! Come at once. Look, look at this !" 
 
 And Alice went quickly. She took the sheet of The Times from 
 the pointing finger, and read the announcement of a death we al- 
 ready know. 
 
 "Oh, Margaret darling ! Yes it must be it must ! Oh dear !" 
 
 And both women burst into tears; they are not exactly tears of 
 sorrow for the death that could scarcely be. Rather they are a 
 tribute to the whole unhappy past, and the wasted and ruined life 
 of poor Charles Heath. It is the end the official end of a sad 
 epoch, and Death comes, as his way is, to report progress; to put 
 his seal upon events, and make us think back upon the bygone time. 
 And then we, for our part, may weigh it well, and wonder if all 
 that we regret the loss of was really good, and even if what 
 seemed so hard to endure was always evil. And may decide most 
 likely that those are points on which we may never be a penny 
 the wiser, and that we oaay as well let them alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 HOW DEATH MUST NEEDS BE SAD, EVEN OF A RIDDANCE. HOW A BOY 
 NAMED PIERRE HAD SMALLPOX, AND ALICE WENT TO NURSE HIM 
 
 PEGGY and Alice, as they waited for tea in the front room, listen- 
 ing to the perpetual rumble of carriages, softened down to nil in 
 the immediate vicinity by a neighbour who had burst out in straw 
 all over the street, were very silent at first. Peggy went and looked 
 out at the front window, while Alice made the tea. The kettle 
 fizzed and sputtered, and probably wished it could put its spirit- 
 lamp out; the near double-knocks of the callers close by were an- 
 swered by others afar ; and some were futile, while others fructified. 
 Polly was noisy below, and whenever the door opened for some 
 development or extenuation of tea, his shriek was in evidence. His 
 accidental revival of a favourite shout of former years was grisly ; 
 and Alice, when she had made the tea, went quietly downstairs and 
 put his shawl over him and quenched him. Then she returned to 
 pour it out, and carried the two cups to the little table near the 
 fresh spring air from the open window, and both ladies sat down on 
 the sofa that belonged to it. 
 
 "How much can you remember of all that time, Alice? You 
 were only a small, you know." 
 
 "Remember! Why, I remember it all, as plain as yesterday 
 how she came to sing, and poor little Dan said how awfully jolly 
 she was, and when we were sent away to bed we listened on the 
 stairs." 
 
 "Poor little Danny ! But we did all like her then, Alice, didn't 
 we? I know I wanted to like her then, for Charley's sake 
 because I saw how it was." 
 
 "So did I. But it wasn't so hard for me to like her, because I 
 thought Mr. Charley must be right. I think we understood it, on 
 the stairs, Danny and I." And Alice's sad, clear eyes look wist- 
 fully back into the past. Did we understand it ? Peggy wonders 
 to herself. Both sit silent in intervals, and when they speak, it is 
 with voices dropped. This time, Alice speaks first again. 
 
 "You know I wasn't such a small as all that; I was old enough 
 to go to Miss Fortescue's, or very nearly. You know it was in the 
 January I went, when the hard frost came." 
 
 300
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 301 
 
 "I know. You -went away the day before the ice. You were not 
 there when Danny was brought in." Peggy's mind pauses on the 
 memory of another grief; it is long enough ago now to talk of it 
 quietly. Have you ever recognised the fact that, in trouble, ease 
 comes from talking of another trouble instead ? Alice feels it too, 
 in this case, and does not break the thread; she is silent and Peggy 
 continu2s: 
 
 "I remember Rupert's voice so well 'Don't give in don't give 
 in' oh, such a long time ! And then at last there was no hope at 
 all. And yet we felt it was wrong to despair, and leave the poor 
 little drowned body alone." 
 
 "Oh, I know ! I thought I recollected it, but of course I don't. I 
 wasn't really there. I only heard. But I remember your letter to 
 Miss Fortescue, and her saying: 'I'm afraid, Alice, this must be 
 from your Aunt Margaret' and the black edge. She always said, 
 'Your Aunt Margaret.' " 
 
 "I wonder," says Peggy, striking- a new vein in the mine of 
 reminiscence, 'If you can recollect when you went away to Miss 
 Fortescue's, and how we could hardly get you off Charley?" 
 
 "Oh yes! I remember it all. But it seems now as if it was 
 another little girl, not me." 
 
 "Do you recollect my keeping on that you were not to be a goose, 
 because Mr. Charley wasn't going away ?" 
 
 "I recollect. At least, I seem to recollect that the other little 
 girl went nearly frantic, and screamed to Mr. Charley not to go 
 away ; and you all tried to console her, or me, whichever it was." 
 
 There is a moment or two of silence, and then Peggy says: 
 "He'll be here very soon now it's nearly half-past," and then 
 drops back to reminiscence. 
 
 "Perhaps I was wrong in letting him persuade me, but what 
 difference could it have made, when he came to me and said: 
 'Look here, Poggy-Woggy, I'm going to cut it short and marry 
 Lavinia to-morrow!' what could I say to him? What good would 
 it have done, if I had refused to go? and how could I when he 
 said : 'If you don't come, Poggy, there won't be a living soul in it 
 of my own belongings, and people will think you think all sorts of 
 things' what could I have done but what I did?" 
 
 "Nothing. It was all right ; it had to be." 
 
 "But I did think I always shall think Papa was wrong, well ! 
 mistaken only it seems hard to say so now, and I'm sure Mamma 
 was. It was refusing to receive her was such a mistake. Of 
 course, Papa was obliged to go Mamma's way." 
 
 "Of course 1"
 
 302 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 "And as for its being her duty because of Ellen, that was all 
 stuff and nonsense; it was no fault of hers that the father was a 
 bad character." Alice puts in a word for Mrs. Heath, or "Grand- 
 mamma," for that is her status now. "Was she not right after all ? 
 as it turned out in the end, I mean 'Like father, like son' so 
 people say," says Alice. 
 
 "Yes she turned out badly," says Peggy; "but what I mean is 
 that if Mamma had been more coming, and temporised a little, it 
 might all have died down naturally, and oh, dear! it's no use 
 thinking of it now; but of course, as it was, all poor Charley's 
 chivalry was up in arms ; you know what Charley's like ?" 
 
 "Oh! yes I know!" 
 
 "And then, of course, Mamma had to give in in the end. You 
 were not there the day he brought her back from abroad to the 
 Gardens, and took her straight to Mamma and said: 'This is my 
 wife, Mother. If you send her away, you send me too.' " 
 
 "And what did Granny say?" 
 
 "Said she had been set at naught, but it was her duty as a 
 Christian to forgive. It's a shame to laugh, Alice darling, but 
 really I can hardly help it. Poor Mamma ! As long as she could 
 make dear Papa do the work and keep in the background herself, 
 ehe was all Spartan fortitude. The minute she was face to face 
 with the enemy, she turned tail. And Lavinia looked very nice 
 and poor Charley looked so happy and beaming. Oh, dear !" And 
 Peggy doesn't look as if she found it hard not to laugh. Alice 
 kisses her, en passant, to keep her up. A prolonged knock, that 
 sounds like a disquisition ending in a gun, comes at the street- 
 door; and the conversation is held in check until the concomitant 
 footman has met his fate, and died away, leaving cards. Speech 
 could not be audible below, but such a long coat as came with 
 the knock affects the imagination, and imposes the secrecy of 
 silence on whoso has said he is not at home. 
 
 Peggy and Alice speak with bated voices; until the young man 
 (who knows all about it) has enthroned himself on the box, and 
 gone away. Then Peggy speaks above her breath again, as one 
 relieved : 
 
 "I've never made out to this day when it was that it began. 
 (Those people were the Fotheringays.) You know they were very 
 happy at first, or seemed so. I fancy it was while you were still 
 too small to understand much about it. I can't say I ever found 
 much fault with her myself but of course she was extravagant, 
 and there was always the one thing. Charley used to turn it into 
 a joke at first, and talk about her sweethearts; then the moment
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 303 
 
 there was a suspicion of anything being in earnest, poor Charley's 
 persistent attempt to keep it a joke got painful. Nothing would 
 make him see there was anything wrong with Lavinia; he was too 
 chivalrous to admit it. I don't believe he ever realised it until 
 that business with Lowenstern." 
 
 "They were at the Hotel together?" half says, half asks Alice. 
 And Peggy replies: "Yes, and poor Charley all the time thought 
 she was at Birmingham with her mother. Robin came upon them 
 at Leamington and went straight for Lowenstern, and she threw 
 herself on Eobin and held him while Lowenstern ran away. Then 
 she wanted to make him believe there was no harm in it just an 
 accident! But the waiter had told Robin they were Mossoo and 
 Madame Ragon . . . isn't that him?" But it wasn't. Peggy 
 seemed to find a satisfaction in talking it all over, and Alice in 
 hearing her, so she went on: 
 
 "He never would have divorced her, you know, except for her 
 own sake. He said it would be her last chance of being a respecta- 
 ble woman; but she never got the chance, for Lowenstern laughed 
 at her." 
 
 "Was she with him, I mean Lowenstern, when she died ?" Alice 
 asks as believing that there may still be things she has never heard. 
 The unhappy soprano had been talked of as little as possible. 
 
 "I don't know the least," Peggy answers. "Charley and I al- 
 ways felt the less we heard about her the better, and you see the 
 advertisement gives no clue. I'm sure that's his knock." But 
 no! It wasn't his knock, even now, and it was getting quite 
 late. 
 
 "I wish he'd come," says his sister, "I'm all on the jar and it 
 makes me fancy every knock is his. That wasn't anybody. It was 
 a mistake they've gone away to thirty-five opposite." And the 
 two stand at the window and watch the mistake, in the shape of a 
 thick lady with a thin daughter, reinstated as accurate and gath- 
 ered into the bosom of thirty-five, opposite. Alice keeps silent, but 
 Peggy goes on talking. 
 
 "I was always so very, very glad Papa never lived to know it. 
 The disgrace would have broken his heart." 
 
 "And people don't really mind," Alice cuts in suddenly and 
 rather enigmatically. "You know what I mean, dear !" And Peggy 
 seems to know so well what she means, that nothing but a nod with 
 closed lips is necessary. We know, of course, that what Alice 
 meant was that public condemnation isn't in earnest about any- 
 thing of this sort, and indeed has an element of forgiveness in it 
 for those who kindly provide interesting divorce-court cases. What
 
 304 ALICE-FOK-SIIORT 
 
 should we do without them, when we are regular persons: we can't 
 always be at church! 
 
 "Poor dear Papa ! How he used to reproach himself for letting 
 Charley be an artist! I remember how he said, when I told him 
 how good he'd been to Charley, that he owed it to the poor boy 
 for never having stopped him. 'How can a man know he can't 
 paint unless somebody tells him?' said he, 'and nobody ever told 
 poor Charley.' And then he blamed himself for never having 
 had the courage of his opinions 'But wo were all such mighty 
 fine people' you remember Papa, Alice dear ?" And Alice remem- 
 bered very well. Both sit on, thinking of bygones, but the last 
 recollection has given a new list to the conversation, and Peggy 
 recurs to a theme that is evidently often under discussion. "Alice, 
 dear," says she, as one provided for a fresh possibility in it; and 
 Alice feays, "What?" 
 
 "Do you really think Charley will never, never, never make 
 anything of it?" 
 
 Alice waives the issue. "He makes something by stained-glass," 
 contains the implication that he makes nothing by something else-- 
 pictures, no doubt. We notice that there is in Lady Johnson a cer- 
 tain deference for Alice; that she seems to impute authority to 
 her. Indeed, Alice's face has a sense of brightness on the fore- 
 head; which is, however, well-set and free from overpowering 
 phrenologies, or we are not sure we would have anything to do with 
 her. It does not, as some foreheads do, advertise the profoundness 
 of its thought. But it leaves one with a sense that something has 
 flashed, and we can't say what ; and we know that the eyebrows, not 
 dark but firmly pencilled, will back up the flash, if need be, for all 
 they are so still in their repose. Just this time, they move a little 
 a slight half -rueful wrinkle, as she adds : "Poor Mr. Charley !" For 
 note, that to her he is always "Mr." Charley. It is not ceremoni- 
 ousness rather, a form of familiarity. 
 
 "He'll never paint a really finished picture," says she. And we 
 are painfully conscious that the flash has penetrated the dark 
 corners of the subject. But it has found something there it would 
 like to show us. "He has plenty of ability, you know," Alice goes 
 on, "only he's on the wrong tack." 
 
 "Do you mean he's painting the wrong sort of pictures ?" 
 
 "No, no. The wrong tack altogether !" But just as we are going 
 to hear what Charles's metier should have been, there comes a 
 knock both recognise as really his. Peggy says, "I'll go," and 
 leaves the room to meet him. Alice does not follow, but waits 
 half-way to the door, listening to hear them meet. In a moment it
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 305 
 
 is clear that they are not speaking of the death. Something present 
 and pressing is displacing it. Alice goes out. 
 
 "I don't believe it," Peggy is saying. "Only another false 
 alarm!" 
 
 "Well ! I'm only saying what old Payne says I hope he's wrong." 
 Alice asks what's the matter, and Lady Johnson answers: 
 
 "Dr. Payne says Pierre has got smallpox." 
 
 "Has got some of the early symptoms," Charles corrects the 
 broad statement. "Ten to one he's wrong. We shall see to- 
 morrow meanwhile, I oughtn't to come here, I only came over 
 to tell you; Payne said there would be no danger yet." 
 
 "Oh ! Charley dear, what an alarmist you are ! Now do come in 
 and don't be silly." And under his sister's soothing influence 
 Charles comes into the drawing-room, and submits to the current 
 refreshment under protest. "Going without your tea won't make 
 it a bit safer, you silly old boy," says Peggy. Charles acquiesces 
 generally, but evidently thinks if he keeps at a distance and kisses 
 nobody, his germs will flock round him and not cross the room. 
 He gives details of the symptoms, which Peggy treats with deri- 
 sion: "If one was to pay attention to all the fussifications about 
 infection," she says, "there would never be an end of it !" 
 
 "What's Alice after?" asks Charles, for Alice has quitted the 
 room and run upstairs. Presently she is audible returning. Peggy 
 has been thinking out the best approach to the subject of the 
 advertisement. Alice calls to her from outside, and she goes out; 
 then follows a short colloquy in an undertone, and Peggy returns. 
 "What's Alice after ?" Charles asks again. She replies equivocally 
 and the question dies down, and she goes and sits by her brother on 
 the arm of the big chair he is drinking the half-cold tea in. The 
 hand that begins automatically to ruffle his hair, as in old days, is 
 bigger, and the hair it touches is either cut closer or not so thick, 
 but now that we see them together in this way, and there is leisure 
 to think both over, we are aware that the changes of Time have 
 gone mostly in the direction of gravity and sadness on his part, 
 and mere amplification on hers. Lady Johnson of Harley Street 
 with four boys and three girls is quite as like Peggy Heath as 
 one could reasonably expect. But we could have reconciled our- 
 selves to much more tangible change in Charley, to have his old 
 Bmile back. 
 
 "Have you had any other news, Charley dear?" 
 
 "Yes !" A simple, direct affirmative is so rare that Peggy at once 
 sees he knows of his wife's death. She could not have guessed it 
 from anything in his previous manner. She finds she does not
 
 306 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 know what to say next, and says nothing; if he has heard any 
 particulars of the event, he will tell her of his own accord, but 
 Alice's disappearance is still unaccounted for, and Charles harks 
 back on it. "What was Alice after?" he says. 
 
 "Now you mustn't be angry! She went straight away to Acacia 
 Road to see after Pierre." Charles starts up from his chair in 
 great perturbation. 
 
 "Oh! Poggy-Woggy, how could you? Oh dear! Oh dear! I 
 must go and see and send her back again." 
 
 "Now, Charley dear ! don't be silly. Besides, you know perfectly 
 well you can't manage Alice she always gets her own way." 
 Charles appears to be conscious that this is so, and subsides into 
 his chair again. "It's all very fine, Lady Johnson," he says ; for he, 
 like Alice, often uses this designation, "but suppose Alice catches 
 it, and comes out like a nutmeg-grater all over?" 
 
 "I don't believe there's any 'it' for her to catch; and I should 
 love Alice just the same if she was ever so scratchy." 
 
 "So should I. But you ought to consider the poor girl herself. 
 Alice-f or-short ! Just think!" 
 
 "Be easy, old man. Nobody's going to be a nutmeg-grater. It's 
 only one of your panics about the boy." 
 
 From which it would appear that Charley is often in panics 
 about his boy. He seems to accept his sister's decision on this 
 point, as on others, but nothing alters the resolute sadness of his 
 face; it is consistently melancholy, without a trace of the lachry- 
 mose. It becomes very absent as he sits in the big armchair, 
 with Peggy ruffling his head as of old. She does not mean to 
 hurry him to speak of the death she knows he will in his own 
 time. When that comes, he says as though there had been a conver- 
 sation to continue : "No ! I've heard no details I only know what 
 the advertisement tells it's all over now." He seemed to put it 
 away as though he said: "Now we have spoken of it, and that's 
 enough" but the thought was on him that her death must surely 
 bring revival of blame for her, and he was all on the alert to fore- 
 stall it. 
 
 "It was all my fault, Peg," he says, and he is only reaffirming an 
 old position. "It had all come to an end, and it was my obstinacy 
 brought it all on again I was really never the husband for her." 
 
 Peggy's lips want to say, "Which of the other two, or three, was ?" 
 but she keeps them still, and says nothing, at least to that effect. 
 All she says is: "It was a mistake, Charley dear, but it's all over 
 now." As his last words were to the same effect, he cannot take 
 any exception to it.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 307 
 
 "Pierre recollects her after a fashion," said he, his mind landing, 
 as it were, on an island where he knew his sister's had already 
 arrived. "He was five years old only a year younger than Alice 
 was." Alice thus referred to, without further description, means 
 Alice at the time of her first occurrence; in fact, as a substantive 
 that describes that occurrence : "But then boys are so much younger 
 than girls ; I'm not altogether sorry he remembers her so little." 
 
 Peggy is bound to talk to her brother about his wife's death, but 
 is also tongue-tied on the subject, and wants to help him to fabri- 
 cate extenuation of her conduct; as she can imagine none, least 
 of all by laying blame at his door, she has to be silent. She would 
 like, nevertheless, to soften her silence, the meaning of which she 
 knows he knows. She has slight propensities towards moral tags, 
 true in themselves, but frayed with overmuch use. She gives 
 them up though, and cannot even manage the most trenchant of 
 all known words to the point; for she believes in her heart that in 
 this very popular department of human offence, her brother is as 
 much "without sin" as she herself is. She may be mistaken 
 very likely is, we think we hear you say, if you are human but 
 what do we know? So she does not suggest that she and Charley 
 should make a merit of not casting stones, and still clings to silence 
 against her will. 
 
 He knows why, and leaves it alone, but the very silence works 
 upon them both, and when Peggy breaks it at last with, "Oh! 
 Charley Charley darling," and a protest against a sob in her 
 voice, he lets the head she draws to her sink on her bosom, and 
 makes no more ado, but cries as a child cries when it seeks con- 
 cealment for its tears. So they remain, and dwell upon the spoiled 
 past. And so Rupert would have found them, only that when Peggy 
 hears him, without, she gets up from Charley and goes to meet 
 him, and Charles thinks he hears, or thinks he might have heard 
 had he listened, the words: "And a good riddance, too!" at the 
 end of a communication crossed by grunts, for the great physician 
 doesn't soften his speech except for occasion shown. 
 
 The appearance of his brother-in-law, and the telling him about 
 the boy, reminded Charles that he ought to get back home. He 
 had forgotten about the germs, although they were, no doubt, just 
 as much to the fore as ever. "I'll run you round and have a look 
 at the kid," said Sir Rupert, and influenced his carriage, through 
 the agency of Handsworth, to stop and take them. Five minutes 
 more chat-margin and twelve minutes trot found them at the door 
 of Charles' domicile in Acacia Road, St. John's Wood, with Alice 
 coming out on the balcony to see who the carriage was. If you had
 
 308 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 passed with a friend at that moment, you would probably have 
 said: "You didn't see that very pretty woman in the balcony just 
 now?" And he would have replied: "No, why didn't you tell me?" 
 And you would have felt that perhaps it was because Alice's was 
 a sort of beauty you took pleasure in exaggerating, but didn't 
 want to be convicted on. So, feeling you had got your friend in 
 a corner, you would have condoled with him on his loss. 
 
 However, Alice really did look very pretty on the balcony; sun- 
 set light in May is an improvement to all of us, and you felt that 
 when it died away, there would still be much to be said for her; 
 but she didn't wait to see, for she came downstairs and took the 
 wind out of Charles' latch-key's sail, by opening the door from 
 inside. 
 
 Charles had a disappointment in store for him. Peggy's cheer- 
 ful confidence had made him set his mind on being pooh-poohed 
 and called an alarmist. Alice, on the contrary, was what is called 
 encouraging. This means confession that something is afoot which 
 we have to be encouraged about. Dr. Payne had been again (which 
 was bad enough in itself), and had said we were not to be the least 
 uneasy, because we shouldn't know what it was till this time to- 
 morrow at least. Meanwhile we were approaching smallpox by a 
 process of elimination, Dr. Payne having just deprived us of 
 diseases, which we had some hopes of, by disallowing their principal 
 symptoms ; as, for instance, who ever heai*d of measles with no run- 
 ning at the eyes? We had been sanguine about measles now we 
 had to give it up. This was the substance of Alice's report of prog- 
 ress on the way up to the patient's bedroom. 
 
 A quarter of an hour later, Sir Eupert was departing from the 
 door with : "Remember ! all I say is that possibly it isn't." And 
 with that small consolation, Alice and Charles went back, griev- 
 ously downcast, into the house to do what little might be done to 
 allay fever that meant to have its way, and to keep a watchful eye 
 for the arrival of that most unwelcome guest, the cutaneous erup- 
 tion that was to christen the disorder. Meanwhile, Pierre, a little 
 chap between eleven and twelve, had become something red-hot, the 
 identity of which he was himself doubtful of, but of which he knew 
 this for certain, that he had a pain in its back, or it had a pain in 
 his. For he could not tell which was which, Pierre or the red-hot 
 thing ; and in the course of a few days, for all Sir Rupert had said 
 that possibly it wasn't, it was perfectly clear that it was, and the 
 fever raged and would not be comforted.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HOW CHARLES AND MRS. GAMP HAD A CLASSICAL CABMAN, AND HOW 
 THEY ENJOYED THE BALCONY IN TH| MOONLIGHT. HOW CHARLES 
 WAS A BAD ARTIST, AND ALICE SHOWED HER LOVE-LETTERS 
 
 WHEN Lady Johnson said Alice always got her own way with 
 Charles, she spoke no more than the truth. In the controversy 
 that followed Sir Rupert's departure, as to whether Alice should 
 stay or go, Charles hadn't a chance. 
 
 "What's the use of training for a nurse for two years if one 
 isn't to nurse a case that turns up providentially, to keep one's 
 hand in? Answer me that, Mr. Charley dear! And a nice uncle 
 you'll look, if I go back now and give it to Phillips and Alee." 
 This last was the proper distinction-name of the little Alice her 
 "i" was omitted for clearness. Phillips's real name was Phyllis. 
 "You know quite well, Mr. Charley," Alice continued, "that if I 
 had my white dress and big ribbons under my chin and my blue 
 cloak and bonnet, you would think I was bacillus-proof." 
 
 So Alice got her own way ; she turned every one out of the house 
 except the cook and its master, and only acquiesced in an auxiliary 
 under extreme pressure. This functionary had a bacillus-proof 
 uniform of the correctest type. But she had soon to be exchanged 
 for another because the patient complained that in the smallest 
 hours of the morning, when he asked for drink, she held the cup 
 near his lips, then drew it away, to tantalise him. Was this fever, 
 or was it true ? Who could tell ? Anyhow, an exchange was effected, 
 and a new one relieved guard at intervals. She was a sister of St. 
 Bridget and a daughter of a jeweller in Bond Street, and Alice 
 took kindly to her and made a good deal of acquaintance in 
 fact, she often allowed a needless inroad on what might have been 
 hours of sleep in order to get a good chat with Sister Eulalie, 
 chiefly about that interesting topic, the supernatural. She even 
 went the length of turning tables with her in the silence of the 
 night. 
 
 Now, even without the added stimulus of ghosts and spirits, 
 there is a fascination in the companionship of the sick-room. No- 
 where is intercourse more social all formality is swept away, 
 
 309
 
 310 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 responsibility is defined, and refreshments are always justifiable; 
 yet never de rigueur if unwelcome. If we are inclined to be silent, 
 there is always the excuse that the patient is getting to sleep, but 
 if we wish to talk, who can prevent us? And if we do chance to 
 feel that we have been making too much noise, we can always 
 make up for it by a short interlude of going on tip-toe, and saying 
 something inaudible to show how tight we are holding our tongues. 
 In fact, we have only to conteider the patient sufficiently to ensure 
 the luxury of a clear conscience, and we can enjoy ourselves 
 thoroughly. 
 
 However, as you say, that is perhaps a malicious and cynical way 
 of putting it. But be easy! Poor Pierre never was a penny the 
 worse from any neglect of his nurses. The most beautiful com- 
 munications of the table would be ruthlessly sacrificed the instant 
 either nurse heard the patient move, or thought she did. Alice 
 and Sister Eulalie enjoyed the protection of the Red Cross in the 
 Battle of Life, but did their duty by the casualty they had in 
 charge. 
 
 "We've christened ourselves Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Prig," said 
 Alice after reporting to Charles the events of his absence and the 
 state of the patient. More than a fortnight had passed, and the 
 worst was over. No one had been allowed in the house but Charlea 
 and the doctor the primordial one, Sir Rupert being quite un- 
 necessary. Charles had gone every day to his Studio, avoiding his 
 fellow-man, and rushing upstairs surrounded by mental pictures 
 of germs like a swarm of bees, only smaller, and then locking his 
 door to keep the swarm in and his fellow-man out. This conduct 
 would hardly have passed muster nowadays, but in those years peo- 
 ple had not been brought under control. At this moment of the 
 story he was scheming in his mind to take Alice out in a hansom, 
 smallpox or no it was such a glorious evening, and the pooi 
 girl had really hardly been out. 
 
 "Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Prig didn't turn tables," said Charles, 
 "However, when Mrs. Gamp comes, or Mrs. Prig, whichever she 
 is, you and me, Miss Kavanagh dearest, are going for ever-such-a- 
 long drive in a cab yes, we are ! And you're going to sit up on the 
 seat beside me and look over the door. Do you recollect that, Alice, 
 I wonder?" 
 
 "I remember. Only my feet didn't touch the ground then. But 
 ought we to ride in a cab ?" 
 
 "We can call the driver's attention to the germs." Charles says 
 this with much of his old manner. "Or we can have the cab 
 sterilised after. I'll tell him, anyhow. There's Mrs. Prig cut
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 311 
 
 along, Alice get your bonnet on." And as Mrs. Prig comes in to 
 relieve guard, Alice disappears to get ready. "We're getting on 
 beautifully, Mr. Heath," says Mrs. Prig, "and if only there are no 
 complications " 
 
 "I can't say I've ever seen him look worse than he does to-day," 
 says Charles, rather dejectedly. But the nurse goes into the sick- 
 room, at the door of which they are standing, and her voice comes 
 out in cheerful confirmation of her opinion. "Looks don't count, 
 you know," she says, and Charles feels happier. 
 
 Just as Alice and he are departing, Mrs. Prig calls out from the 
 landing above : "Oh, Miss Kavanagh, I was forgetting to tell you 
 my father knew about the stone; he says it's a Jacinth. I've 
 brought it back all safe. Here it is ! You take it." And comes a 
 few steps down to transfer a ring from her finger to Alice's. 
 
 Charles chose a particularly showy Hansom with a spirited horse, 
 and got Alice and himself in. She thought he was going to forget 
 the caution he had contemplated to the cabman, but she was 
 mistaken. 
 
 "This young lady and myself," said he, through the trapdoor, 
 pushed up by his stick-point, to the driver, "are from the Smallpox 
 Hospital. Any objection?" 
 
 "None whatever, Sir. Convalescent, I presume?" Thus the 
 Cabby replied, with immovable gravity, and Alice felt that even 
 now she had hardly gauged the length and breadth of the London, 
 cabman's mind. "Well," said Charles, "I did my duty, anyhow !" 
 
 "Which way did you tell him to go ?" 
 
 "Didn't tell him any way I'll show him with my stick. Let's 
 go along Finchley Road and round Hampstead," which accordingly 
 they set out to do. 
 
 "What was it Mrs. Prig said about a stone ?" asked Charles when 
 they had settled down to chat. 
 
 "Why, don't you recollect my old ring the one there was that 
 funny story about?" 
 
 "Surely. The old ring what that poor mother of yours found 
 in Jeffs jug. I wonder whether Jeff sold the old jug. And you 
 were bringing the beer from the pub. Poor little Alice!" 
 
 "It all seems now like a strange old dream," says Alice. "Oh, 
 so long ago! Only that time I went over the cliff seems like 
 the other day; and it was only just after when all's said and 
 done." 
 
 "Is all said and done? But go on telling about Mrs. Prig and 
 the stone." 
 
 Sister Eulalie says (oh, gracious! that child will be
 
 312 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 run over no, he's all right!) Sister Eulalie says about that stone 
 you remember the stone we couldn't find the name of ?" 
 
 "I remember there was a stone. And I remember one evening 
 before the fire in the back drawing-room at the Gardens, me and 
 Peggy and Rupert trying to make it spell Phyllis. We wanted 
 to tack it on to the ghost at No. 40. You saw the ghost, Alice ?" 
 
 "I said I saw a lady on the stairs, didn't I? I wonder what I 
 did see!" 
 
 "You seem a very weak-kneed witness, Miss Kavanagh. Not 
 much to be elicited from you. But let's see what the Jacinth will 
 do for us. Don't put your glove over it." For Alice is pulling away 
 at a tight glove that has been refusing to come on since they 
 started. She runs it back as far as the ring, for inspection: 
 Charles examines it. 
 
 "I recollect now," he says; "but the Jacinth comes after the P, 
 and that's no use at all. I wish it was after the L, that would give 
 us a lift, because J is I." 
 
 "I'm sure that thing after the L isn't a stone at all. It's a little 
 bit of ivory; that would do, you know." 
 
 "Peggy wanted the two L's to be Lapis-lazuli. Well! that looks 
 right that is a bit of Lapis-lazuli." Both reflected over the 
 ring Alice held out for inspection over the folding doors of the 
 cab. 
 
 "It does look like Phyllis doesn't it, Alice? If only Jacinth 
 began with an H we should be almost quite complete." 
 
 The little incident that followed was always spoken of after- 
 wards by Charles and Alice as, par excellence, THE surprise of their 
 lives, for a voice came from above, through the little trap-door 
 the voice of the cabman, but not sounding at all like the voice of a 
 real cabman. 
 
 "I can understand it, Sir, if you'll excuse the interruption 
 (I've got my eye on the horse. You needn't be uneasy) Jacinth is 
 Hyacinth Hyacinth begins with an H." But the horse was not 
 prepared to allow his driver such liberty, and shied, and had to be 
 calmed down with lashing and disparagement, which seemed good 
 for his nervous system. He settled into an easy amble, after one 
 or two snorts and head-flings. The driver resumed: 
 
 "He'll be all right now. You'll excuse me, but you see I was 
 just looking through to mention that the road was up in front, 
 and I heard you say Jacinth didn't begin with an H. You'll 
 excuse me?" Both, who had been laughing at the oddity of the 
 whole thing, said at once : "Certainly you're quite right" ; and the 
 cabman added : "It was no use going on and having to come back
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 313 
 
 I'll turn off this next turn, if you've no objection"; to which 
 Charles assented, "Go anywhere round by Hampstead, for a drive," 
 he said. 
 
 "But what a strange cabby!" said Alice, and again burst out 
 laughing. It seemed too ridiculous that this puzzle of the stone 
 should be solved after all these years by an occasional cabman, 
 speaking through a hole in his own roof. It was perfectly clear 
 though (and Charles felt quite ashamed of not having solved the 
 mystery before) that Phyllis was spelled by the initials of the ring- 
 stones; only that H and Y were supplied by one stone, and both L's 
 by another. But interest in the discovery was, for the moment, 
 superseded by the way it had come about. It really had to be 
 accounted for; it was impossible to accept such a phenomenon 
 without explanation. 
 
 "Shall I shout up through the hole to him, and ask him if he's a 
 Senior Classic, or what?" 
 
 "I don't know what one ought to do," said Alice. "Some expla- 
 nation is necessary." And Charles said, "We can't let it alone 
 impossible." 
 
 The explanation came, but not till the drive was over, and all 
 three were at the street-door of Charley's house. Then, as Charles 
 handed the cabman an extravagant fare, to avoid complications, he 
 asked him point-blank : "How came you to know about Jacinth and 
 Hyacinth?" Alice stood looking at him and wondering what he 
 would answer. 
 
 "I am not the only man that has failed in life," he said ; "it was 
 my own fault." 
 
 And that was all ! But it seemed enough. He slipped the fare 
 into his pocket uncounted, remounted his box, and rode away. 
 Alice ran quickly upstairs, to relieve guard: Charles followed 
 slowly, his face sadder and more thoughtful than ever. 
 
 "We've had such a funny adventure." Thus Alice to Sister 
 Eulalie, and she gave an account of the cabman. Not having seen 
 him, the nurse was less interested in his antecedents than in the 
 confirmation of the identity of the stone. This was a personal 
 matter; after her father's opinion she felt it was in the family. 
 But Charles was rather silent, and said nothing further about it 
 till quite late in the evening, whe,n the patient had gone off to 
 sleep after a visit from the doctor. Progress was satisfactory, and 
 chat was possible till one or the other of the guardians should go 
 away to rest. It was a beautiful warm, early summer night, 
 and they could sit out on the balcony, within easy hearing of the 
 patient, should he wake.
 
 314 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 These two were necessarily isolated from the world without, and 
 thrown, little loth, on one another's society. Theirs was one of 
 those cases, rare enough, of a relation between two of their age and 
 sex into which no element of disquiet could enter; yet which was 
 not the relation of father and daughter, nor of brother and sister. 
 Alice was not changed, in the eyes of Charles, from the Alice he 
 had picked up off the stones that Pussy broke the saucer on, and 
 had wrapped up in his coat. He himself was, to her, simply the 
 great and wondrous good that had come suddenly down from the 
 first floor to the basement to raise her up from what she had since 
 learned to know was Hell, but which had till then been merely 
 a lot one of those things, or states, the Sunday-school teacher had 
 given her to understand it was sinful to repine at. So Alice, being 
 anxious to oblige her Maker, had done all that in her lay to be 
 grateful to him for short commons, underground darkness, a 
 father peevish at the best, and a mother half -drunk at the worst, 
 but improving perceptibly as she became insensible. Still, she 
 found her task of gratitude a much lighter one when there was 
 "vouchsafed" to her as she understood had occurred in the fore- 
 going instances an Angel in spectacles, who had picked her up 
 and wafted her away to an earthly Paradise of warmth and light 
 and love; a Paradise that had since become her very own. It had 
 never crossed Alice's mind that had she not been the dear little 
 maiden she was, she would never have clung to that spray, but 
 would have had to pass out into another wilderness better than 
 her first, and protected; but still, not the haven of calm waters 
 and balmy winds her memory now knew as Hyde Park Gardens. A 
 hint that she herself had helped the end, that her merits had any- 
 thing to do with it, would have seemed to her blasphemy against 
 Mr. Charley. He was an Avatar that had been vouchsafed and 
 was being vouchsafed to her ; and to suppose that her personal iden- 
 tity had made his benevolence an easy one would have made her 
 seem to herself undeserving of having anything further vouch- 
 safed, now or henceforward. On which account when the alarm 
 came that Pierre had smallpox Alice did forthwith what she would 
 have done equally had it been Bubonic Plague, and went straight 
 away to nurse him. It has transpired that she had had two years' 
 training as a nurse, so the thing was a matter of course. He was 
 Mr. Charley's boy, and there was an end of it. 
 
 We may speculate, from these data, about what these two were to 
 one another, and to themselves, as they sat out on the balcony in 
 the sweet summer night, enjoying, as Charles put it, the coolth of 
 the warmth. The smoke of his meerschaum pipe for he still
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 315 
 
 smoked a meerschaum with a long stem, and Latakia curled up 
 in the still air, and the reflection of a backward half -moon, only 
 just climbing above the purple haze of an excusable minimum of 
 London fog, glared in his spectacles as he looked through them 
 at the girl opposite; perhaps we should write the woman oppo- 
 site, for Alice was on the way to twenty-four, if you please. 
 But he saw the girl she had been to him all along he merely 
 looked on her womanhood as a plaguy intrusion that had 
 been fussing round these five years past and that nobody had 
 wanted least of all himself ! Why could she not stop a baby, and 
 be hanged to her! Twenty-three! Just fancy Alice-f or-short ! 
 That expresses how he thought of her as near as we can put it. And 
 all the while she was a woman grown, mature of form and well- 
 established, and with all her share of beauty, and more than her 
 share of self-reliance and character. And he was clinging to her 
 babyhood, as a father clings to that of his favourite daughter. 
 
 And how did he picture himself to himself, this man, as he sat 
 there silently smoking in the moonlight, watching her and think- 
 ing of his own spoiled past, and unhappy life; of his vague and 
 ill-directed efforts in an art he was never born to practise; of his 
 misplaced, mistaken, misfeatured love for the woman his intense 
 chivalry still refused to think of as entirely bad; and of the many 
 things that, but for this and but for that, might have been and were 
 not ? His image of himself was that of an old man, weary "with 
 self-reproach and loneliness of heart, ready for confession .and 
 repentance, if such were possible, but seeing no outlet for either. 
 He had chosen his life, and must go on to the end; it was a gar- 
 den where no growth could be; where no seed had been sown in 
 its season; where no stock had been grafted with a right scion. 
 The plantain was in the turf, and the wire-worm in the flower-beds ; 
 and one day the tap-roots of the creeping weed would be over all, 
 and the gardener would still be there, older still, sadder still, and 
 saying in his heart : "This is what is left of the rose-tree I planted 
 years ago this was the vine, and this the fig. And when the young 
 leaves came in their first spring, their first communion with the sun 
 and showers, I dreamed of the bloom and the fruit that were to be, 
 and never doubted of their fulness. And see them now !" 
 
 Alice knew Mr. Charley was unhappy about his profession, but 
 did not know how much. She allowed herself a measure of self- 
 deception about his status, and when Mr. Jerrythought A. R. A. af- 
 firmed that: "'Eath had seized some aspects of Nature that every 
 one else had overlooked" she really believed that his words meant 
 something, and that Mr. Charley had a strange superior inner life
 
 316 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 in his Art. She heard other friendly voices speak of the quality 
 and tone that distinguished it, and longed to be able to see them 
 herself but alas! unsuccessfully. So she anchored her ship to 
 the rock of her own incapacity, and trusted that it was this alone 
 that postponed her reaching a port of belief in his powers as an 
 Artist. 
 
 As to the way in which she, for her part, thought of herself in 
 her relation to him, it was simple, straightforward, intelligible. 
 She was something he was welcome to, if it was possible or con- 
 ceivable that it should bring him any earthly advantage. What can 
 I do for poor Mr. Charley? This was the question she asked her- 
 self again and again. If it had been clear to her that the sacrifice 
 of her right hand would have done him any mortal good, she would 
 simply have stretched it out and said: "Cut away!" If it could 
 have been shown by some witch that two blue eyes alone were 
 wanting to complete a caldron from which Mr. Charley's happiness 
 would spring, she would have cried out at once to that witch: 
 "Take this pair of mine, and look sharp about it. What are you 
 hesitating for?" For any decent witch would have hesitated. To 
 say that Alice had faced, without a shudder, the risk of being 
 turned into a nutmeg-grater by smallpox for Charles's sake, would 
 be a false way of stating a true thing. For Alice had never waited 
 to picture to herself the consequences of her action. Her mind 
 ignored the risks altogether, as things irrelevant where Mr. 
 Charley was concerned; she never even condescended to say, 
 "Bother them!" 
 
 So now, if we were to tell the honest truth about why the two 
 blue eyes (which fortunately no witch was making an offer for) 
 were looking rather happily this evening at Charles's grave, absent 
 face, through the floating clouds of his Latakia, we should have 
 to record that Alice was thinking of the death of her patient's 
 mother in its aspect of a release to his father. She was really say- 
 ing to herself: "Now Mr. Charley can marry Lady Anstruther 
 Paston-Forbes and nobody find fault." This lady, an enormously 
 rich widow of great beauty and accomplishments, was supposed 
 by Peggy and Alice to have a fascination for Charles; perhaps 
 she had, only so far as we know she does not come into this story, 
 except as a thought in Alice's mind as she sits there gazing at 
 Charles and his smoke, and herself (we suppose we ought to regret 
 to say) lawlessly smoking a cigarette. But she was well behind 
 the balcony parapet and invisible to the public, so forgive her I 
 Now it is time to let them talk a little. 
 
 "I knew that cabman to-day, Alice recollected him since !"
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 317 
 
 "You knew him ! Oh dear ! What a pity you didn't stop him. 
 I'm so sorry." 
 
 "I'm not. It was an ugly story." Charles paused ; he was almost 
 sorry he had said it, hut, however, Alice wouldn't ask for the 
 story, as he had said it was ugly; or would be satisfied with guess- 
 ing. He continued: 
 
 "He and I were at Harrow together; he went to Cambridge and 
 distinguished himself took a good place in Mathematics and a 
 still better one in Classics I heard of it all afterwards. He well, 
 he disgraced himself and was ruined." 
 
 "Oh, poor fellow! Quite hopelessly?" 
 
 "Quite hopelessly." The pity in the blue eyes would have sought 
 for more information, but there is something in Charles's voice 
 which closes the door on this man's misdeed, and Alice asks 
 no further. Charles goes on to tell what he will, and no 
 more. 
 
 "He was sent to penal servitude I forget for how long. He had 
 influential friends, and efforts were made to get him off on the 
 score of insanity; but a ruthless judge told the Jury, which the 
 prisoner had no influential friends on, that no man was insane in 
 a legal sense when he was perfectly conscious of his own actions. 
 He said : 'No doubt, Gentlemen, there is a sense in which Cain was 
 insane when he killed Abel, but had he been tried in this Court, 
 I should have summed up against him.' So poor Denzil was 
 packed off to gaol without benefit of Clergy. He was in the 
 Church, by the way. Edward Thwaites Denzil that was his 
 name." 
 
 "What a shocking story ! It seems so impossible ; he looked a nice 
 man." 
 
 "A very nice man. A good man, too, I dare say as good as 
 another man, that is. But he'd been pitchforked into a profession 
 he had no business with." 
 
 Charles's voice, on his last three words, had a sense of weariness, 
 or pain, in it. Alice knew its cause, and her mind lost touch with 
 the story of the cabman, interesting though it was, and went solely 
 to join her companion in his thought of his own life. He took 
 this brain-wave for granted, and went on as though it had really 
 become speech: 
 
 "I wasn't pitchforked into mine. It was all my own doing. 
 Poor Denzil was jammed into the Church by his family. If he had 
 been made a soldier of he would have been all right or a states- 
 man, or a lawyer, or anything to keep him out of mischief 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley dear, what a shame ! I won't sit and listen to
 
 318 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 you, so there ! You never lose a chance of saying something spite- 
 ful about the poor parsons." 
 
 "Why should I? Only this time I didn't mean to be spiteful. 
 On the contrary I was complimenting them for remaining decent 
 under their circumstances. You know the story of the Alchemist ?" 
 
 "Yes no! go on." 
 
 "The Alchemist who contracted to turn copper into gold? He 
 made his admirers subscribe the copper, then assembled them to- 
 gether to see the magic transmutation ; but he gave them a caution 
 a necessary condition to observe. On no account was any one to 
 think of a blue monkey. The copper vanished from the crucible, 
 but no gold came in its place! The sorcerer taxed the spectators 
 with thinking of blue monkeys, and one and all admitted they had 
 thought of nothing else." 
 
 "What's the moral, Teachy-Weachy ?" 
 
 "Clear enough. Folk that spend their lives professionally shun- 
 ning Evil can't think of anything else. The blue monkey in the 
 case of a parson is our dear old friend the Devil." But Charles 
 pulled up short in his homily; he didn't want to have to explain 
 Mr. Thwaites Denzil's blue monkey in full. The nearest road 
 away from the unhappy cabby led back to the parallel about 
 himself. 
 
 "Anyhow, Alice dear, the poor beggar was right when he said he 
 wasn't the only man that had failed in Life." Alice threw away 
 the end of the lawless cigarette, and sat forward with her elbows 
 on her knees, and her face resting in her hands, looking up at 
 Charles. 
 
 "You are thinking of yourself," she said. It was not a question, 
 but a statement. 
 
 "Of both my selves, dear," he replied. "Of my human self 
 and a nice hash I made of that, and we won't talk about it. And 
 of my professional self, and that, at any rate, we can talk about. 
 A nice hash I made of it all the same." 
 
 "How old are you now really and truly how old ? Forty-two ?" 
 
 "Forty-one next November." 
 
 "There, see now, you are even younger than I thought. I 
 thought you were. Oh yes! you're going to say that's nonsense 
 but you know what I mean." And Charles admits it. "I will not 
 deceive you, my sweet, I do," he says. And then his citation from 
 Mrs. Gamp recalls Sister Eulalie. 
 
 "Mrs. Prig guessed me forty-seven, and I guessed her twenty- 
 nine. She's thirty-nine, she says. Isn't it incredible?" But 
 Alice's face doesn't care what age Sister Eulalie is: the burden of
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 319 
 
 an interest, a strong one, is upon it, and she does not mean to be 
 headed off by anybody's age. 
 
 "How can you know whether you are successful or not at forty- 
 one? How do you know you won't have a tremendous success, all 
 of a sudden? Yes after another ten years, perhaps but some 
 time ! And then twenty years of real, happy work. It has all been 
 before, this sort of thing. Why not you?" 
 
 Alice has taken one hand from under her chin to point at poor 
 Charley, like an accusing Angel. "Why not you ?" she repeats. 
 
 "You needn't look 30 reproachful, Miss Kavanagh darling. I'm 
 open to conviction, like other culprits. But no ! I'll tell you, 
 dear ' He knocks out the ashes of the Latakia from his pipe, 
 and reflects on the first instalment of his explanation. Alice 
 replaces her hand, and remains with closed lips and eyes of fixed 
 attention. A stray lock of hair floats over her forehead in the light 
 night wind that is seeking windows to blow in at, but making 
 little effort to blow them open for itself. If a spectator twenty 
 feet high could have looked over the balcony, he would certainly 
 have felt the beauty of Alice's earnest face without exactly know- 
 ing whether it was due to its intelligence, or the remains of the 
 afterglow, all but dead now, but just able to put a faint cadence of 
 benediction on record before saying good-night. 
 
 "I know my work is rubbish." Thus Charles at the end of his 
 pause. "All unreal rubbish! I know it! As I look back through 
 the dreary ranks of spoiled canvases, I ask myself the question : 'If 
 these had been the work of another person, and I had been Croesus, 
 should I have purchased them ?' Not I ! And yet I paint on, hop- 
 ing that Croesus will see something in my work I do not see myself, 
 and humbly ask to be permitted to possess it." 
 
 "Because you look at your own work. You should never do that. 
 Put the canvases away till Croesus comes. The less you see of 
 them the better." 
 
 "That's what Croesus thinks!" But Alice is too earnest even to 
 notice any cynical exaggerations or "grim ironies" of Master 
 Charley's she knows his way of old. Her mind is on a warpath of 
 solid purpose, and she doesn't mean to humour any extravagances. 
 She takes absolutely no notice of his remark, but goes on. 
 
 "Keep them out of your sight, and take the word of your friends 
 about their value not your own. Think what Mr. Jerrythought 
 says ! And what did that man say that came to dinner at Harley 
 Street ? He's an Art-Critic and an authority. He ought to know." 
 
 "He said my pictures showed a delicacy of insight, combined 
 with a breadth of treatment, that foretold a future for the Artistt
 
 320 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 That's what he said. What he meant was that the Leoville was 
 unexceptionable, the Pommery-and-Greno extra-sec, and that he 
 would take a leg of the grouse, please!" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley Mr. Charley ! For shame ! If you take that 
 tone what becomes of the value of human testimony to anything ?" 
 
 "What is the value of human testimony to anything?" 
 
 "Very well then! I won't talk to you. Unless you'll be reason- 
 able." A good-humoured smile twinkles over Charles's face as he 
 looks with admiration at the earnestness and the flashing blue eyes, 
 not quite without suspicion of a tear in them. He surrenders and 
 promises to be reasonable, adding something under his breath. 
 
 "What's that you said?" asks his monitress. 
 
 "I said 'Bravo, Alice !' " This belongs to the class of irrelevant 
 concomitants, and Alice takes no notice of that either. She 
 ploughs straight through the weeds, and goes on turning up the 
 furrow. 
 
 "Besides, there are plenty of other people who say just the same 
 about your work it isn't as if it was only one little humbug of an 
 Art-Critic. And then, your work has never been properly seen. 
 The public don't know it." But Charles notices that his defender 
 retires to a second line of defence, and suspects that the guns 
 on the first line were not fit for use. "Who were the plenty of 
 other people ?" he asks. Alice feels that one or two, who have been 
 on the tip of her tongue, are not strong examples, and will only 
 weaken her case. She extricates herself cleverly. 
 
 "No I won't set them up just for you to knock down ; you know 
 you will. But though you won't believe me, there really are num- 
 bers of people who think a deal of your pictures. Why, only the 
 other day, Lady What's her-name ? (You know who I mean with 
 a bridge to her nose well never mind!) was asking about them 
 and saying how interesting and original they were." Charles 
 shakes an incredulous head slowly. 
 
 "Dear little Mistress Alice," he says, using another of her many 
 appellations, "I have noticed that people are rather fond of 
 ascribing a factitious importance to events of little moment in 
 themselves by dwelling on the fact that they only occurred the 
 other day. I will take this opportunity of pointing out that the 
 opinions of Lady Nosebridge are not of any value in themselves, 
 and do not acquire any from the date of their utterance, however 
 recent." Charles has fallen into his old mock-pompous or didactic 
 form of speech, and Alice laughs with pleasure, for it is a sign, 
 to her, that he is less unhappy at heart. He would not do it if he 
 were quite miserable. She knows him, down to the ground.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 321 
 
 "I was sure you were talking nonsense all along," she says, hope- 
 fully. But she is disappointed when his tone changes again in 
 his reply. 
 
 "No, dear, no!" he says. "I was talking nonsense then, but not 
 before. I know people praise my work, as you say, after a fashion 
 but they speak encouragingly. Don't you know how crushed one 
 feels when one's encouraged encouragingly?" Alice thinks of 
 rebutting this on the ground of its intrinsic absurdity; but alas! 
 she knows how true it is, and gives up the idea. "Oh dear!" says 
 she, "I wish I knew about painting and could praise it." Charles 
 laughs aloud at this. 
 
 "Oh, Mistress Alice Mistress Alice!" he says, "that's just what 
 you couldn't do if you did know. You praise it now because you 
 love me and Peggy, and because you think you have a warranty 
 from impartial authorities, but you haven't for all that !" Charles 
 knocks the ash out of his pipe with a sigh. Then he begins to fill 
 it again, and rallies to cheerfulness. "Now we've talked enough 
 about me ! I want to know about your precious self, chick ! 
 What did you write to poor Roger ?" 
 
 Alice unpacks the arrangement of hand-support for her face, 
 which has had somewhat the force of a gun-carriage; and sub- 
 stitutes a hair-ruffling disposition of her arms above her head, 
 which is not unladylike when there is no company. It has an effect 
 of effrontery, with conscious weakness in the background. 
 
 "I'm sure I'm very sorry for Mr. Selwyn-Kerr. It wasn't me, 
 you know." 
 
 "Wasn't you ?" 
 
 "Wasn't my fault! Besides he says if I had been ever so dis- 
 agreeable it would have been exactly the same." 
 
 "Poor Miss Kavanagh! She was in a fix! No! I don't see 
 what was to be done. But what did you say to him ?" 
 
 "I don't mind your seeing the letter, Mr. Charley. It's not gone 
 yet. I'll run in and get it." Which she does, but does not return 
 immediately. Charles goes in to look for her, and meets her com- 
 ing out from the back-room where the patient is. "I thought I 
 heard him," she says, "but he's sleeping nicely still." Charles 
 goes in to the light to read the letter. After a glance at the first 
 page, he looks up. "Highly proper!" is his comment. "I wonder 
 if you girls are aware that every one of you writes exactly the 
 same letter under the same circumstances ?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley, we don't! I'm sure mine is quite original." 
 Charles returns to the letter and reads aloud: 
 
 " TDear Mr. Selwyn-Kerr* nothing original in that, anyhow 'I
 
 322 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 cannot find words to tell you how completely your letter yesterday 
 took me by surprise. I ask you most earnestly to believe me when 
 I say that I had no suspicion of the existence of such a feeling 
 on the part of one whom I have always regarded only as a 
 friend, however cordial the friendly relation might be that has 
 always subsisted between us, and that will, I hope, always 
 continue.' 
 
 "Now, Miss Kavanagh! will you be kind enough to tell me 
 whether you consider that original, and if so, why?" Charles is 
 sitting on the corner of a substantial square table as he reads this, 
 under the gas Alice has just turned up. We can recognise that 
 table, and the drawer in it, as the one in which Peggy found the 
 tailor's pattern-book; it has become part of "the furniture" and is 
 taken for granted and undistinguished. If it can think, how 
 puzzled it must be at the Alice of now and its memory of the 
 Alice of then. Does it remember the days of its first furniture- 
 polish, when there was no Alice at all? The days of the great 
 Shop, where everything was new, and your orders received prompt 
 and careful attention ? If it does, it says nothing about them, nor 
 does it seem inquisitive about the precise relation of the gentleman 
 who is sitting on it, and the young lady who stands there beside 
 him. 
 
 Yet it might be puzzled at this too, although the explanation 
 would be most reasonable. For nothing could throw more light 
 upon it than the perfectly easy and unconcerned way in which 
 Alice lays her right hand across Charles's shoulder, and with her 
 left hand takes hold of a corner of the letter he is reading; as 
 though retaining a right to snatch it back on repentance, if it 
 should occur. Nor the way in which his left hand goes across and 
 finds two fingers of her right to hold, while his own right keeps 
 a firm hold on the letter, as a hand that suspects foul play. Out- 
 side in the balcony, they might have been people who had met a 
 year ago; as we see them now, they are redolent of three or 
 four lustres of intimacy, beginning with the babyhood of the 
 younger. 
 
 "No, Mr. Charley dear, do be serious! That's only the intro- 
 duction." 
 
 "Very well then ! On we go : 'But I should be acting in a most 
 wrong and cowardly manner, from scruples about saying a dis- 
 agreeable thing, if I left you to suppose that my feelings towards 
 you could ever be other than those of friendship. Pray dismiss 
 the idea from your mind.' 
 
 "Poor Mr. Selwyn-Kerr! Squelched!" Charles looks round at
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 323 
 
 the pretty face on his left, whose owner is biting its under lip, as 
 one half vexed, half laughing; and whose cheeks show a slight 
 flush of embarrassment, accenting the beauty of its eyes. "'Well!" 
 says she, in an absurd, apologetic manner, "go ahead and read the 
 rest !" Charles shakes his head reproachfully and resumes. 
 
 " 'I am to blame at least, I blame myself for not guessing 
 about it. Had I suspected the truth, I might at least have dis- 
 couraged you by my manner from a course which can only result 
 in pain for both of us, especially for me; for indeed, dear Mr. 
 Selwyn-Kerr, I did and do value your friendship, and now I feel 
 
 it has got spoiled ' That's original," said Charles, stopping 
 
 " 'got spoiled' is decidedly original." 
 
 "I thought of saying," says Alice, submissively, "couldn't he 
 manage to keep going, and not have any Love in it? But I had 
 to give that up. However, go on !" 
 
 Charles does not go on at once. He glances on a few lines in 
 advance, murmuring to himself " 'ought to tell you honestly 
 Jessie Freeth' what's all this ?" And Alice says, "Read it aloud," 
 and relinquishes the held corner to place her hand on his unoccu- 
 pied shoulder, and put her chin on it. We give these photographic 
 details, to help on a conception of the general position. Without 
 them, misapprehensions might arise. Charles reads aloud as 
 bidden. 
 
 " 'I feel that I ought to tell you honestly that I was completely 
 thrown off my guard by a foolish report (as I now suppose, an 
 entirely false one) that you and Jessie Freeth were engaged, or 
 nearly. People are so silly! I daresay, though, I believed it all 
 too easily because I am so fond of Jessie, and I thought it would 
 be so nice, and you would ask me to your house, and now per- 
 haps Jessie will be unhappy about it, because, you know, if one 
 person makes a mistake, another may. Do forgive me, for writing 
 all this to you but I owe it to myself to tell you how I was misled. 
 I could not bear to be thought heedless or inconsiderate towards a 
 friend, especially towards one whom I have always valued as I 
 have yourself.' " 
 
 "Turn over," said Alice. Charles did so, and continued, remark- 
 ing that, "here was the peroration." 
 
 " 'Dear Mr. Selwyn-Kerr, you have done me the greatest honour 
 that any man can do to any woman, so do not believe that I am 
 ungrateful or unfeeling, because no other course is possible to me 
 than the one I have taken. I shall be very unhappy about you until 
 I hear (as I earnestly hope I some day shall) that you have found 
 happiness elsewhere.* Meanwhile I cannot say too plainly that I
 
 324 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 can never be more to you than what I now ask to oe allowed to 
 sign myself, 
 
 Your affectionate and faithful friend, 
 
 ALICIA KAVANAGH.'" 
 
 Charles turned back the pages, asking, "What's the asterisk? 
 oh, here we are !" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley, don't say I mustn't put that in. Think what 
 a bother it will be to write it all over again. And so cold-blooded !" 
 
 "Let's see what it is, Mistress Alice. 'P. S. I hope I shall not 
 do wrong in speaking of this matter to Jessie Freeth. I will 
 promise not to talk to anybody else.' And then you come straight 
 off and show the letter to me. You're a nice little Alice-f or-short !" 
 
 "Oh, I do like it so when you call me that. You haven't done 
 it for ever so long. But I may send the letter, mayn't I? I 
 thought it such a good one." 
 
 "It's a capital letter. It shows the authoress. You send it off! 
 Jessie Freeth and Roger will suit each other to a nicety." 
 
 "Oh but! " 
 
 "Yes but ! So come now, Miss Alice ! You wouldn't be guilty 
 of matchmaking of course! But that's what will come of it." 
 
 "How can I leave poor Jessie in ignorance? She'll forget all 
 about him if I tell her only, she ought to know." Alice is all up 
 in arms about her friend, and her face is flashing with earnest- 
 ness again. She has seemed to think the little drama, so far as she 
 herself came into it, only a farce. Women are apt to look on all 
 their offers but one as farces. But she evidently fears for her 
 friend what speech in time from herself may prevent. "I'm not 
 matchmaking!" says she, indignantly. Her chin has come off 
 the hand on Charles's shoulder, and she is half-seated on the 
 table behind him. He is relighting his pipe. When he has done 
 this they go out on the balcony into the moonlight, and settle 
 down as before. 
 
 "Why do you say 'no' to all of 'em, little Alice ?" 
 
 "I've only said no to three so far, unless you count in Sir Thomas 
 Brabazon? He makes four." 
 
 "I certainly count him. But why do you ? Little Mistress Alice, 
 if there is any one in the bush you're keeping back, do confess up ! 
 Take a poor old widower into your confidence." Charles sits look- 
 ing at Alice's drooped eyelids and hesitating manner, and waiting 
 for a concession. Presently she looks up: 
 
 "Why do I say no? Because saying yes involves so much, I 
 suppose."
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 325 
 
 'It involves a great deal. So does asking for it. Think what 
 it must have cost the Brabazon to screw himself up to the 
 point- 
 
 "He's quite happy he heard poor father was a tailor !- 
 
 "Yes but he was very heroic. He knew about the beer and the 
 Pub story, and yet he came to the scratch." 
 
 "But not about the tailor! I was glad he had the consolation 
 though it was a consolation. A tailor is a tailor, put it how 
 you may!" 
 
 "So he is but never mind Sir Tommy. 7s there nobody in the 
 bush?" Alice shakes her head slowly from side to side, and at 
 last says, "No there's no one I care about in the bush certainly, 
 no one!" 
 
 "Well! We must wait and hope. Little Alices mustn't be wor- 
 ried and hurried. And they shall be old maids if they like. And if 
 they don't they shall marry whoever they please." 
 
 "Suppose they want to marry people that don't want to marry 
 them !" But this question remains unanswered because the patient 
 wakes. 
 
 Alice sits thoughtful after she has overruled an attempt of 
 Charles to make her go to bed while he sits up with the invalid. 
 This happens every night and Alice usually gets her way, as she 
 does to-night. She sits and thinks and thinks, and then says 
 with a sigh, "Oh, how glad I shall be to kiss Aunty Peggy again !" 
 For Pierre, suddenly wakeful, has wanted to know why Aunty 
 Peggy was talked to over the balcony to-day and not allowed to 
 come up. He is getting very convalescent.
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII 
 
 HOW ALICE GOT LET IN FOR PARNASSUS. HOW SHE WISHED CHARLES A 
 RESPLENDENT WIPE. OP TWO FOOLS, AND WHAT THEY SAID. OF A 
 MS. THAT CAME TO LIGHT 
 
 A REMARK of Charles's towards the end of last chapter reminds 
 us that a fact has been neglected in this record. When he said that 
 Alice's letter showed the authoress, he was not speaking at random, 
 nor in jest. She was not only an authoress, but, considering her 
 years, a very successful one. She was responsible for a small 
 volume of poems, which were spoken of respectfully by the Press, 
 and for several short stories. It is possible that you are acquainted 
 with both, and if so may agree with us that the latter, though 
 creditable to Alice, were like her love-letters (or friendship- 
 answer to a love-letter) that is, not specially original. But her 
 verse certainly showed a faculty for verse-making; and when The 
 Predominant Era remarked that Mr. Brown, the Author of Week- 
 Ends at Parnassus, recalled Miss Kavanagh's method, that in- 
 fluential organ expected Mr. Brown to feel flattered and say 
 thank-you. 
 
 Whether Alice's dispositions towards the Muse could have been 
 detected in her recitations to Pussy in the basement of No. 40 we 
 cannot say. For our own part we think either verse or prose in 
 such very young people gives no real clue to their capacities later. 
 Almost all children (little girls especially) tell stories and make 
 verses. But we agree with Lady Johnson that an incident that 
 happened during Alice's school-days at Miss Fortescue's showed 
 that the technical faculty of fitting language to rhythm and pro- 
 viding both with the same meaning was more marked in her than 
 in her school-fellows. Miss Fortescue was an enthusiast in Poetry, 
 and used to examine her pupils on the subject and award prizes as 
 a stimulus to reading. She had been more than once in a tight 
 corner owing to her liberal views about what little girls ought or 
 ought not to read. Indignant parents had descended on her brand- 
 ishing Elizabethan poems which they had caught their offspring 
 reciting, and (we regret to write it) she had resorted to the mean 
 expedient of imputing depravity of mind to the reader who saw 
 anything to question in them. It was a powerful fulcrum, but we 
 
 326
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 32 f 
 
 feel for the parents, and doubt if it was fair play. This phase of 
 the subject, however, does not concern us at this moment. 
 
 It chanced that Miss Fortescue one day took it into her head to 
 set up what is called a 'correction-class.' The idea was to take in 
 hand any passages from celebrated poets that struck Miss Fortescue 
 as incomplete or defective, and to write in or substitute others 
 more in keeping (according to her ideas) with their surroundings. 
 She explained to Peggy that her motive in doing this was not to 
 amend the defects of Shakspeare, etc., but to give a wholesome 
 stimulus to the literary faculties of her pupils. The incident in 
 hand was the setting of an examination-paper (with marks) in 
 which some passages were to have substitutes written for the 
 italicised lines, or the hiatus (in other cases) filled in. Here was 
 one case: 
 
 "Here rests his head npon the lap of Earth, 
 A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; 
 Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
 And Melancholy marked him for her own." 
 
 Why Miss Fortescue selected this line for excision we are not 
 called on to speculate. It was in the examination paper, and Alice 
 supplied her substitute thus: 
 
 "Nor song, nor lute, made music at his birth." 
 
 Perhaps filling in blanks left by a Poet was less impertinent than 
 this interference with an existing text. The impertinence was, 
 however, Miss Fortescue's. Alice had to fill in, or lose marks. So 
 she went at it bravely. These that follow have blanks, left by 
 Shelley, filled in with italicised words by Miss Kavanagh : 
 
 "And still I love, and still I think 
 But strangely, for my heart can drink 
 The dregs of such despair and live 
 And love; a vain prerogative! 
 And if I think, my thoughts come fast, 
 I mix the present with the past 
 And each seems uglier than the last. 
 
 .... Your sweet voice, like a bird 
 
 Singing love to its lone mate 
 
 In the ivy-bower disconsolate; 
 
 Voice the sweetest ever heard! 
 
 And your brow, more heaven-insphered 
 
 Than the Alp's crest in the noon-day sky 
 
 Of this azure Italy." 
 
 No doubt you would have acquitted yourself better. But our 
 busiitess is merely to record, and we only note this incident to
 
 328 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 remark that Alice's answers were so immeasurably better than 
 those of the other young people, that Miss Fortescue retained 
 them to show to Lady (then Mrs.) Johnson, and Charles. Both 
 required Alice to write verses on the spot, and Alice, who would 
 have thrown her examination-papers into the fire if they had been 
 returned to her, did as she was bid. Peggy informed an editor of 
 a Monthly that unless he inserted a poem of Alice's in his columns 
 she would never ask him to dinner again, and he not only complied, 
 but demanded more of the same sort, and got it. So that in time 
 the poems of A. K. accumulated; and, as you possibly know, have 
 their admirers to this day. 
 
 So now we can understand what Alice was at, in that little 
 patch-room at Harley Street. Also what she evidently meant to be 
 at as soon as she had got rid of Mr. Charley "packed him off to 
 bed" was the way her mind put it and had devoted herself to the 
 patient's restless hour or so after his long sleep. But her prepara- 
 tions and her new pen did not lead to much copy. Perhaps the 
 atmosphere and the incidents of a fever-ward are not favourable to 
 authorship they were all there in this case, but we are keeping 
 them out of sight as much as possible, as we all know what they 
 are like without telling. Or, if not, we have been strangely 
 favoured by Providence. 
 
 Anyhow, Alice felt very little like writing when she began to try, 
 and threw down the new pen. 
 
 She went out into the starlight on the balcony. The street had 
 stilled down towards the small hours of the morning, as much as 
 streets do in London. Stray gusts of late home-comers in Hansoms 
 recurred with intermittent rattle and slapping to of cab-doors. 
 Every one of them made believe to be the last, but left a silence that 
 seemed conscious there would soon be another. And it came. And 
 then the heel of a deliberate policeman appeared to be trying to 
 impress the paving stones, and convince them that every one had 
 now gone to bed. But they rejected his evidence, and were justi- 
 fied. For there was always one last cab still ! 
 
 But it was pleasant to sit there thinking, in the sweet night- 
 air. And Alice sat and thought, and wished and wished. Her 
 wishes took a curious turn. She wished she was Lady Anstruther 
 Paston-Forbes, and then she could marry Mr. Charley and use all 
 that money to make him happy. For she took Charles's passion 
 for this lady au grand serieux. "Now Miss Straker's dead," said 
 her thoughts to her, "there's nothing to prevent it. Oh dear! 
 how nice it would be !" But so completely was Charles the grown-up 
 person,, and so completely was her version of herself, ad hoc, the
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 329 
 
 little girl that he had drawn up out of the gutter and placed in 
 affluence and happiness, that no slightest idea of benefit that would 
 arise from the obvious fact that if she was Lady Anstruther 
 Paston-Forbes, that lady would certainly be Alice Kavanagh, was 
 allowed to enter into her calculations. The intensity of her wish 
 to see Mr. Charley happy, a wish into which no selfish thought 
 entered, really required the expedient of merging her personality 
 in that of an imagined benef actrix, to make a working hypothesis. 
 She knew that Charles was very poor; the extravagance of "Miss 
 Straker" had made him so. And she built a glorious castle in the 
 air in which this next Mrs. Charles Heath was to engineer her 
 wealth so as to place her husband on a pinnacle. But the magnifi- 
 cent widow was not to be trusted with her own identity, intact, 
 to do that. Alice disintegrated it with an infusion of herself; she 
 was to supply volition and purpose. Meanwhile her discarded 
 remainder never came into court it was to exult with Miss Peggy 
 for in this dreamland all the dramatis personce were to belong 
 to the early time over the great achievement of achievements, 
 the making of Charles into a happy and successful man. Bother 
 obstacles! She chose to dwell on it, for the sheer pleasure 
 of the thought. Fancy seeing Mr. Charley really great and 
 happy, and she, little Alice-for-short, having really had a hand 
 in it! 
 
 And as Alice pondered under the starlight with an animated 
 face, Charles was, let us hope, asleep. If so, maybe his own last 
 waking thoughts had crept into his dreams. They were about 
 Alice, and Alice's too numerous rejected lovers. He did not care 
 about most of them; but one or two, Roger Selwyn-Kerr particu- 
 larly, seemed to him to be worthy applicants. He could not under- 
 stand Alice's persistent decision in her treatment of the subject. 
 He could recollect, with a smile, his sister's firm resolve about 
 marriage, and her lament in the same breath for their effect upon 
 the man she already loved. But in Alice's case there was no sus- 
 picion of exalted Purpose. She honestly meant that she didn't 
 want to marry the gentleman, and said so plainly. "Of course," 
 thought Charles to himself, "she buttered him up about friend- 
 ship they always do! Even Peggy friendshipped Rupert. But 
 then she gave him distinctly to understand there was no one she 
 liked better." Sleep did not allow him time to finish wondering 
 whether Alice really liked some one else better. But perhaps she 
 did. "Better," in this case, be it observed, always means fifty; 
 times as well, or even more. 
 
 .What manner of thing Charles likened his life to we have tried
 
 330 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 to show a garden run to waste a weedy tangle on exhausted soil. 
 No place this to plant a sweet young rose-tree in ! The tenant of 
 the garden was deeply interested in the place the rose-tree should 
 find elsewhere. But it never crossed his mind for a moment that 
 it could possibly bloom and flourish among his nettles and rag- 
 wort, and he would fain have seen its owner plant it on virgin soil ; 
 in a garden full of sunlight, no ray of which ever seemed now to 
 pierce the overgrowth of his own. He was a spoiled piece of goods 
 in his own eyes, and his tired old heart, spacious and empty cer- 
 tainly, was not the home for a young tenant and new curtains and 
 carpets. If this Chaos of metaphors conveys its meaning, it 
 may perhaps be excused. 
 
 Meanwhile the young tenant never dreamed of herself in that 
 capacity. She and Peggy were joint-caretakers perhaps, but a 
 really responsible occupant had still to be found. Lady Anstruther 
 Paston-Forbes was a pourparler, subject to approval on more inti- 
 mate acquaintance. She was the most probable at this moment. 
 But there were others. The most desirable fruit on the stall was 
 always being picked up and handled to see if it was really fit for 
 Master Charles's consumption. It is true that Peggy had more 
 than once wondered whether it was necessary to go out of doors to 
 find it. But then she had said to herself, "See what I may spoil by 
 hinting at such a thing!" and decided on leaving these two uncon- 
 sciousnesses alone. 
 
 Neither did either of the joint-caretakers figure to themselves 
 what a ruinous concern the owner of the house thought it. Cer- 
 tainly Alice did not as she sat there in the summer night, con- 
 juring up an image of Lady Anstruther Paston-Forbes, conducted 
 by another image, a radiant one, of Charles, to the altar. She even 
 went the length of dressing the bride in white satin, trimmed with 
 lace, embroidered with roses and leaves en chiffon. It is of course 
 possible that the perfect serenity with which she surrendered Mr. 
 Charley to the keeping of this impressive spectacle was founded on 
 a confidence in its instability. She might have grudged to the 
 actual what she yielded easily to a dream of her own invention. 
 But even had she hesitated in the casting of the parts in this 
 drama, there would have been no suspicion of a tendency to assign 
 a leading part to herself. She might have put in another bride, if 
 she had recollected Charles expressing admiration for an eligible 
 one; but, as it chanced, none occurred to her; so Charles and her 
 jLadyship lived happy ever after that period in dreamland being 
 ready to occur within any given limits, to meet the views of the 
 dreamer.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 331 
 
 It was so sweet and the night-air so warm on the balcony that 
 Alice thought she might safely doze a little. Pierre was well 
 within hearing and she had made up her mind that as long as ho 
 slept so sound she wasn't going to wake him up for beef -tea or jelly 
 or medicine or anything, whatever the doctor said. But she had 
 the presence of mind before dropping off to wrap herself in a warm, 
 railway rug. It might turn cold; but it was so much nicer out 
 here than in the room. 
 
 She may have slept an hour when she was half waked by the 
 sound of voices close at hand. It occurred to her that she did not 
 know where she was ; so she roused up thoroughly to see. She satis- 
 fied herself on this point, and also that the voices were those of 
 Charles's next-door neighbour a painter like himself, but a suc- 
 cessful one and of a friend who seemed to have walked home with 
 him and to be taking leave to go to his own home. Ought she to 
 indicate her presence by coughing, sneezing, shouting, or otherwise ? 
 She was hesitating which to choose when a question from the 
 friend stopped her, and her curiosity to hear it answered made 
 her refrain and listen, dishonourably. But then, the question was 
 about Mr. Charley. Honour be hanged ! 
 
 "Who lives next door on this side?" 
 
 "Heath. Charles Heath. You know the story about him ? No ? 
 Why, you must know it!" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "W T ell! Three men arranged to give a dinner and each was to 
 ask the worst painter he knew. Nobody turned up but Heath. 
 And he wanted to know why he had had an invitation from all 
 three. Haw! Haw! Haw!" 
 
 "Har ! Har ! Har ! What's his work like though, reely ?" 
 
 "Footy stuff. Gormy colour. No drawin'!" 
 
 "Man of property?" At this point Alice felt that the conversa- 
 tion was carried on for a moment by facial expression. Then the 
 questioner said he twigged, and the other resumed articulate 
 speech. 
 
 "At least, I oughtn't to say that. His governor didn't cut up 
 so fat as was expected. He'd been very warm in his time though. 
 But he came to grief in Trade. Still, not so bad!" And again 
 the other said he twigged. Then the first dropped his voice, and 
 Alice knew he was going to speak about a lady. But he intensified 
 in interest to make up for his sotto-voce. She only caught 
 snatches, however: 
 
 "You must have heard about that affair? . . . seven or eight 
 years ago . . . moddle . . . figure-meddle ... oh yes ! he married
 
 332 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 her right enough! . . . handsome woman . . . great singer too 
 . . . fine soprano . . . dark horse to put his money on " 
 
 "She alive?" 
 
 "Couldn't say! Went regularly to the bad, I believe ... di- 
 vorce-court proceedings . . . sorry for him ! He's a nice feller 
 nice a feller as I know ! Do you know what o'clock it is, my boy ?" 
 
 "Three. Good-night!" 
 
 "Good-night!" 
 
 And the two separated with sudden alacrity, to make up, by 
 saving two minutes, for the spending of three hours in talk like the 
 above. The one shut himself briskly into his house; the other 
 broke into an exculpatory trot till he preferred walking, and 
 lighted a cigar. 
 
 As soon as they were clear out of the way, Alice went indoors to 
 finish her doze, so far as she felt likely to do so. She was simply 
 boiling with indignation, especially about the story of the three 
 invitations. Now, had Alice only known it, she need not have 
 troubled about this. For this story is told in just as many forms 
 as there are professions. A is made to figure as the worst lawyer, 
 B as the dullest writer, C as the slowest actor, D as the greatest 
 liar, and E as the dreariest bore in London. It is a very good 
 Btory, but we confess we are getting tired of it. It was new to 
 Alice, and her blood boiled on Charles's behalf. As for the ref- 
 erences to his late wife, she knew well enough that the unheard 
 portions of the conversation were worse than what had reached 
 her ears, and the sous-entendus probably still worse than they. 
 Her wrath did not diminish when she remembered that she had 
 heard this very same next-door neighbour (who was no stranger) 
 speak in praise of Charles's art, and ascribe to it a subtle quality. 
 Had his tongue really been in his cheek all the while ? She asked her- 
 self this question, and then, becoming cynical, asked this one also, 
 "Do real Artists ever speak a word of truth?" And then remem- 
 bered that Charles was the soul of truthfulness, and could not but 
 speculate on the inevitable inference: Was he a real Artist? 
 
 How if it really had all been a mistake from the beginning? 
 Suppose Charles had gone to the Bar would the Bar have slipped 
 away from him, like an ignis-fatuus over a marsh ? If he had eaten 
 his Terms, would he have learned how to eat his words grace- 
 fully, later on? Other men, as good as he, had learned how 
 to prevaricate, before now. Why not he? He might not 
 have been able to rise to the height of a politician; but, if it 
 was only straightforward equivocation! And after he became a 
 Judge, he wouldn't have had to suppress his veracity any longer.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 333 
 
 She reviewed other professions in the same cynical tone, produced 
 by what she had just heard, but always with the assumption taken 
 for granted that Charles would have been equal to any of them. 
 He had thrown a doubt on his powers as an Artist during twenty 
 years of practice but it was only a doubt. Alice would admit 
 no more than that. 
 
 There was a general tendency, in all her speculation about 
 Charles's capabilities, to exclude action in favour of reflection and 
 imagination. When she asked herself why she believed in them at 
 all because she admitted they must be definitely referable to 
 something he said or did she found herself compelled to answer 
 that it was something he said or wrote; nothing he did. Have 
 not we have not you? sometimes been forced to the conclusion 
 that so-and-so must be a very clever man because of little things 
 he has thrown out in an unconcerned way things you could 
 scarcely seriously repeat as achievements in epigram, but that 
 gave a strong bias and colour to your estimation of what he had 
 not said, but kept in reserve? When Peggy one day asked Alice, 
 "What makes you think Charley could write a play?" Alice was 
 nonplussed. She felt it would be most unjust to Charles to trot 
 out chance turns of speech of his as the materials on which to build 
 him up as a poet or a wit. But she believed in some latent poten- 
 tialities all the same; and when her scuva indignatio against the 
 gentleman next door had subsided, and her first vigorous resent- 
 ment of his criticism of Charles had given way to the counter- 
 swing of the pendulum "How if it really had been a mistake 
 from the beginning?" she recalled this conversation with Peggy; 
 and then she wondered whether the conviction she was not able to 
 support, but felt so strongly, might not have been based on a missed 
 possibility that would not have been a mistake from the beginning. 
 
 She looked at her patient. He was sleeping quite beautifully 
 again, while she herself had become suddenly intensely wakefuL 
 This does happen when one has been jerked out of one's sleep. 
 She re-read poor Mr. Selwyn-Kerr's letter. It was one of those 
 mistakes to our thinking an offer in writing. It lacked spon- 
 taneousness ; all the vital parts had an effect of steam intentionally 
 turned on, while the more restrained portions suggested priggish- 
 ness. Alice said to herself, "Yes! Passionate protestations of 
 respectful admiration." It was her isolation in the zone of small- 
 pox that had made Mr. Kerr's declaration come by post. "I hope 
 he doesn't think I'm going to catch it," added Alice, and you may 
 wonder why. What she meant was that there would be a certain 
 heroism (the antithesis of Mr. Guppy) about a proposal to a lady
 
 334 r ALICE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 in the jaws of an infections hospital, and that she might feel 
 morally bound to marry its author. "But it all turns on whether he 
 believes I'm vaccinated and it took. At least that's what Mr. 
 Charley would say." 
 
 Whenever any odd turn of thought or ludicrous phrase presented 
 itself she always put it down to Mr. Charley in this way. And 
 she now proceeded (always ascribing her thoughts potentially to 
 Charles classing them as what he would have thought) to con- 
 struct a preposterous lever de rideau about a heroine who had 
 undertaken a smallpox patient. She had two suitors, a vaccina- 
 tionist and an anti-vaccinationist. Each was anxious to know how 
 effectually she had been vaccinated, but for different reasons. The 
 former because he wanted to write off an offer of marriage to her 
 and seem to be running a risk of a nutmeg-grater bride, heroically, 
 but all the while relying on well-authenticated lymph. The other, 
 because he wanted also to propose by post, but not until he had 
 examined a sample of the lymph injected into the deltoid of his 
 beloved, to make sure that it didn't contain the virus of Bubonic 
 Plague. One never can tell. The scene of this remarkable little 
 affair was to be the waiting-room of the doctor who had vaccinated 
 her, where the two suitors would present themselves simultaneously 
 to make enquiries, each with a ready-written letter in his pocket. 
 Each suitor then was to try to bribe the vaccinator to give informa- 
 tion of a terrifying nature to the other, to put him off. The anti- 
 vaccinator, to say that the lady had accidentally been vaccinated 
 with common spellicans, and was open to any amount of smallpox ; 
 while his rival endeavoured to induce him to exhibit some virus of 
 Bubonic Plague (which he has taken the precaution to bring in 
 his pocket) as the selected sample specially used on the lady. "I 
 wish Mr. Charley would write that. I know he could do it," said 
 Alice. "If I could only find something he had written, to convict 
 him with, I'd soon make him write more." 
 
 Whether an old recollection, connected with the table they had 
 read the letter on, was really the underlying cause of all this specu- 
 lation, or whether the latter had revived the former, would be hard to 
 say. Anyhow, at this moment Alice recalled a conversation of years 
 ago between Peggy and Charles ; how a hunt was made for a missing 
 letter in the drawer of this table, and how Peggy turned over 
 some papers and said, "What are all these?" And how Charles 
 had said they were nothing, and hustled them back into the 
 drawer. Our own belief is the recollection of this had hung about 
 her, unconfessed, all along. She thought otherwise later, and was 
 inclined to believe a well-disposed spook had a hand in her revival
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 335 
 
 of the incident and consequent impulse to open the drawer. Which- 
 ever it was, she did open it, and seemed not displeased with her 
 investigation of its contents. "I was sure of it," said she, half 
 aloud. She put back all she had taken out except one roll of paper 
 which she deliberately appropriated, after glancing at it. "Very 
 well, Mr. Charley," said she, "now we'll see who's right." But the 
 closing of this drawer made a noise and waked the patient, whose 
 claim for attention put an end to further examination. So after 
 enough inspection to see that it appeared to be a story, having for 
 its title, "The Other Road Round," Alice put it away where she 
 could lay her hand on it again, and devoted herself to Pierre until 
 Sister Eulalie appeared to relieve her, by which time she was 
 heartily glad to go to bed and to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXXHI 
 
 HOW LATAKIA KEPT OFF INFECTION, AND HOW ALICE WENT TO FRIENDS IN 
 THE COUNTRY. HOW PHYLLIS CARTWRIGHT CAME OUT OF A DARK 
 ROOM, AND JEFF SAW AN OPTICAL DELUSION 
 
 WHEN there is bad illness about, work goes to the wall. The 
 Artist may be putting the last touch on the concentrated effort of 
 years, the Author on the very verge of a triumphant climax he 
 has been looking forward to through hundreds of seeming-unre- 
 munerative pages, the Physiologist within an ace of putting salt on 
 the tail of the vital principle, the Musician of striking the lost 
 chord, or the Accountant a balance it all comes to the same thing ! 
 No matter how industrious we may have been, nor how engrossed 
 in the crisis of the moment, just let diphtheria, typhoid, Asiatic 
 cholera even vulgar monosyllabic mumps make their appearance 
 in the household, and there's an end of everything! The colour 
 that was to have brought this into harmony with that, or put 
 t'other down, dries on your palette unused. The ink on the pen 
 that was to have embodied your subtle fancy gets wiped off on 
 your little bit of wet sponge. Your attentive observation of a 
 sterilised vacuum, which amoebae had as good as undertaken to 
 appear in, is interrupted. The lost chord and the balance remain 
 alike unstruck, and you have to go for the doctor. And your work 
 goes to the Devil. 
 
 But if you care for your work and are keenly in earnest about 
 it, you don't give in without a struggle. If, like poor Charley, you 
 are half-hearted, you do. Charles didn't really do any work at his 
 Studio during Pierre's illness. He went there, surreptitiously, but 
 rather than otherwise jumped at the probability of spoiling every- 
 thing he touched, as an excuse for never touching anything at all. 
 Besides, he couldn't have models to work from ! The indecisive be- 
 ginnings he made as apologies to his own conscience had more the 
 character of records of what he hadn't done than of work. But 
 fidgeting over these, feeling anxious and miserable, and keeping 
 every one else out of the room, seemed to fill out the day. Only 
 it was rather like eating chemical food to give a spurious sense of 
 a full stomach.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 337 
 
 Our old friend Jeff paid him frequent visits outside the door 
 during the illness, and was talked to by Charles from within even 
 after the patient had been allowed to get up. When one day, some 
 eix weeks after the first attack, he learned that Pierre was to go to 
 the sea-side, he flatly refused to be excluded from the room any 
 longer. He summed up his attitude towards medical authority and 
 hygienic precaution in two forcible words. "'Ang rot!" was the 
 sentiment with which he met Charles's refusal to let him come 
 in. And he followed this with a threat, if Charles persisted, to go 
 straight away to the Smallpox Hospital and rub his nose in a con- 
 fluent case of the deadliest type. He succeeded in getting past 
 the door, but made one concession to prudence, "You won't object 
 to my smokin'," said he, "as a precaution against infection, don't 
 you know, Charley." 
 
 So as the two old friends sit there, puffing clouds from the 
 Latakia of the bygone time, we can take a look round at the 
 Studio and note the changes of sixteen years. 
 
 There is the easel Charles was painting Regan on when we were 
 here last; there is the throne she came that memorable header off 
 into Charles's arms; there is the chair she rested in after that 
 adventure. The table she sat reading Victor Hugo at is gone we 
 saw it the other day at Acacia Road and there is another in its 
 place. We recognise the tobacco-jar from which Jeff fills a pipe 
 he finds on the chimney-piece, and the mahl-stick Charles puts 
 down as he lights one to keep Jeff company. Why should any 
 man have more than one mahl-stick in his life ? Of course there is 
 the invariable lay-figure with her head on the wrong way. We know 
 her of old, with her square bolt-heads buried in her system and her 
 skin slipping over them ; her effrontery in pretending she has a key, 
 while she knows it cannot be found, and wouldn't work if it could ; 
 her repulsive appearance when her head comes off accidentally and 
 we shudder at her peg. Otherwise, we see little for recognition. 
 The room seems much fuller, but it is mostly due to canvases that 
 are modestly turning their faces to the wall, and a certain number 
 of framed pictures, sometimes with a printed numeral pasted on 
 the frame a memory of an Exhibition it was concealed from the 
 public eye in, or would have been if the public eye had sought for 
 it. On the easel is a picture only we can't see it for a stained- 
 glass cartoon that is in front of it, which is upside down. We 
 cannot quite make out whether it is Saul and David, or Christ and 
 the Woman of Samaria. It may be either, and it doesn't matter. 
 It is quite as much leads as anything else, and the leads seem to 
 belong to another design. The walls and ceiling have got very
 
 338 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 dirty one cannot interrupt work and have things shifted for 
 whitewashings and cleanings cela se voit! But then very soon 
 other people don't see it; nor anything else, because of the filth. 
 
 Charles and Jeff, having smoked and chatted in the room ever 
 since we were here last, notice no change at all. It is, to them, the 
 first-floor Studio and nothing else. It has no qualifications. Tho 
 windows have been cleaned at stated intervals, and the floor 
 scrubbed, and what more do you want? The unreachable zones 
 of the ceiling have some cobwebs all to themselves ; and as Charles 
 objects to Mrs. Corrigan, the present chargee d'affaires, standing 
 on the top of a pair of equivocal steps and stretchin' up a broom 
 just to move the worst of the dust, the said worst thickens and 
 blackens and floats, well out of reach; but is regarded for all that 
 as temporary per se, though fortuitously permanent. Probably it 
 understands human nature, and rejoices at Mrs. Corrigan's in- 
 creasing unsteadiness from beer. Both it and the dust are part 
 of the existing order of things, and Charles has acquired a com- 
 plete ignorance of the existence of both. 
 
 "The boy's going down to St. Leonards to-morrow. Payne says 
 he won't be very badly marked. You see, he's young." Of course 
 it is Charles who speaks. Jeff nods in a way that says, "You will 
 see that all my optimistic prophecies will be confirmed." He pur- 
 sues the same line in words. 
 
 "Nobody's caught it neither ! What did I tell you ? It's all rub- 
 bish about infection when you're properly vaccinated. You ask 
 my wife!" For ever since Miss Dorothea Prynne became Mrs. 
 Jeff, about a year after Charles's rash and unfortunate marriapre, 
 she has been referred to by her husband as a well of accuracy uncle- 
 filed. He throws truth and falsehood into hotchpot, and redivides 
 the mixture into what Mrs. Jeff says is true, and what she con- 
 demns as false. 
 
 "Well! You're right so far, Jeff, but we're not out of the wood 
 yet!" 
 
 "Now you'll be foomigated, my boy! And stripped and all your 
 clothes burnt. And squirted all over disinfectants. Dolly says 
 they always do." And Jeff is quite satisfied that this is the case. 
 
 "I suppose we shall have to do something. But it's not so bad 
 as all that. I shan't be sorry though to have a clean bill of health 
 again." 
 
 "Miss Kavanagh's going with him to the sea-side?" This is a 
 statement, so far as confidence in an affirmative answer goes a 
 question, so far as no such confidence is warranted. Charles's 
 answer accepts the latter form.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 339 
 
 "Why, no! Alice is gone already." 
 
 "Gone already?" 
 
 "Gone to some friends at Chelverhurst, wherever that is, to get a 
 thorough change of air some friends of Peggy's. My brother-in- 
 law advised it thought she couldn't have a complete change too 
 soon. In fact when I went home yesterday I found it had all been 
 settled in a hurry and she had gone off, leaving the Sister and 
 Sarah-cook to see to Pierre." 
 
 "Oh, I see." 
 
 "Sister Eulalie's to come down to St. Leonards with us to-mor- 
 row. I shall stop there long enough to see things are going on all 
 right, and then I must get back to work again. This sort of thing 
 won't do." 
 
 "Work reg'lar upset!" Jeff sympathises with the position. He 
 is prepared to go any lengths of insincerity in his lamentations 
 over the hardship of being dragged away from one's work. He 
 sees consolation ahead though. "Never mind, old chap ! You'll 
 work all the better when you do get to it again." 
 
 Charles jumps at the pleasant chance of self-deception that is 
 offered him : "Yes, I know that is so ! There's nothing like a little 
 compulsory idleness." 
 
 "Best thing in the world," says the optimist. "You go away to 
 the sea for a week, Charley. And you'll come back a giant re- 
 freshed. See if you don't!" 
 
 "I shall be all the better for it." Charles is temperate speaks 
 with reserve. He would have been better pleased to have the 
 fiction toned down to his powers of pretence. The giant refreshed 
 has stuck in the gizzard of his credulity. He thinks of suggesting 
 a duffer refreshed, as an amendment ; but shrinks from the egotism 
 of humility. Better change the subject! 
 
 "I shall have to have a regular good overhauling of all my mate- 
 rials they're in a fearful mess. Just look at that box !" The box 
 strikes us as familiar for we are not conscious of the time we have 
 skipped; the sixteen-year interim. Our knowledge of that box is 
 as of yesterday. Jeff knows all about it though. 
 
 "What a queer old card he was to be sure, to leave it to you 
 just because you gave him some Asphaltum! Do you believe it 
 was Reynolds's, Charley?" 
 
 "Not the box. Hardly! He only swore to some little bladders 
 of colour. I never found them. And what's so funny is that 
 what's-his-name don't you know ? the man that had this house 
 whose daughter Verrinder was in love with what was his 
 name ?"
 
 340 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Oh, I know, perfectly well! Sneathly Crapewell Lampwick 
 I shall remember directly " 
 
 "Well never mind! That chap, anyhow! He must have used 
 this box a hundred times in this very room." 
 
 Jeff looks round a little uncomfortably. "More ghostises !" says 
 he. Charles remarks, with the slightest sound of injury in his 
 tone, "Well, Jeff! There haven't been any more ghosts for ever 
 so long. Years and years! Come now!" He doesn't feel he can 
 be accused of Psychical Research, this time! He goes on ex- 
 culpatorily : "The last one was seven years ago at least ; the woman 
 
 the boy saw " He stops dead, and Jeff disclaims connection 
 
 with this event. "I wasn't here," he says. 
 
 But he knows why Charles stopped, and of the incident. Told 
 briefly, it was that on one occasion, when Charles's wife was at 
 the Studio with the boy Pierre, the latter, being then a child of 
 five or six years old, had looked a good deal at an empty chair, 
 and afterwards had asked who the lady who laughed was, who was 
 sitting in it. Jeff knew that what stopped Charles in his allusion to 
 this incident was, not only that it involved his wife (for they 
 had frequently conversed about her, and Charles was rather easy 
 in his confidences with Jeff), but that there was another person in 
 the room at the time, the man Lowenstern, whom Mrs. Charles 
 had subsequently eloped with. It had been his first introduction 
 and could not but be an unwelcome recollection. 
 
 Charles's stumbling 1 into this line of thought jerks the 
 conversation out of its groove; and Jeff, who has been for 
 some time on the watch to ask a question, makes this stumble 
 of Charles, of which both are perfectly conscious, an excuse 
 for it. 
 
 "What's become of her, Charley?" 
 
 Charles lays down a pipe, not half-smoked, on the easel-ledge. 
 This is an uncommon thing for any smoker to do. He goes to 
 the window and looks out, or makes believe to. Jeff follows him, 
 with concern on his face. He places his hand slightly slaps it 
 on to Charles's shoulder, and leaves it there. 
 
 "Dead?" he asks abruptly. He is more in Charles's confidence 
 than any man; on this subject more even than Rupert. The lat- 
 ter's impatient indignation against Charles's wife bars free inter- 
 course between them. Charles wants no discordant note to clash 
 with his own chivalry. He cannot bear to hear her condemned. 
 Jeff's simplicity of character, combined with a large-hearted claim 
 to Sin, made in order that he may depute the stone-throwing to a 
 Public whose virtue he acknowledges, makes his blunt speech often
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 341 
 
 welcome to Charles, where a tact he makes no pretension to would 
 have been wasted. 
 
 "Dead?" he repeats. "I see." For Charles makes no reply. 
 Both go back, and Charles takes up his pipe again. He doesn't 
 mind talking about her. 
 
 "Of course," says he, "she herself really died long ago. But the 
 woman she changed into is dead now. She died somewhere abroad. 
 Baden-Baden I think it was." 
 
 "That's all very well, old chap! But you don't really think 
 that. People ain't somebody else " 
 
 "That's a very common mistake, Jeff dear. I know that a popu- 
 lar belief exists, to that effect. But recent investigations have 
 shown " 
 
 "Gammon!" This comes so explicitly that Charles feels he 
 won't get a hearing for a view he seriously holds unless he drops 
 the popular lecturer, and speaks by the light of his own belief. 
 
 "I mean what I say. There are plenty of extreme cases of double 
 consciousness of people who have spoken only French in one 
 state and Dutch in the other, and so forth who have been two 
 different people at different times, in fact." 
 
 "And then when one of them pizoned you, you wouldn't 'ang the 
 other is that it, Charley?" 
 
 "As to hanging, that's the Judge's business. But I shouldn't 
 think harshly of the other, if I thought it was a case of double 
 identity. There must be plenty of cases of change that don't 
 go quite so far, but where it can hardly be said to be the same 
 person." 
 
 "Must there ? I can't see my way to half-and-half. According to 
 my idear, Charley, identity's got a sharp edge all round. You're 
 either me or somebody else. All the same, your idear is 'andy for 
 Polly-ogamists, or whatever you call 'em." 
 
 Vague sketches cross Jeff's mind of questions he would like to 
 ask, such as: Has Mrs. Corrigan two identities: one a mid- 
 weekly state laying claim to sobriety, the other a Saturdaily state 
 convincing of beer? Or, did the late Mrs. Charles's second indi- 
 viduality begin to ooze through her on that day when Baron Von 
 Lowenstern was brought into the Studio by Herr Bauerstein and 
 casually introduced to the Artist's wife? Had he asked this last 
 question of Charles, the reply must have been that this was not 
 her very first fluctuation of identity, of a nature to accommodate 
 Polygamists, or whatever we call them. 
 
 But he asked no such questions and poor Charley was spared 
 more reminders of that painful time, and forced to no further
 
 342 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 excuse-in ongering ; which, however loyal his effort, rang false 
 even in his own ears. Even what had been said had recalled to 
 him how on that morning his wife had come down to the Studio 
 for money, although he had told her he could not overdraw at the 
 Bank, but that he knew Rupert would help him again. And how 
 Rupert signed a blank cheque for him that evening, and he filled 
 it in with a fifty, and gave his wife half next day. And how 
 there were strained relations between them, and she went away 
 for a week to her mother. And how all the rest you know, or may 
 guess came to pass, including how it was "elicited" on the trial 
 that a cheque of Baron Lowenstern's for 100 payable to Mrs. C. 
 Heath, had been part cashed, part taken in settlement of an 
 account, by a Bond Street dressmaker's firm at about that date. 
 
 However, Jeff did not pursue the subject, and Charles, after 
 musing a little, seemed to give up the point. For he said pres- 
 ently, "I suppose what I really meant was that she became some 
 one else to me. So she did quite another person. If I had met 
 her, it would have been a stranger not my boy's mother. She 
 died long ago, to all intents and purposes. But I would rather 
 she had done it outright." 
 
 When you want to get away from a subject, and not to seem to 
 do so, your best course is to hark back to a previous stage of the 
 conversation, with a view to turning off the road at some point you 
 have noted en passant. The presence of Herr Bauerstein a little 
 while since would have done to entamer a subject Charles had 
 wished to speak of, but he didn't want to revive the obnoxious 
 appearance of the Baron on the scene; so he got clear back to the 
 first start: 
 
 "Let's see! What were we talking of? Poor old Verrinder's 
 colour-box. Has Bauerstein sold the Turner yet? You know he 
 had a big offer for it? I heard of it just before this illness." 
 But Jeff hasn't heard. He is not in the way of hearing these 
 things now, as he was in old times. He lives at Abbey Road, 
 St. John's Wood, and has his Studio in the house. He is a fre- 
 quent visitor at Charles's house when there is no barrier hence his 
 rather uncommon presence at the old place to-day. "Do you 
 know, Jeff," Charles continues, "I'm in two minds if I won't have 
 Phyllis Cartwright cleaned after all! I'm sure the hand would 
 come out bright, and we should see the stones by-the-bye I've 
 never told you we found out about the name on the ring." And 
 he tells the whole story of the cab-drive and the mysterious well- 
 informed driver. Whereupon Jeff says hookey that was a rum 
 start! It is surprising how little he has changed in the sixteen
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 345 
 
 years. There is nothing in him that corresponds to the settled 
 sadness that had come upon Charles. He is cheerful and means 
 to be corpulent one day, but has only just announced the fact. 
 Otherwise his differences are negligible. 
 
 "I'll come in and have another look at her when you're open 
 to the public again." Thus Jeff, referring to the portrait. 
 
 "She isn't at the house. I've had her brought down here. She's 
 in the back room." He gets up and leads the way into the back 
 room, where he used to sleep in the days of early Bohemianism. 
 The shutters are closed, and a long ray of light streams through 
 a heart-shaped hole in the top, and makes a solid bar of illuminated 
 dust across the room, in which flies and strange floating things 
 come and go all day. The space is half -choked with accumulating 
 rubbish, and is hot with the heat of summer and unopened win- 
 dows. A recent fall of soot hasn't improved the atmosphere, and 
 provokes an admission that we must have the Sweep. When he has 
 done his worst, Mrs. Corrigan, who is straining at the leash, will 
 be unloosed, and will do the whole place thoroughly out. Only 
 she is so careless she is sure to break something. Charles has a 
 touching belief in the existence of intact valuables in the gloom. 
 It dates from the last time he stowed some bric-a-brac of his wife's 
 away, to keep it safe. Since which, seven years ago, little enough 
 has been seen of that room and its contents. It is a chapel of 
 ease to the congregation of lumber in the front one, and it is not 
 often that anything that finds it way here is sought for again and 
 brought out into the light. Phyllis Cartwright is an exception, 
 owing to Jeff's visit and the accidental turn of the conversation. 
 
 "Let's have her out in the next room and get a good look at her. 
 Those shutters are a bother to open." Thus Charles; and Phyllis 
 is conveyed into the Studio proper, and placed on an easel. He 
 sits down in front of her, and moistens the chilled varnish that 
 obscures her hand. 
 
 "What was that picture of a chap with a sword?" It is Jeff 
 who asks this question. He got a look round at the chapel of ease. 
 But every one in a lumber room always is interested in something 
 that sticks out, and it doesn't do to indulge his curiosity too 
 much. Maybe Charles thinks so, for he pays little attention. 
 
 "I thought so, Jeff. Look here! If I rub a little oil on, just 
 to show! There! there you are! What picture of a chap with 
 a sword ?" Jeff looks at Phyllis Cartwright's hand, and deals with 
 it before replying. 
 
 "That hand, and the finger with the ring on it would come out 
 quite bright and clear if you gave it to what's-his-name Bauer-
 
 344 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 stein's man to do. ... What picture? Why, that one the light 
 was strikin' on just in front as you go in." But Charles is 
 intent upon Phyllis. "Bracchi that's his name! He shall have 
 it to-morrow." Charles is very decisive now and then. But he 
 reconsiders, this time. "Only I suppose he'll catch smallpox from 
 it now. Better wait a week or so ... I don't know which picture 
 you mean. Man with a sword?" 
 
 "That chap in a George the Second dress, deep crimson coat, 
 a waistcoat and a half, and tie-wig, with a drawn rapier in his 
 hand straight in front as you go in." 
 
 "You've got Queen Anne on the brain, Jeff." But for all that 
 the attention of both is attracted, so to speak, to their own conver- 
 sation, and it is promoted from the status of chat to that of active 
 interest. "There is no chap in a Queen Anne dress." Charles 
 is quite positive on the point. 
 
 "I'll show it you," says Jeff, and they return to the back room. 
 ''Just here! . . . Well! that's rum too." And stands puzzled. For 
 there, where Jeff expected to find it, is a picture certainly. But 
 it is, quite distinctly, the Three Graces ; an old picture of Charles's 
 that he means to have out again and go on with, some day. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed!" says Jeff. And Charles appears rather 
 blowed too. But very soon optical delusion comes to the rescue, and 
 properties of refraction and polarised light not classified, so far, by 
 scientists. And Charles and Jeff think no more about it; and 
 presently the latter takes his leave, scattering his path as he goes 
 with reassurance about smallpox on the authority of his wife, 
 who is able it appears to vouch for several cases within her own 
 experience, where smallpox has proved rather an advantage than 
 otherwise, clearing the blood of vital organisms of a diabolical 
 nature, and above all things improving the complexion. 
 
 Charles, left alone, falls back into thinking how dull the house 
 will be without Alice when he goes back, but for all that how nice 
 it is of those friends of Peggy's at Ewhurst to have her so soon 
 after the illness however, Rupert knows all about it; so it must 
 be all right. She was looking dreadfully pale and tired yesterday, 
 and now she'll come back her old self. It won't be long. 
 
 Alas, for Alice's little scheme for Charles's prosperity and happi- 
 ness! He hasn't a thought for Lady Anstruther Paston-Forbes. 
 And as for his late wife well ! she did die seven years ago, "to all 
 intents and purposes."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 HOW CHARLES WENT TO THE ALPS, AND FOUND THEM THERE STILL. 
 BACK IN ENGLAND AND OFF TO SHELLACOMBE. BUT NO ALICE. HOW 
 ST. FOB HAD A GAP, AND MR. WILKINSON WAS CURED WITH RAT'S 
 BLOOD AND TREACLE. OF A LETTER UNDER A CARPET, AND ITS LIGHT 
 ON AN ESCAPADE OF ALICE'S. HOW THE PICNIC CAME HOME 
 
 IT was pleasant cool July weather when Charles and Sister 
 Eulalie, now fully christened Mrs. Prig, took their convalescent 
 down to St. Leonards to recruit. It was nothing like so hot as that 
 celebrated Autumn when Alice so nearly ended her days in the sea 
 at Shellacombe. But it was very pleasant for all that, and when 
 Charles had seen Mrs. Prig and his son comfortably provided for, 
 he returned, not without reluctance, to London, and surrendered 
 his house into the hands of properly vaccinated upholsterers (who 
 had taken), and who almost came up to the standard hinted at by 
 Jeff, and sustained by his wife's authority. For they ripped up 
 everything, and pulled down everything, and wrapped up every- 
 thing that was to be taken away and burned, in sheets saturated 
 with Carbolic lotion. And there followed in their wake an army 
 of equally well-vaccinated painters, plasterers, and paper-hangers, 
 under whose auspices stripping, clear-coating, and repainting ran 
 riot, hand-in-hand with Carbolic Acid, over the whole house. 
 Charles hung about the premises to protect them from the germ- 
 destroyer, and secure a residuum of his property for future use. 
 While the tempest of disinfection raged he camped as a Bohemian 
 at the Studio; armed, he said, with a medical Certificate that no 
 germ had been detected on him by the most powerful miscroscope. 
 He absolutely refused to go near Harley Street, or see a living soul 
 of his belongings there until he should hare had a good run abroad, 
 or somewhere in the country. 
 
 But he was all the more anxious to see Alice before he went away, 
 and was rather puzzled at her being away so long. Being glad she 
 should get a good change he said nothing to that effect even to 
 Rupert when he came to see him at the Studio. Peggy wanted 
 to come, but he begged her so earnestly not to do so that she 
 yielded. It was to be nobody but Rupert until he had gone away 
 
 345
 
 346 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 and got quite above suspicion. Why he took it for granted that 
 any self-respecting germ would avoid his brother-in-law he could 
 not have said ; but so it was ! 
 
 "I've got my nostrils so full of Carbolic Acid," said he, "that I 
 smell it everywhere. Even this letter from Alice, just fresh from 
 the country, seems to me to smell of it." 
 
 "One gets these fancies," replied Sir Rupert. But when Charles 
 turned away, he picked up the letter and smelt it. 
 
 "Alice seems very well," Charles went on; "when does Peggy 
 expect her back ? Of course the longer she stays the better." 
 
 "The longer the better. And the longer holiday you take the 
 better, I should say. You go away to-morrow, Charley. Leave 
 everything in my hands. You can trust me." 
 
 "Of course I can, Dr. Jomson. But I should have liked to see 
 Alice before I go." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "No particular reason. Just a fancy !" 
 
 "You can't do any work now, and you know it. Much better use 
 Tip the spoiled time in getting some health. Go to Switzerland for 
 a month and get really set up." Charles felt pleasure from the 
 implication that his work would have reality and value when he 
 returned. He believed under the skin in his own estimate of its 
 worth. But still, it was reassuring to walk over the ashes and pre- 
 tend the warmth of the ignes suppositi did not reach his feet. He 
 was grateful to Rupert for the way he made his suggestion, and 
 classed the moraines of glaciers as stepping-stones to pictures on 
 the line at the R. A. So after a little more demur because he felt 
 that somehow he should like Alice to be ratified before his depart- 
 ure, though he couldn't analyse the feeling he packed up and 
 found himself in due course looking at the bridge of boats at 
 Cologne, and admitting to himself what an inroad on his health 
 the events of the last two months had made ; as one does when the 
 holiday has really come, and one can allow the artificial tension 
 to slack down. He waited till he got letters from his sister and 
 Alice, and also from his son and Sister Eulalie at St. Leonards. 
 He found these warranted ease of mind, and indulged in it ; and by 
 the time he got to Lucerne, in two rather tedious railway journeys, 
 he was beginning to feel that he had done the best thing in taking 
 his brother-in-law's advice and probably, he found himself adding, 
 for Alice and his boy also. But he was rather vague about the 
 exact nature of the benefit his absence would confer, and sus- 
 pected he was taking a mean advantage, and assuming it on insuffi- 
 cient grounds for purposes of self -justification. You see, he was a
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 347 
 
 little addicted to over-indulgence in self-analysis. It is a vice 
 that develops under conditions of shaken nerves and health below 
 par, and is none the weaker from disappointment and frustrated 
 purpose. 
 
 It vanishes among the Alps, at any rate if you climb them. 
 Charles was caught up at Lucerne by a robust party of young 
 mountaineers, who prevailed upon him to accompany them up a 
 very insignificant peak whose name we have forgotten. As he 
 stood on its summit looking at a sunset that was bathing the 
 world of glaciers in prismatic light on one side, and down on the 
 deep, cool crystal of the darkening lake below on the other, and 
 afar to the huge still peaks against the sky, serene in their confi- 
 dence of to-morrow's dawn, self-analysis fell away into the back- 
 ground. And when he woke at a chalet next day, after fifteen 
 hours' continuous sleep, and found that his young friends had for- 
 saken him to ascend one of the monsters he had seen against the 
 sun, leaving instructions that he was on no account to be waked, 
 self-analysis was as good as dead. He did not wait for the return 
 of the mountaineers, but went on to the next place he expected 
 letters at ; and then, being reassured by them, and unstimulated by 
 other mountaineers, passed a pleasant three weeks in humble 
 pedestrianism from town to town, and one or two most unam- 
 bitious ascents of peaks of a commodious size, suited to his aspi- 
 rations. Then, feeling entirely renewed, but always with a sense 
 on him that he had been keeping away in order to be renewed, and 
 that he mustn't do so much longer, he came back and perceived that 
 things English were very undersized, and it would take him some 
 time to live himself into his groove again. 
 
 But he broke the shock of re-entry into the stinted life and 
 grudged spaces of London by going first to St. Leonards, and taking 
 his boy and Mrs. Prig a long drive to Eastbourne. The sweep of 
 the channel wind over the flats of Pevensey and Hurstmonceaux, 
 the incessant hushed music of the sea that never tires of its ebb 
 and flow, the cry of the sea-bird that has never paused since the 
 ancestors of all the persons of condition in England came over and 
 overwhelmed Gurth (at least we understand that this is His- 
 tory) ; all these things, and the example of content with them 
 shown by the black cattle on the flats, seemed to contain the 
 essence of a pause a blank of silence an empty leaf to rest the 
 mind on between the chapter about the Matterhorn and that 
 well ! about Brewster Sessions and Tied Houses, suppose we say 
 anything of that sort ! 
 
 Mrs. Prig hadn't seen Alice, of course. But she had had plenty
 
 348 ALICE-FOK-SIIOKT 
 
 of letters also of course. Whereupon Charles thought to himself 
 that if that was to be of course too, Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Prig 
 must have gone into very close alliance in a very short time. Very 
 young school-girls do that on the spot; without the acceleration of 
 fighting first, like their future lords and masters, or slaves. But 
 after all, these ladies were grown up, especially Mrs. Prig. How- 
 ever, she only produced one letter, so perhaps it was a lapsus 
 linguce. The letter was quite satisfactory. And we were going 
 home to-morrow. And we went. 
 
 Charles was conscious of a good deal of impatience to see Peggy 
 again after his long separation, and vexation that he should not 
 find her at once at Harley Street. Naturally she and all her young 
 brood had taken flight and were basking on the sea-beach. They 
 had this year gone, after several seasons of Scotland and the 
 Lakes, to their old quarters at SHellacombe, which had grown, and 
 become quite a large watering-place, to Peggy's great disgust. 
 Charles was vexed at having still a long journey before him next 
 day, and was very distrait on his way up from St. Leonards, giv- 
 ing only partial attention to incidents on the route. He was pre- 
 occupied with his own thoughts, and remained so until he reached 
 home and the accumulations of unforwarded correspondence and 
 parcels demanded attention, and a beautiful new Experimental 
 Chemical Chest for Pierre from Aunt Peggy called for sympathy, 
 which could not be denied to such delicious stoppered bottles and 
 porcelain capsules and spirit-lamps. 
 
 Charles was not a little disconcerted, on his arrival, at a letter 
 from Alice telling him not to be surprised if he didn't find her 
 at Shellacombe. Why, the family had been nearly a month at the 
 sea, and surely Alice wanted the sea-air as much as any of them! 
 Besides, fancy Shellacombe and no Alice! It seemed absurd. 
 But Alice said she should come in a day or two, as soon as her 
 friends, where she was, would let her go. Well! that seemed all 
 right too. Fancy any one who had got Alice wanting to be rid 
 of her! 
 
 Then a thought came into his mind was it, at last, Mr. Alice? 
 Was it, at last, some one Alice was not prepared to say no to 
 some one she was thinking of saying yes to? He welcomed the 
 thought mechanically. He had so often said to himself that he 
 should rejoice when this came to pass, that it would never do to 
 be behind now. Oh dear, yes! That would be delightful. How 
 pleased Peggy would be! 
 
 He found the pleasure Peggy was going to feel facilitated mat-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 349 
 
 ters. He was able to let his stand over for a while to make way for 
 it. There couldn't be the smallest shadow of doubt about its 
 existence but then, of course, he wasn't going to begin ringing, 
 joy-bells until he knew something about the chap, if it was a chap. 
 But there now ! He knew all about it. It always was a chap, when 
 girls went to stay at country-houses and couldn't be got back to 
 their sorrowing relations. He had known the same thing happen a 
 hundred times. He said this to himself with confidence, without 
 reflecting that he had probably not been acquainted with a cool 
 hundred of marriageable young ladies in the whole course of his 
 existence. Few of us have, at forty-one. 
 
 He acquired a sudden interest it was odd he had not felt it 
 before in " c / Mrs. Wintringham, The Manor House, Chelver- 
 hurst, Surrey." Who was / Mrs. Wintringham ? He cast about 
 in his mind to think which circle of Peggy's friends she would be 
 found among. He succeeded in fancying she must be a Miss 
 Constance Batley, who had married a squire with a park of 
 whom nothing else was reported to distinguish him from his fellow- 
 creatures. That was it, for certain! They had picnics in that 
 park picnics in parks always brought about general engage- 
 ments. Charles felt vain of his penetration. But he was going 
 to keep his raptures under until he knew that the chap was a very 
 nice chap indeed. Of course they would come, when called on ; but 
 he should be rather difficult to satisfy in respect of Mr. Alice-for- 
 short. There wasn't another like her in the world, and it would 
 
 never do if But the if's were too hideous to contemplate, and 
 
 Charles brushed them aside in favour of asking Sister Eulalie 
 about what " c / Mrs. Wintringham" amounted to. He had to let 
 this stand over, as it appeared that while he was reading his letters 
 upstairs she had departed to catch a train to the home of her elder 
 sister, St. Bridget, after shouting good-bye up the stairs to him, 
 and telling him not to come down, or she would lose it. 
 
 So when repackings and adjustments were done and bedtime 
 came, Charles paid a valedictory visit to his boy, who was nice in 
 clean sheets and a clean nightgown boys are, you know ! and was 
 seated on his pillow embracing his knees with his eyes fixed on his 
 current fetish, the glorious Chemical Chest, which he had placed 
 at the bed's side for purposes of worship, and wanted to have 
 candlelight for to the extent of a six-to-the-pound, not a quarter 
 burned through. "Isn't it orfly jolly?" said he, and withdrew not 
 his gaze from the idol. Whereupon his father captured his candle, 
 kissed him, and went away to bed. 
 
 He went away, and left to himself in the quiet night, felt the
 
 350 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 old sadness come on him again. The old feeling that his life had 
 gone askew from the beginning and that it was too late now to 
 remedy it. The memory of the old days when, rightly or wrongly, 
 he believed in that boy's mother of whom he spoke truly when he 
 said she had been dead, to him, through all these years when she 
 was living her successful version of a mistaken life with some 
 one (or more) elsewhere. The sense of age age of mind age of 
 heart in a frame that refused to acknowledge any substantial 
 change. For he was obliged to admit that even in his twenties he 
 would have overslept himself after that climb with his young 
 friends of the Alpine Club, and could never have regarded it as a 
 mere preliminary stretch before starting for the Dent-du-Midi. 
 His mood was that of one who, feeling so old at heart and worn in 
 spirit, was little in love with his own vigour, and would almost 
 have welcomed grey hairs and failing muscle, to tell the truth at 
 the door about the inner life of the household. It was a natural 
 feeling under the circumstances, but perhaps not altogether to be 
 jelied on to last. 
 
 Was it true that Shellacombe had become quite a large water- 
 ing-place? The little unalterable railway-station at Cleave was in 
 statu-quo, or very nearly. Usually, at a side-station of this sort, 
 when the neighbourhood braces itself up to get abreast of modern 
 civilisation, a sordid and imbecile horror starts from the earth and 
 proclaims that it is the Railway Hotel. It owns a pewter bar 
 floated with beer-slops; and if you enquire of a chance cretin, 
 without employment, who is in a fatuous apartment labelled Par- 
 lour, whether you can have a chop, a sandwich, a biscuit with 
 ach its due allowance of grease, fingermarks, or mould he will 
 tell you to arsk at this same pewter bar, and you will shortly find 
 that it is a grove with no Egeria that its tutelary genius is an 
 Article of Faith, and that no amount of impatience and suggestive 
 noises will cause him (or her) to materialise. No such instalment 
 of the nightmare of prosperity had come to the little station at 
 Cleave. The roses still in bloom on the platform fence, and the 
 hollyhocks and dahlias that lined the approach from the gate, all 
 enjoyed a sea-wind untainted so far by anybody's Entire. And 
 when Charles arrived with his boy by an afternoon train, he found 
 exactly the same people going away by the same carriages, the 
 same station-master calling attention to the fact that he was really 
 the same age, by the collapse of an attempt at a grey head, and 
 the timidity of an irresolute corporation. He took (to all appear- 
 ance) the same waggonette with the same young man to drive
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 351 
 
 it. He gave up attempting to solve suggested problems of time 
 and change, and fell back on the memory of Alice the small, and 
 how she jumped off the opposite seat onto his knee, to show him 
 how little her face was burned by the sun, and had to subside 
 rebuked. And how she told the tale of the rescue, and Dr. Jom- 
 son, and the beetle. Oh, how vividly the little animated face came 
 back to him, after all those years ! 
 
 And then he remembered another incident, the day before he 
 went away, a fool to a foolish marriage, with a serene face and an 
 intoxicated heart the incident spoken of by Peggy at Harley 
 Street. For it was true that as he left the house, the child, who 
 had been very silent all day, and under imputation of stomach- 
 ache, sprang suddenly into his arms, and strained him tightly, 
 convulsively, about the neck, and cried aloud, "Oh, Mr. Charley, 
 Mr. Charley, don't go away from us. Don't go don't go !" As he 
 sat in the car, and thought back into the past, he could feel the lit- 
 tle arms about him still. Then this memory revived his marriage, 
 and the two between them made cross-cuts in his heart. And he 
 thought on into the early, happier years of his married life stop- 
 ping short, by a great effort, on the threshold of the clouded time. 
 He Avas glad to be helped, though, by the plash of the waves and 
 the cry of the birds, when the sea-road was reached, none too soon ! 
 
 Nobody at the house, not a soul! Unless, indeed, Handsworth 
 and the cook and the housemaid were souls. Her ladyship and 
 the young ladies and gentlemen ("I wish he would say missis and 
 the children," thought Charles) had gone to a tea-picnic at St. 
 Pob's Gap. For St. Fob had a Gap, and they always had hot-water 
 at the boat in the cliff. Hence picnics, frequently. Charles would 
 walk out that way, Handsworth and would be sure to meet them 
 coming back, though of course her Ladyship would drive by the 
 road. All very clear. But Charles wouldn't start this minute. He 
 and his boy would have a cup of tea first and go off presently across 
 the field-path; they wouldn't be coming home just yet. Charles 
 knew that, broadly speaking, people don't come home from picnics. 
 Very late, and with great difficulty, they may be goaded home, or 
 coaxed home. But if it is fine (and just look at that big yellow 
 moon rise over the hill) two hours late is the earliest to expect 
 them. Xo hurry! 
 
 "I say, pater!" 
 
 "What do you say, filius ? Only don't talk with your mouth full. 
 'A thoughtless world will condemn you as greedy, whereas the 
 reverse is the case. Clearly, he who talks with his mouth full pre- 
 fers intellectual intercourse with his kind to mere indulgence in the
 
 352 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 pleasures of the table. It shows the supremacy of mind over for 
 instance white bread, rather too new, and much better fresh 
 butter than one ever gets in town." But Pierre has detected 
 a classical lapse on his father's part, and interrupts him with 
 decision. 
 
 "I say, that's wrong !" 
 
 "What's wrong?" 
 
 "Filius. It's vocative fili. Filius fili filium filii filio filio 
 
 "I believe you are strictly correct. Pour me out another cup and 
 don't spill it. Yes, two lumps like usually. And now perhaps, 
 vocative fili, you'll say what you say, pater !" 
 
 "Why, there's a boy at school whose father's a Russian, and lives 
 on oil and live fishes and bites his mother when they quarrel. He's 
 oarfully strong, and can lick coalheavers " 
 
 "What a very disagreeable person ! What's his name ?" 
 
 "Wilkinson." 
 
 "A singular name for a Russian. But he may have assumed it 
 to disguise his nationality. The Russians are, I understand, a 
 subtle and a scheming race." 
 
 "Oh yes he's a Russian." Pierre continues with unshaken con- 
 fidence. "Besides, he can turn right round in the middle and not 
 twist. And once he turned round and couldn't get back. And 
 they had to rub him with rat's blood and treacle." 
 
 "And then he came round?" 
 
 "Oh yes he came round then." Pierre's faith in the treatment is 
 touching. His father wonders, if all schoolboys believe, as seems to 
 be the case, all the wild legends their schoolmates tell about each 
 other's parents, which are the wicked boys who make them? He 
 gets out his pipe and tobacco-bag. 
 
 "Your story, Pierrot, appears credible throughout, with one 
 exception. The name Wilkinson seems to me to cast doubt on all 
 the other particulars, which are in accordance with what we know 
 of the habits of Russians generally. But Wilkinson !" . . . 
 
 "Well you ask old Butlin if his name isn't Wilkinson!" This 
 was his schoolmaster. 
 
 "Ah! but is he a Russian that's the point? The Muscovite is 
 essential. Where's the matches? All mine are done." 
 
 "Handsworth's taken them away. Look here ! I'll light a bit of 
 paper at the urn." And Pierre picks up an accidental half -letter, 
 that seems on the drift, to make a spill and light it at the spirit- 
 lamp still burning under the tea-urn. 
 
 "You're a man of resource, Pierrot," his father says; "now mind 
 you don't set yourself on fire!" But as the boy begins to tear a
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 353 
 
 piece off to make the spill, he interrupts him. "Stop half-a-minute, 
 old man," he says; "let's see what we're tearing up." 
 
 "It's Aunty Lissy's writing," says the observant eleven-year-old; 
 "it's only a letter !" 
 
 "Only a letter! You're a nice young man." But Pierrot is 
 frightened, for his father has barely glanced at the first two lines 
 when he utters what would have been a cry had it not been 
 checked. "My God !" cries he, "fancy that !" And he almost stag- 
 gers; then drops back on a sofa-seat behind him, holding the 
 letter grasped on his knee in one hand, while the other clenches 
 tight and jerks on his other knee. Pierrot almost begins to cry 
 in earnest. 
 
 "Oh, Papa oh, Papa are you ill ?" 
 
 "All right, -dear boy, all right ! It's nothing only I got a start." 
 He takes the frightened youngster onto his knee, and consoles him. 
 Tells him to be a man and so forth not to be frightened at trifles 
 inculcates Sparta. He's not a little girl, is he? He is not, and 
 is proud of that achievement. Very well then he had better go 
 and run about on the beach, because we think we won't go to meet 
 them, but will stay and smoke our pipe till they come. Also we are 
 on no account to go in the water, because we might get a chill 
 after our recent illness. But perhaps to-morrow in the middle of 
 the day. Even then, we mustn't stop in too long. Pierrot's mind 
 slips easily on to a matter that concerns him so nearly, and he 
 forgets his fright and goes out to gloat over the ocean he is going 
 to bathe in to-morrow. 
 
 His father remains motionless on the sofa, still grasping the 
 letter, for quite a minute. Then he draws a long breath. "That 
 darling child !" he says, in an undertone, and again, "That darling 
 child! Alice-f or-short ! Think of it!" He drops the letter for a 
 moment, gets at his pocket handkerchief and wipes his forehead; 
 then polishes his spectacles, and the name Alice christened him by 
 in her secret mythology passes through his mind. "The dear, dear 
 little thing!" he says, and has to dry his eyes before he puts the 
 glasses back. Then he picks up and smooths out the letter and goes 
 nearer the light there is not much left to read it. It is a half- 
 page, and begins in the middle of a sentence. 
 
 ". . . dreadfully afraid he must come to know it in the end, because 
 though Dr. Pitt says I shan't be badly marked and Mrs. Wintring- 
 ham thinks so too (mind you, don't direct to the Mother Superior 
 when Mr. Charley comes back he might see the letter) of course 
 there must be some mark for a year or so at least and though
 
 354 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Mr. Charley is the most unobservant male I ever came across, 
 about people's faces, and their things, still I do NOT think we can 
 hocus-pocus him for good. Only I want to be quite well and strong 
 and able to laugh at him when the cat does come out of the bag. 
 Keep the cat in the longest we can, anyhow. What aggravates me 
 is that there is sure to be a mark just round the corner where 
 people always . . ." 
 
 That was the end of the other side of the sheet Charles could 
 not fill out the sentence. He gave it up after one or two guesses. 
 But he read both sides over and over again. Then he sat on 
 sat on in the twilight his left hand still holding the letter. If 
 he moved, it was only to raise his two hands together and drop 
 them. Nothing else. At last he roused himself with a little shake. 
 
 "Was there ever such another dear, dear, dear girl in the world ?" 
 He made the enquiry of space, and didn't wait for an answer. 
 
 He pulled the bell or rather, the bell-handle. A bell-handle 
 does not transmit power except the wire be efficient; or perhaps 
 there was no bell. "It sounds as if there was none," said Charles; 
 "perhaps, more accurately, it doesn't sound as if there was one. 
 It's Platonic, anyhow." So he went out to find Handsworth, and 
 met him coming. Handsworth had "heard the wire" and con- 
 cluded "that Mr. Charles had rung." Phrases about parlour-bells 
 seem to run into inaccuracy naturally. Charles asked for the lamp 
 or a couple of candles to write a letter by. When illuminated, he 
 discovered writing-materials and sat down and wrote. 
 
 He wrote, absorbed, to the end of a four-page letter. It was 
 written straight through, signature and all, without any apparent 
 difficulty in structure, or stumbling-blocks in phrasing. Then he 
 looked at his watch, gave a short whistle, picked up his hat, and 
 started out to find Master Pierre. A signal, once or twice repeated, 
 of the nature of a coo-ey, convinced him that that young man 
 had got well out of hearing, and would have to be chased. He was 
 considering whether the chase need begin now, or might stand 
 over for a little, when his ear was caught by the sound of wheels, 
 and an anticipative cry that it was Uncle Charley at last. 
 
 "Yes, it's Uncle Charley, and what's more he knows -all 
 
 about " But Charles stopped, to do full justice to his welcome 
 
 to his sister. "There's forgiveness in that hug," thought Peggy to 
 herself, after a qualm of misgiving at his words; there could be no 
 doubt what it was he knew all about. He continued : 
 
 "Yes, I know all about it, Poggy-Woggy (How well you are 
 looking, dear! give me another kiss, and don't look so scared)
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 355 
 
 and I can only say, that of all the darling girls " And really 
 
 Charles couldn't say any more, as a matter of fact. So he let it 
 alone during debarcation from the carriage, which involved Phillips 
 and Alee being carried upstairs, like Sabine women sound asleep, 
 over their Uncle's two shoulders. For he said he preferred taking 
 them both, as a too uxorious Roman soldier might have done. He 
 shot them onto a bed, like coals, and left the remainder of their 
 arrangement to the nurse. 
 
 "Well Charley!" 
 
 "Well Lady Johnson!" 
 
 "Come and sit down here, dear old boy, and I'll tell you no, 
 don't! Come out in front in the moonlight, and we'll sit on the 
 seat. How well you're looking! The Alps for ever!" Charles 
 says they had that sort of flavour about them when he came away; 
 and then they both go out towards the long stream of moonlight 
 on the sea, and the mysterious black pyramid between it and the 
 moon, which vanishes when you hide both. They anchor on a seat 
 in the wilderness ; where the sea-wind, had it not been asleep, would 
 have been doing a little sweeping of the sand. As it was, it was so 
 still the tufts of spike-grass hardly stirred. Peggy approached the 
 subject seriously. 
 
 "It was Alice herself (Yes, I know! There is nobody like 
 her!) and she always gets her way, you know now isn't it true? 
 Well ! She arranged it with the Sister " 
 
 "Mrs. Prig?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Prig. If she caught it, she was to go away at once 
 to this nursing-home, or another, if they couldn't take her in. The 
 head of it is an old friend of Mrs. Prig. She began feeling head- 
 aches and chills two or three days before you went to St. Leonards, 
 and the people at the home sent a special carriage for her just 
 fancy! it was a four hours' drive and we knowing nothing about 
 it! " 
 
 "But the dear girl! What did they do it for? Because we were 
 up to our eyes in contagion already germs all over the place " 
 
 "Don't you see? She thought you wouldn't get away for a 
 change besides your getting an extra chance of catching it, if you 
 hung about the house. And she knew she would be just as well 
 nursed or better." 
 
 "The poor, darling child! All by herself at a Hospital! Oh, 
 Peggy! But what did Rupert say?" 
 
 "It was no use his saying anything nor me either. The thing 
 was done. I was very near telling you though, only Rupert stopped 
 me. Yes, stopped me ! And I think now he was quite right. 'Sup-
 
 356 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 pose,' he said, 'Charley is told, and hangs about at the house, as he 
 would, and catches it too, and dies, and Alice recovers, what good 
 will it have done her to tell him? Circumscribe the disease first 
 talk metaphysics and morality afterwards !' That was what he said. 
 And I think he was right, Charley. Alice will have some pleasure 
 now in seeing what a capital job the Alps have turned you out." 
 
 "But when shall I see her? that's what I want to know. Will 
 she be here in a day or two, as she says? And are the doctor and 
 Mrs. Wintringham right about the marks, or what's the matter ?" 
 
 "How do you come to know what they say?" For Peggy has 
 looked blank surprise at Charles, and cut short his torrent of 
 questions. 
 
 "How do I come ? Why, of course oh, I forgot though, I 
 
 never told you how I read your letter." And Charles describes 
 what had happened. 
 
 "See what comes of eaves-dropping and such like, you foolish 
 boy! You might have remained in the dark I see how it was, 
 though. It was those children. They get my letters and push 
 them under the carpet, to keep them secret. I expect the other 
 half of this one is under the carpet now." 
 
 "But are they right about the marks ?" 
 
 "Indeed, I do hope so, dear Charley." Peggy looks very serious. 
 "Because for a girl " 
 
 "Oh I know I know!" says Charles, with pain in his voice. 
 "And oh dear there was I, fancying what kept Alice away was 
 something of that kind. And now, now 1" Chagrin and dis- 
 tress cannot do much more with two words, than make them like 
 these. 
 
 "But, Charley dear are you so very sure? Would you be so 
 very glad, if Alice were really engaged to be married ?" 
 
 "Yes," almost shouts Charles. "Yes if the man were good 
 enough for her. I want that dearest of girls to have the very best 
 of everything the best of husbands the happiest of homes. 
 Everything. So do you, Poggy-Woggy, and you know it." 
 
 Peggy doesn't deny this. But there is a curious reserve in the 
 handsome face in the moonlight, as she sits looking at her brother. 
 It might have influenced some speech later, but the conversation was 
 cut short by jolly satyrs, so to speak. They were so many, and so 
 many, and such glee. Metaphor apart, they were the picnic; or 
 what had been the picnic, an hour or two since, which had now come 
 back with many strange tales to tell, and alive to the advantages 
 of supper. Pierre reappeared with them ; but it seemed that he was 
 indisposed to admit that he had lost much or anything by his
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 357 
 
 seclusion for the past two months, and, in fact, was inclined 
 to question the advantages of picnics as compared with Smallpox. 
 
 So whatever comment was pending in Lady Johnson's mind on 
 her brother's natural aspirations for a beloved protegee, it was not 
 made, on this occasion at least, and Charles took no note of any 
 expression on her face. No wonder! for his was at this moment 
 obsessed by a small nephew of seven years, who sprang on him 
 from behind, and may be said to have sounded the key-note of the 
 performance for the rest of the evening.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 HOW ALICE LOOKED OUT FOR A SPARROW'S SHADOW, AND LET HER NURSE 
 READ CHARLES'S LETTER ALOUD. HOW CHARLES MADE A MORTAL 
 SHORT-CUT ACROSS A CHURCHYARD, AND TOOK ALICE TO WIMBLEDON. 
 HOW GRANDMAMMA WOULD TALK ABOUT MISS STRAKER 
 
 IF the whole human race were polled to decide the question, 
 what is the most delightful thing in the world that does no harm to 
 any one else, surely more than half would answer convalescence. 
 Of course there are no end of greater satisfactions that have more 
 claim on our consideration, if we include those which involve 
 discomfort or inconvenience to our fellow-creatures. Nobody 
 would place a mere sensual enjoyment, like returning health, on a 
 level with shooting or fishing or winning heavily on the Stock- 
 Exchange or at Monte Carlo, all of which involve corresponding 
 drawbacks to some one else, and couldn't be enjoyed without them. 
 But, for an absolutely innocuous pleasure, give us getting well after 
 an illness. 
 
 So Alice thought to herself as she waked up very slowly, on the 
 second morning after our last chapter, in all the comfort of her 
 little room at Chelverhurst, the old Surrey manor-house that had 
 been turned into a Nursing Home for badly infectious cases. Why 
 not have Smallpox, if the end of it was to be a stream of morning 
 sunlight on an imitation Chinese chintz a hundred years old, and a 
 wallpaper to match with pheasants repeated at intervals, but not 
 showing any gauche consciousness of their own sameness? And 
 bedroom china of the very same data, unchipped, yet authentic, 
 so beautiful that Charles's funny friend Mr. Jerrythought would 
 have bid for the merest soap-dish ? For that was how Alice thought 
 of Jeff as a being whose sole joy was the authenticity of his col- 
 lection of early Georgian. 
 
 Jeff might have used his favourite expression, "Grandmother!" 
 in a new sense about the authenticities at Chelverhurst, and with 
 a greater appositeness. For the house as it stood was exactly what 
 it was when the present owner's Grandmother died ; and very nearly 
 what it had been when she married, say a hundred years ago. 
 Mrs. Wintringham, when her mother and husband and four chil- 
 
 358
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 359 
 
 dren died of Smallpox, inherited it and turned it into a Nursing 
 Home. But we have nothing to do with this, any more than we 
 have with any of the appalling tragedies whose survivors pass us 
 in the street every day. We only mention it to account for the 
 intense authenticity of the ewer and basin, the chintz and the wall- 
 paper, which Alice can see the sun-made window on, and is feeling 
 glad of. How heavenly it is in this dear little duck of a room she 
 was moved into yesterday after all that dreadful fever and madden- 
 ing skin-torture in the real service ward of the institution in the 
 new building in the garden, a little way off! For this was one of 
 two or three choice retreats in the "Mother Superior's" own house, 
 which she kept in reserve for convalescents in special cases. Alice 
 soon became a special case, even when the fever was on her. It was 
 a way she had with her. 
 
 In the middle of the sun-made window was a cast shadow of ivy- 
 leaf. It moved with a sudden movement that was not wind. Alice 
 lay and watched it drowsily, delightfully. She was watching for 
 the little dicky-bird that she knew was causing that movement, 
 somewhere out of sight. She knew that by pulling at a fluffy bell- 
 rope handle close to her hand she could have milk or meat- jelly 
 or anything she liked to name. But she preferred to watch for 
 the shadow of the little dicky-bird. Would it be a swallow, or a 
 tomtit, or a little wren, or only a common house-sparrow? And 
 would she know it by its shadow? . . . 
 
 Yes there it was, sure enough ! And Alice would have guessed, 
 up to cockney-point of bird-knowledge, if only the little character 
 would have stood still, or said something. But he only got involved 
 in himself, and became a ripple of feathers, and a flick, and dis- 
 appeared without remark. Alice watched for him again, vexed at 
 his silence. She watched all the while the ivy-spray travelled 
 across a Chinese pheasant. Then the little bird's shadow came 
 again, and Alice decided he was only a sparrow. He said some- 
 thing very loud twice over something out of all proportion to his 
 size and flew away. Then Alice suddenly went to sleep again, 
 quite contrariwise to her expectations. 
 
 She heard through her sleep, without seeing any need to wake for 
 it, the sound of music. It was that Ave Maria of Arcadelt. Most 
 likely you know the one I mean one often hears it. It is just like 
 Heaven under ordinary circumstances; but when it is the first 
 music heard after a bad illness, how then? Almost worth the ill- 
 ness to hear it, with the life coming back to one's veins, in the sweet 
 air and the clean white sheets, and what would else but for it be 
 silence.
 
 360 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 So Alice thought as she came slowly, slowly, from the sleep that 
 listened to the Sisters' matins in the little chapel they had made 
 themselves in the garden. So she was still thinking when Mrs. 
 Wintringham, who was ugly but good, came in to pay her a morn- 
 ing visit, and bring her her letters. What did it matter how nar- 
 row-minded she was? 
 
 "Three Miss Kavanaghs," says the good lady ; "Miss Kavanagh 
 Miss Kavanagh Miss Kavanagh." She hands the three to Alice. 
 "And one for Miss Alice Kavanagh," which she passes on sepa- 
 rately, that there may be no deception like a conscientious con- 
 jurer. 
 
 "That's Mr. Charley, I know," says the patient; "he always 
 Miss-Alices me." But she doesn't seem in any hurry to open 
 them. It's such fun looking at the outside of a letter, she con- 
 siders. 
 
 "Have your own way, my dear," says the Mother Superior, as 
 Alice groups the four envelopes on the counterpane in front of her ; 
 "you're to be spoiled, you know." She is a little chuckly rather red 
 woman of fifty-odd: you would not describe her as tempting, or 
 what we have heard called cuddlesome. But Alice wants to kiss her 
 for all that. Perhaps she sees straight through to the soul that 
 passed through the Valley of that Shadow of Death, and was saved 
 from wreck by its thought for travellers to come. Anyhow, she 
 gets at the ugly face somehow, and kisses it. "You have been a 
 darling to me," says she ; "so has everybody." 
 
 "You're a pleasant one to do with, my dear! There's the differ- 
 ence." And presently the Mother Superior goes away, after in- 
 specting Alice's face carefully. But she leaves Sister Alethea to 
 attend to her further spoiling. 
 
 It was a lucky whim of the patient's that made her leave her 
 letters unopened. Diet, even according to a regime, is nourish- 
 ing and we are not sure the regime in this case wasn't whatever 
 the patient felt inclined for. Anyhow, she was the better for it, and 
 refection had reached the stage of two tablespoonfuls every four 
 hours before she got her finger inside Charles's envelope, and began 
 to rip without misgiving. . . . 
 
 "What's the matter, dear Miss Kavanagh?" said Sister Alethea, 
 alarmed, as Alice dropped the letter with a half -cry, half -gasp, and 
 fell back on her pillow, speechless. However, she soon recovered 
 her voice. 
 
 "Mr. Charles Heath has found out I've had it. And I wanted 
 him not to know !" 
 
 "Oh, is that all? I thought something was the matter !" Sister
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 361 
 
 Alethea was an imperturbable Sister. Imperturbability is a very 
 good quality, in a Hospital. 
 
 "I wish you would read it all through for me, Sister, while I 
 shut my eyes." You see, Alice was so grateful to these excellent 
 ladies that she got pleasure from giving them her unreserved con- 
 fidence. Though, indeed, if the letter had been from Mr. Selwyn- 
 Kerr or Sir Thomas Brabazon, she would never have let another 
 soul see it. Except of course Miss Peggy or Mr. Charley. People 
 took their chance of that, if they wrote letters to her. 
 
 Sister Alethea was nothing loth to read the letters for Alice. 
 When you have renounced the world it's fun to get a read at other 
 people's letters and see what's going on in it. Besides, she had 
 just said her prayers in the Chapel. But would Mr. Charles Heath 
 not mind her seeing his letter ? 
 
 "Oh, no ! Why should he ? As if I didn't know Mr. Charley ! 
 Cut away." And Alice lay back on the pillow and listened. There 
 really was an element of physical weakness in this. Alice was glad 
 to have anything done for her; for all she felt so well and happy 
 it could not be relied on to last if 'she tried to do anything beyond 
 existing. 
 
 "Fire away, Sister Thea dear," said she. Sister Alethea hesi- 
 tated a moment, then proceeded: 
 
 " 'You most dear and darling little girl, there is nothing like you 
 anywhere in all this world. Yes, I know, I've heard all about it. 
 Alice-f or-short ! only think of it.' Is that what he means ?" The 
 reader hung fire for a moment, doubtfully. 
 
 "Is what what he means? . . . 'Alice-f or-short ?' oh, yes! it's 
 only Mr. Charley. That's all right. I understand. Go ahead !" 
 
 " 'And instead of that, there was I climbing the Alps. . . .' Are 
 you sure I'm reading right, Miss Kavanagh? Because it doesn't 
 seem to make sense." 
 
 "Oh dear, yes! It's all right. Don't you know about 'instead 
 of that you go and steal turkeys'? You don't understand Mr. 
 Charley. Go straight on." The Sister seemed unconvinced, but 
 continued : 
 
 " 'Whatever can I say to my dear little girl for this ? What is 
 there to be said except that I ?' . . ." 
 
 "Can't you make out his handwriting?" 
 
 "Oh yes it's quite legible. Only . . ." 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 "Are you really sure he wouldn't mind other people reading all 
 this ?" Alice laughed aloud, quite cheerfully. Why on earth should 
 Mr. Charley mind anybody reading it? Of course, he meant it.
 
 362 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 Sister Alethea glanced on to the next page, seemed still to hesitate, 
 then finally resumed : 
 
 " 'What is there to be said except that I love you and shall always 
 love you. Really when you come to think it over, Alice-for-short, 
 darling, you'll find that that exhausts the subject. Further than 
 that there is nothing only just this that if that dear sweet face 
 of yours is disfigured I shall never be happy again. It's the simple 
 truth. But what I can't get over is that there was I, climbing all 
 those Alps all the while !' 
 
 " 'Now, my dear look here ! I know you're not fit to move yet, 
 and can't be for a day or two. But I know you're in good hands. 
 So I'll put up with not seeing you for a few days more though 
 I tell you plainly I don't above half like it and then I'll come and 
 fetch you. That's something to look forward to, anyhow? Good- 
 bye for now, darling.' 
 
 " 'Signed Mr. Charley.' 
 
 "Isn't it a nice letter?" said Alice, with her eyes closed and her 
 head back on the pillow. She seemed very happy over it, now that 
 the first shock of finding Charles knew the whole truth was over. 
 
 "Oh, a very nice letter !" The bewilderment on the imperturbable 
 face of the Nursing Sister was just as visible as if Heaven had 
 given her one capable of expression. But Alice didn't see it; so 
 that didn't matter. 
 
 "I don't think I shall write back to Mr. Charley yet, not till I 
 know better about my marks. Dr. Pitt said he thought he would 
 be able to make a good guess in a day or two." 
 
 "Do you think this gentleman would mind?" Sister Thea felt 
 it would be too familiar to say "Mr. Charley." But she knew no 
 other name. "I mean," she continued, "that I fancy it won't make 
 any difference at all to him." 
 
 Alice opened her eyes to full astonishment point, and looked 
 round at the Sister. "You don't Tcnow Mr. Charley!" she said. 
 " *Not make any difference to him !' why, he'll just break his heart 
 about it! I don't believe he ever really will be happy just as he 
 says. I'm sure he'll be always thinking about me, all day long. 
 And as far as that goes, I shouldn't care twopence if I was like 
 picturesque cottages outside all over, provided it did him any good. 
 What's it called? . . . rough-cast. Or Pierre's compasses I mean 
 the box. . . ." Alice was getting tired with talking, and said so. 
 She wouldn't be able to read her other letters, and she wanted to 
 read them all to herself. So Sister Thea took several things in the 
 loom as points of order, and when they were disposed of, carried 
 away an extinct tray, to come back in due course.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 363 
 
 It was Alice all over to hand her letter from Charles to the Nurs- 
 ing Sister to read, and to have reserves about Peggy's. Her abso- 
 lute confidence in her relations with Charles prevented her ever 
 looking at them critically, much less analysing them. It com- 
 pletely betrayed her in this case into what seemed to Sister Thea 
 a most perplexing lack of common-sense and common insight. Per- 
 haps this was partly owing to her weak and hazy condition of mind. 
 At another time she might have done otherwise. This time she 
 felt no misgivings as she dozed off even in the act of opening 
 Peggy's letter after the Sister went away. 
 
 The sunlight had deserted the Chinese pheasants on the wall, and 
 was down on the carpet under the window when she next thought 
 of waking. She felt the envelope still on her finger as she lay 
 there not quite sure whether to wake or not. This reminded her 
 she had not read the letter, and roused her to do so. It was written 
 the day after Charles's but had come by the same post. Alice 
 wasn't to be the least uncomfortable. Charles had taken the news 
 very sensibly, and had promised not to fidget about her. Peggy 
 told all about how the story had come out. "It was such a piece of 
 luck," said the writer, "that your letter those wicked little monkeys 
 had got at and left sticking out of the carpet was just the sheet 
 about what Mrs. Wintringham and Dr. Pitt said about the marks. 
 Just think if it had been that about the guy you looked in the 
 glass! Charley went to look under the carpet for the rest of the 
 letter, but I had been beforehand with him, and pretended it was 
 lost." She went on to say that Charles had consented to remain at 
 Shellacombe for the present, and not go tearing off like a maniac to 
 Chelverhurst, where he couldn't do any good and would only catch 
 some new infection. Rupert was coming down on Saturday and 
 would keep him quiet. This afternoon he and Pierre had walked 
 over to Surge Point, to see where Aunty Lissy nearly went over the 
 cliff. Did Alice remember Andrew O'Rourke perhaps she hardly 
 could Mrs. O'Rourke's son at the Lighthouse? Poor fellow! he 
 had volunteered to go over the ship's stern in a gale, to find what 
 had fouled the screw, and was drowned. Alice could quite well 
 remember the strong man that had come behind her on the cliff, 
 and then carried her home. When Sister Thea came in with her 
 beef-tea, tears were running down Alice's cheeks for the strong 
 man, and the Sister was promised the whole story of the rescue as 
 soon as the patient might talk more. For Alice was weakness itself 
 the moment she spoke or moved. 
 
 What were the other two letters? One from Pierre, describing 
 the glorious Chemical Chest Aunt Peggy had given him, with a
 
 364 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 book full of experiments it would be scientific to try. Only . . . 
 only . . . only, there was canker in the fruit, gall in the nectar 
 cup! The gift was saddled with the condition that its recipient 
 should not make gunpowder!! . . . Pierre, who was developing 
 military and destructive instincts, felt that science, so handicapped, 
 was a mere Dead-Sea apple. And there were the quantities given 
 in the book, and everything ! Alice turned from the contemplation 
 of this enormity with a feeling of gratitude that the Scientific 
 Recreation of blowing himself to pieces had been forbidden to 
 Pierre. 
 
 And the other letter who was that ? Alice didn't at once recog- 
 nise the handwriting. Instead of referring to the enclosure, she 
 preferred to remain out of its confidence, and wonder. Then she 
 said, suddenly, "Oh, I know of course!" and opened it. Which 
 was absurd. 
 
 She looked very much amused at the first page, and her amuse- 
 ment grew as she read. By the time she got to the last sheet it 
 was a long letter she was fairly glued to and engrossed with the 
 contents, her face sparkling with a forecast of the laugh that was 
 going to come at the end. When it came she used up her last 
 reserve of vigour to enjoy it, and fell back on the pillow exhausted, 
 and drying the tears her laugh had left behind. 
 
 "There now !" she said to space, as soon as she thought she would 
 be audible. "What will Mr. Charley say to that? Shan't I catch 
 it ! However, I don't care what he says. I'm not responsible." 
 
 She began to frame the wording of her letter to Charley, in 
 which she would give all particulars of what had amused her so. 
 But when one does this sort of thing on a pillow, one goes to sleep 
 again. Alice did, and actually slept till Mrs. Wintringham and 
 Dr. Pitt came, who found her asleep under envelopes and hand- 
 writings. 
 
 "Better not try getting up to-day, but " And that is as much 
 
 as Dr. Pitt need say, in this story. It was a good forecast of next 
 day, as Alice did then get up, and actually lay in a hammock .on 
 the lawn in the sun, and talked to the ugly little Mother Superior 
 about the old days before the Smallpox when the "Home" was 
 another sort of home, and her children played on the lawn there. 
 Alice felt so narrow-minded for always catching herself forgiving 
 this little woman for being narrow-minded. She was so, no doubt. 
 But after all, what do we know, the wisest of us ? Presently, Alice 
 found herself repeating old Mr. Heath's "Well! we're all mighty 
 fine people!" 
 
 She just managed a short note in a shaky hand to Mr. Charley,
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 365 
 
 promising him another almost directly, with something very amus- 
 ing in it. And next day she was better still, and wrote it. But, 
 after all, she postponed the something very amusing. Conva- 
 lescence then began to progress rapidly and the day was fixed for 
 her removal. But Mrs. Wintringham didn't want this patient to 
 go, and got it made as late as possible. 
 
 A word of compliment is due to Peggy at this juncture. For 
 she kept her natural eagerness to see Alice back in Harley Street 
 in check, and assented to the convalescent going for a while to her 
 mother's villa on Wimbledon Common before returning to the 
 house that she always regarded as her home. Poor Peggy! just 
 think! There had been scarcely any Alice for her since that day 
 in May when the news came of Charles's wife's death. And here 
 we were almost in September! But Peggy was all the readier to 
 give way on this point because the drive from Chelverhurst to Oak 
 Villa was shorter, and it had been settled that a long carriage drive 
 was better than a railway- journey with two changes, and a drive at 
 each end. And Grandmamma's carriage could either be shut or 
 open. But as a reward for her self-restraint in the matter of 
 Alice's return, she insisted on Charles remaining at Shellacombe 
 until the time was quite ripe for him to go and bring Alice away 
 from Chelverhurst. So Mr. Charley had to keep his curiosity in 
 check for another week about the something very amusing. At the 
 end of that time he returned to London with his son, whom he 
 forthwith despatched to finish his holidays at his Grandmother's, 
 and get as much cricket as was compatible with a small amount 
 of occasional attention to his hostess. He would come on himself 
 in a day or two, and bring the convalescent with him. 
 
 This reminds us that we have quite lost sight of old Mrs. Heath. 
 After the break up of "the Gardens" she retired to a villa on Wim- 
 bledon Common, always attended by her faithful Partridge. Her 
 attitude towards mankind was, briefly, that its well-being suffered 
 from its neglect of her behests. This could only be conveyed by 
 implication, as an abstract moral principle, in such cases (for 
 instance) as an earthquake in Japan or a misprint in Bradshaw; 
 but in all family matters it was a concrete reality. No reasona- 
 ble person could doubt that the death of her husband, the dispersal 
 of her sons and daughters with other people's daughters and sons, 
 and the opportunities of thrusting themselves into the family circle 
 thus given to intrusive babies, were alike due to inattention to 
 her guidance. Combinations of a paradoxical nature sometimes 
 occurred; as in the case of her excessive fondness for Pierre. This
 
 366 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 might, in severe logical consistency, have led to a certain amount 
 of forgiveness towards the boy's mother. His Granny (whose 
 devotion he entirely returned) was not prepared to go this length, 
 and a modus vituperandi had to be discovered which should hit the 
 mother and miss the son. The one that recommended itself to Mrs. 
 Heath was that of treating Pierre as exactly the very grandson she 
 would have had in any case a sort of fundamental principle in 
 Nature and his mother as an interloper who had had the imperti- 
 nence to bear him. Of course she never said anything of this to 
 poor Pierre himself, whose ideas about his mother were of the 
 haziest sort. He was just alive to the fact that she had "cut away" 
 from his Governor; but owing to the latter's chivalrous and gentle 
 manner in the few cases in which he alluded to her, he grew up with 
 a curious idea that his mother's cutting away was not as other 
 boys' mothers' cutting away; and he once had a deadly battle with 
 a school-fellow whose father had cut away from his mother, and 
 who had presumed to compare the two cases. We are referring to 
 old Mrs. Heath and her relations with Pierre, now, to give sub- 
 stance and reality to his frequent absence from home. The fact 
 is that during his holidays his Granny simply got him down to 
 Wimbledon whenever she could, and possibilities of cricket in the 
 neighbourhood added to its attractions. 
 
 Now on this occasion of Charles's return from Shellacombe near 
 three months had elapsed since Pierre had paid a visit to Oak 
 Villa, and his Granny had been neglected. So his father sent him 
 off the day after their arrival, somewhat crestfallen at not being 
 allowed to take his Chemical Chest with him, and inaugurate re- 
 search with destructive acids and caustic alkalies all over his 
 Grandmamma's spotless chintzes and irreproachable carpets. He 
 had to be contented with Cricket, and defer Chemistry for the 
 present. His father was positive on the point, and Pierre had to 
 give it up. 
 
 After packing him off, Charles went straight to his Studio. He 
 saw his way now to a little quiet painting. Seeing his way to it 
 was a common frame of mind of his. But seeing what it would 
 be when he got to it was quite another matter. It was curious that 
 the fact that what he was looking forward to with pleasure was not 
 the clothing of some image in his mind with a reality, but the 
 reinstatement of the contents of a neglected colour-box, the open- 
 ing of a parcel of new hog-hair and sable brushes and so forth, and 
 the arrival of a new double-primed canvas; and that this fact gave 
 him no misgivings about his capacities for making use of these 
 seductive materials when he had got them. But so it was. As
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 367 
 
 he walked down to his Studio next morning he was absolutely with- 
 out any purpose as to what he was going to put on the canvas he 
 had ordered in Long-Acre yesterday on his way from Waterloo. 
 But this frame of mind seemed to him compatible with a very de- 
 fined purpose indeed a moral one, which he described to himself 
 as making up for lost time. He said to himself repeatedly that 
 this would never do and everything was getting behindhand. But 
 he shut his eyes to the fact that this backwardness of his work was 
 a pure abstraction, and was accompanied by no image of a point 
 of arrested progress of any particular picture, or of definite steps 
 towards the inauguration of another. All he knew was he would 
 go to work in earnest and make up for lost time. That was the 
 correct expression. Of course he must get a little order at the 
 Studio, and find out whether Mariuccia Goldoni could come and sit. 
 If you try to begin right off, before your materials are in order and 
 you've got your model, you only get into confusion. 
 
 So when Charles got to the Studio he got a little order there with 
 the assistance of Mrs. Corrigan. And then he wrote a summons to 
 Mariuccia with a new J pen, and posted it off when he went to 
 lunch. And when he came back he found that his brushes and 
 canvas had come. Which being unpacked, all was ready for a 
 start. And the intense reality of the brushes and canvas imposed 
 upon him, and convinced him that he really knew what he was 
 going to paint. Or if they didn't quite do that, they prevented his 
 raising any doubts about the genuineness of his vocation. But 
 for them, it may be it would have crossed his mind that in all this 
 past five weeks no seed of a pictorial concept had germinated in 
 the soil of his imagination. As it was, the only way in which he 
 registered a suspicion to that effect was in the indulgence of an, 
 idea that the soil had lain fallow to advantage and that the harvest 
 when it came would be all the more plentiful therefore. It was a 
 kind of apology for finding himself at a loose end. It always took 
 a little time to get to work; only, when you did get to work, you 
 found the advantage of the rest. And then you made up for 
 lost time ! 
 
 Still, there must have been an undercurrent of discontent at the 
 loose end. Else why did he feel it to be such a welcome relief to 
 something undefined that Mr. Pope should come into his Studio 
 with a small commission that had to be executed immediately? 
 That was what Charley felt so grateful for. Mr. Pope wanted a 
 sketch for a five-light window that was to illustrate the Decalogue. 
 
 Or, at least, half of it. For it was one of two windows, a pair; 
 and the proposal was that each window should illustrate five com-
 
 368 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 mandments. But a difficulty had arisen. An odious stone transom 
 crossed the middle of each light, making twenty medallion-spaces 
 in all. Pope & Chappell proposed to allow two medallions to each 
 commandment one to illustrate its breach, the other its observ- 
 ance. But this very reasonable idea had failed to procure the 
 approval of the Rector of West Eastleigh, more on the score of 
 some details in the way of carrying it out than on that of the 
 principle involved. 
 
 Charles had been a party to the original suggestions of treat- 
 ment; so the affair was not new to him, and no introduction was 
 necessary. After a few words of chat and congratulations from 
 Mr. Pope on his robust appearance. "You'll have to 'elp us 
 through this job after all, Mr. 'Eath," said he. "Ten charackters 
 illustrative of observance of a Cemmandment ten contrairiwise. 
 Twig?" 
 
 "Has the Parson changed his mind?" 
 
 "That, Mr. 'Eath, I have no means of knowin'. He has departed 
 this life, and his successor, who orkupies the place he has vacated, 
 is a man of a different religious kidney. As Mr. Chappell says 
 whenever he gets a chance 'Squot homines, tot sententiae' it's the 
 only Latin he knows ; so we mustn't begrudge it him. I don't even 
 know it, myself. But my young son has translated it." 
 
 "They want the window then? All right, I can do it at once. 
 Just a lucky chance while I wait for a model I particularly want. 
 Am I to stick to figures of Potiphar's Wife and Bathsheba for 
 number seven?" 
 
 "The present Incumbent has pointed out that these figures might 
 be reversed with advantage, and either will do for either. Just 
 you think it over it works out." 
 
 "All right! Only I don't see why Bathsheba shouldn't do duty 
 as an offender. And as for the other one well! it was no merit 
 of hers, certainly, but she did not break the Commandment." 
 
 "No doubt owin' to the other party quotin' it in time. I thought 
 the idea pleasin'. But that's not the pint of view. The present 
 incumbent is anxious not to compromise David." 
 
 "But haven't we given David a light all to himself as an ob- 
 servance ? In number four ?" 
 
 "Certainly. On the ground that he did not murder Uriah the 
 Hittite. The enemy did that job for him. If that wasn't observ- 
 ing of the Commandment, people ain't easy to satisfy." 
 
 "Well! if the parson is content, of course I'm game. I can't 
 say I see though why Bathsheba should come in as an observance." 
 
 "That, Mr. 'Eath, is obvious to the meanest capacity. I am
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 369 
 
 alludin'," said Mr. Pope, modestly, "to my own. We have to look 
 at the matter from the point of view of the Psalmist's conscientious 
 scruples. He felt that he had placed himself and Bathsheba in a 
 false position so long as her lawful husband was still living, and 
 'aistened to remedy it. He wished to observe number seven with- 
 out disregardin' number four, and acted accordingly." 
 
 "I see. Better late than never ! Clearly an instance of obedience 
 to the Commandment. Cain remains, I suppose?" 
 
 "Subject to possible alteration. Parties have objected that there 
 was no Commandment in Cain's days, and he may have acted in 
 ignorance. Extenuatin' circumstances. But the principle is the 
 same. Get it done Thursday, if you can." 
 
 So Charles worked peacefully on the traced window-lights Mr. 
 Pope had brought him, till darkness stopped him. And all the 
 while believed that he was being curbed and restrained, by an 
 unkind chance, from the vigorous prosecution of a well-defined idea 
 on his new canvas. If any corner of his brain harboured a dormant 
 suspicion that he had welcomed a let-off, he wasn't going to 
 encourage it to become active. Not he ! 
 
 He put in the finishing touches and inscriptions on Thursday 
 morning, two days later; and started for Chelverhurst at one 
 o'clock, after a hurried sandwich at Waterloo on the way to the 
 train. The Nursing Home was an hour's walk from the station, 
 and he had arranged to come down, to accompany Alice to Oak 
 Villa. Sister Eulalie was to be driven over in Grandmamma's 
 two-horse carriage that could be open or shut, and then the three 
 were to drive back to Wimbledon in time for tea. It was only a 
 ten-mile drive, and Charles caressed the prospect of it in his imag- 
 ination as he walked quickly along the cross-cut of by-roads he 
 had to ask his way so often on; and where, for all he was within 
 twenty miles of five millions of Londoners, he so often had to knock 
 at a cottage to make his enquiry, for want of a passer-by. 
 
 Yes! that was something to look forward to. Alice-f or-short ! 
 .Think of it! 
 
 This looked very like Chelverhurst. So tLought Charles to him- 
 self as he walked into a little village a mother of twins at a road- 
 side cottage had spoken confidently of his finding in something 
 rather better than five minutes' walk on, provided he didn't turn 
 neither to the right nor yet to the left. So he had left those twins 
 where he had found them, penned by a timber barrier inside a 
 cottage, after sympathising with their mother about family respon- 
 sibilities ; and had identified a poomp by the ro-ad as a certain land- 
 mark, and found a martal easy coot across the church-yard to the
 
 370 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 manor-house, and in time the manor-house itself. And there, sure 
 enough, stood Grandmamma's carriage waiting at the door. Which 
 was opened to him by Sister Thea, who supposed he was the gentle- 
 man, and accepted his own belief to that effect as conclusive, and 
 showed him in through a greenhouse atmosphere of warm leaves 
 and flowers, and a chorus of singing birds who surely must have 
 been recently vaccinated and taken, so confident did they seem of 
 their security from infection. It wasn't at all like a hospital, 
 thought Charles. But then his conductress explained that the nurs- 
 ing-wards were "over there," and added that Mrs. Wintringham 
 had never had so much as a book moved in the house since the 
 days when her calamity changed her from the head of a healthy 
 family to the Mother Superior of a Nursing Sisterhood. One 
 might have thought the children that had died were still in the 
 air of the place, and that he might have heard the voices of them, 
 any moment. But Charles was too full of the thought of what 
 Alice was going to look like to do much with passing ideas of this 
 sort dismiss them or accept them. 
 
 Alice was in the garden, and no doubt it was some sympathetic 
 apprehension by Sister Thea of his anxious misgivings on this 
 point that made her discover some excuse to go back into the 
 house for a moment, and leave him to meet Alice alone. At least, 
 no other motive occurred to Charles. He never even speculated on 
 the possibility of one, and thought that his concept of his relation 
 to Alice-for-short must of course be every one else's. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Charley dear, you're not to be a goose and make a 
 serious matter of it. It really doesn't signify one scrap !" There 
 is a little crying, a little laughing, in Alice's voice. 
 
 "Take that beastly thing away, darling, and let me see . . ." 
 And Charles pulls away the end of the woollen neck-wrap Alice has 
 used for a momentary concealment, and knows the worst. He has 
 been piling up such horrors, in the nutmeg-grater line, that he is 
 really immensely relieved. But he breaks down a little over it, for 
 all that, and the signs of it are on him as he goes back to the house 
 with Alice hanging on his arm. Sister Thea and the Mother 
 Superior have decided- they were eavesdropping, you see ! that 
 the way Charles kissed Miss Kavanagh as soon as he had taken a 
 good look at her face, all over, left no doubt of the nature of the 
 position. But had they been near enough to hear the way he called 
 her his "dearest child," the phrase and something in the tone would 
 have puzzled them. 
 
 "You should have seen me when I was desquamating, a fortnight 
 ago," says Alice, with pride, "'and then you would have said I waa
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 371 
 
 a credit to the establishment. You see, I'm nothing to look at, 
 now !" 
 
 Charles makes an effort to fall in with this way of treating the 
 position, and gets so far as to say, "Oh, no ! you're a very poor 
 Case, indeed, Alice-f or-short." But a fault in his voice stops him ; 
 and he ends up, "No I can't laugh, dearest ! it was all me and my 
 boy." 
 
 So Alice gets him off the subject, and tells him what a delightful 
 time she has had since she came out of the fever-ward into the 
 house. "It's perfectly absurd to have gone on here so long," she 
 says. "Only Mrs. Wintringham has been so kind, and Sister Thea. 
 It's almost worth being a case of discrete smallpox to be so spoiled 
 and cosseted up afterwards." 
 
 She makes him turn back when they get to the house and go once 
 round the wide gravel path and see the strawberry beds. In which 
 connection she tells the story of Mrs. Wintringham. 
 
 "And oh, Mr. Charley," she says at the end, "the poor lady told 
 me it was always on her mind how she had punished her boy for 
 going on these very beds and gathering the strawberries, and that 
 afternoon he complained of a headache and was sick. And she 
 told him it served him right for gobbling unripe strawberries and 
 all the while it was IT that was coming. Poor thing! she can't 
 forgive herself, now. They all died, you know ?" 
 
 Alice's eyes were full of tears as she stood telling this to Mr. 
 Charley on the gravel path. But Mr. Charley was only giving half 
 attention. He was absorbed in Alice's marks. He wanted first- 
 hand medical authority that they would absorb or disappear. Was 
 Dr. Pitt coming? No he wasn't. Dr. Pitt had just gone. But 
 really Alice was quite smooth already. Feel if she wasn't! There 
 now! 
 
 In case you should feel alarmed about Charles, remember that 
 Alice had really been a week out of quarantine. Everything had 
 medical sanction. 
 
 Charles thought that if the Hospital-staff felt the parting as 
 much with all their patients, they must be in a state of constant 
 laceration. Also that if all their patients promised to write, as 
 Alice did, and kept their promises, the postman was to be pitied. 
 
 However, farewells and benedictions came to an end, and Charles 
 found himself being driven away in his mother's carriage open, 
 because it was so warm with Alice and Sister Eulalie, who had 
 been all this while with her old friend the Mother Superior. Don't 
 be frightened she hadn't been near any dangerous cases. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Charley, I have got a surprise for you." Alice pro-
 
 372 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 duced a letter Jessie Freeth's of course. But she didn't open it, 
 yet a while. 
 
 "Is that the something very amusing?" 
 
 "Yes." Alice nodded. "Now guess who's going to marry who." 
 
 "I can see by the envelope, Miss Frecth . . ." Alice hid the 
 envelope, abruptly, too late. 
 
 "You saw the Canterbury postmark?" 
 
 "I did. I always do, on her letters. I used to find one in the 
 box for you every other day. . . ." 
 
 "Well! it's a great shame. You spoilt half my surprise. But 
 who's she engaged to ? that's the point !" 
 
 "Roger Selwyn-Kerr if you ask me!" 
 
 "Well now! I declare. That is a shame! Now confess, Mr. 
 Charley, you knew all along. . . ." 
 
 "Certainly I did. I told you so ! On the table don't you recol- 
 lect?" 
 
 "Yes but that's not what I mean. You know what I mean. 
 Mother Peg told you. Now didn't she ?" 
 
 "Let me see! yes-s-s-s! She did say something about it but 
 I'd forgotten that. . . ." 
 
 "Oh, the meanness! To make believe you could forget right 
 across the middle of anything in that way ! Isn't he mean, Sister ?" 
 
 "Never saw anything like it in my life," says Sister Eulalie. 
 From which trivial conversation you may see that the party were 
 in the highest spirits and were enjoying their drive along the 
 dusty road thoroughly. That is why we have reported it. 
 
 Charles's unhappiness at being brought face to face, close up as 
 it were, with all that Alice had suffered for him, and at seeing 
 the record of it on her face (however much less emphatic a one 
 than he expected) was giving way before the sheer pleasure of 
 having her back again. To see her flashing out at him for his eva- 
 sions and paradoxical nonsense was altogether too good to be true. 
 It was an exhilarating dream. And when the carriage got involved 
 in sheep in a lane, he was glad, because it went slow and that made 
 the drive longer, in spite of the fact that the monotonous remarks 
 of the sheep quite prevented him hearing Miss Freeth's letter read 
 aloud. 
 
 Alice didn't read it all through aloud. She wasn't going to be 
 disloyal. But she read, under pledges of secrecy, a good deal more 
 than its writer ever meant for the general public. And it lasted 
 the letter and comments thereon very nearly all the way to Oak 
 Villa ; the main points of the discussion turning on how far Alices 
 had been responsible for the results it narrated.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 373 
 
 "Well," said Charles as a recrudescence of the conversation 
 brought them in sight of the house, in reply to Alice's fiftieth dis- 
 claimer of responsibility, "all I can say is, Mistress Alice, that if 
 you call yourself a discreet case of smallpox, I don't. Here we are, 
 and there's Pierre watching for us." 
 
 In after years Sister Eulalie used often to talk about that de- 
 lightful drive we had from Chelverhurst to Wimbledon and the 
 pleasant evening that followed. But she felt under an obligation 
 to use the powers, somehow traditionally vested in her, of a pro- 
 fessional nurse over a recent patient, to induce Alice to go to bed 
 early. Hence, when ten o'clock came, three bedroom candlesticks 
 out of five were lighted; and Charles and his mother were left to 
 recapitulate life gone by, or forestall the future, at pleasure. 
 
 Mrs. Heath was not unlike any other old lady well on in the 
 seventies in preferring the former. But she had her own way of 
 treating recapitulation. It may be described as dealing with two 
 parallels of event; one of them a potential Golden Age, which 
 would have come about if she had been attended to, the other com- 
 mon History the chaotic consequence of a wilful Era's neglect 
 of her powers of foresight. 
 
 "Yes, my dear Charles, put the shade down a little it dazzles my 
 eyes . . . that's right! What was I saying? About Pierre, of 
 course. What I mean is, that however thankful we may be that 
 by the mercy of God we have escaped a great danger, we ought not 
 to lose sight of the fact that, had wiser counsels prevailed, it need 
 never have been incurred. Had I been listened to, Pierre would 
 have been re-vaccinated two years ago. . . ." 
 
 "My dear Mother, the boy was re-vaccinated two years ago." 
 
 "Let me finish, my dear. He was vaccinated, but it is more than 
 doubtful if he ever took. What I said at the time was, 'Listen to 
 Dr. Prodgett,' and you did not listen. And now you see the con- 
 sequences." 
 
 "But Shaw, who did it, said we might re-vaccinate fifty times and 
 he mightn't take. . . ." 
 
 "My dear, do let me finish, and then you shall speak. Dr. Prod- 
 gett's view was, 'go on till it takes no matter how often.' And 
 now we see how right he was." 
 
 "But it wasn't certain he didn't take, slightly." 
 
 "My dear ! how could there be a better proof that he did not take 
 than the fact that he afterwards showed himself liable to infection. 
 To reject so conclusive a proof is to refuse to learn by experience. 
 Perhaps another time I shall be listened to."
 
 374 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Well, Grandmamma dear, Pierre shall be re-vaccinated again as 
 soon as he is well enough. Prodgett shall do it, and go on till he 
 takes." 
 
 "My dear Charles, yon know perfectly well that nothing I have 
 said would warrant such an absurd mistrust of Providence. Be- 
 sides, it would be merely shutting the stable-door after the steed 
 had broken loose. But you are your father's own son." 
 
 This didn't seem relevant, but comment might have been inter- 
 preted as controversial. Charles felt that he was not the person to 
 question its truth, especially considering who said it. So he held 
 his tongue, and Mrs. Heath continued: "We may be thankful that 
 your boy has been spared to us, and no doubt Dr. Prodgett would 
 agree with me that re-vaccination would be quite superfluous, for 
 the present at least." 
 
 Charles abstained from saying "Blow Dr. Prodgett !" partly from 
 a sub-consciousness that his doing so would not be due only to 
 impatience about vaccination. He was really a little nettled at the 
 thankfulness to Providence not having had a more definite refer- 
 ence to Alice. It was only fair-play he was asking for : there was 
 no trace of a claim for more than equality for Alice. Besides, he 
 had been breathing free about Pierre for more than a month, and 
 Alice's deliverance was quite recent. So Charles didn't blow Dr. 
 Prodgett, in order to show no impatience about Alice. He only 
 said, rather drily, "No doubt he would," and left the field to his 
 mother. After all, she was well on in the seventies, and if she did 
 half -forget Alice, was it not through her devotion to Pierre? 
 
 "Remember too, my dear Charles only it is a subject painful to 
 refer to and perhaps I do wrong to refer to it. . . ." 
 
 "There can be nothing to to not talk about, between you and 
 me, dear mother. . . ." 
 
 "Quite so, my dear. You are right to say so. I was going to 
 say (only I remember that painful news we had) that it is not as 
 though the darling boy had the constitution to which his birth as an 
 Englishman entitles him. I can never forget that Lavinia Straker 
 was, on one side at least, a Frenchwoman." 
 
 "What can his mother's nationality have to do with Pierre not 
 taking when vaccinated?" 
 
 "My dear Charles, if you would not be so impatient with me I 
 would tell you. I should never have alluded to Lavinia Straker, 
 knowing all I do, except to lay stress on the fact that she need not 
 be referred to between us. That is indisputable." Here Charles 
 made up his mind to dispute nothing, and leave the old lady carte- 
 blanche. She continued: "But I may speak of Pierre's parentage
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 375 
 
 as an abstraction. Had he had the good fortune to have an Eng- 
 lish mother, I have Dr. Prodgett's word for this, it would have 
 been much easier to pronounce in his case. I cannot blame you, 
 my dear boy, for this nor would I if I could. But neither can I 
 blame myself. My worst enemy could not say that I did not point 
 out the dangers of my dear son's unhappy marriage. . . ." Here 
 Charles felt that carte-blanche was being taken too much advan- 
 tage of, and withdrew it. 
 
 "Surely, Mother, there is no need to go back to that now." There 
 is a shade of suppressed asperity in his voice. The old lady inten- 
 sified her meekness, but maintained her dignity. 
 
 "My dear, have I not been careful to say that I have only referred 
 to this subject as one that it is not necessary for us to go back to ? 
 Do me justice. I only ask for justice. No one who knows (and 
 who should know, if not yourself ? my own son ! how painful that 
 unhappy affair was to me however little I said at the time!) 
 can possibly imagine that it is any pleasure to me to speak of it." 
 Here a disposition to tears. "But I failed to make myself heard 
 then, and now it will be the same." 
 
 Charles saw conciliation would be the better part of discussion, 
 and said, good-humouredly, "I don't see, Grandmamma dear, how 
 poor Lav comes into the matter." The name Grandmamma has 
 always a propitiatory effect, and the old lady softens. Logically the 
 reverse should have been the case, but we have explained that she 
 regarded "Lavinia Straker" as an intruder into the realm of parent- 
 age, who had usurped the function of Pierre's real parent, an Eng- 
 lishwoman still at large. 
 
 "That is exactly the point, my dear. She does not come in, and 
 we need not talk about what is painful to both of us." 
 
 Charles got up from his chair, throwing away a cigarette per- 
 misse as the windows were open to the warm night-air and went 
 across to his mother and kissed her. He would have liked to talk 
 about Alice, and hoped "Lavinia Straker" was clear out of the 
 conversation. But he was premature. The kiss proved only a 
 stepping-stone to a new treatment of the subject. 
 
 "That is my dear boy. I know, dear Charles, that you are always 
 good at heart, if a little unreasonable. . . . Well, my dear you 
 are a little unreasonable. Because it is impossible and absurd 
 to pretend that Lavinia" concession here; Straker omitted "was 
 not on one side a Frenchwoman. You have thrown half your 
 cigarette away. Now you may smoke another." More concession. 
 
 "Anyhow," says Charles, determined to make matters pleasant, 
 "Lav's French parentage was better than her English one."
 
 376 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "My dear, I am not mentioning Lavinia, as I promised you just 
 now. I am speaking of the race as a race. No one can deny that 
 Frenchwomen, as a race, are frivolous and unfaithful to their 
 husbands. . . ." 
 
 Charles kept his temper. "Come, I say, Mother," said he, "not all 
 of them!" 
 
 "No, my dear Charles, not all! I am willing to admit that there 
 are exceptions. But the exceptions prove the rule, and the more 
 numerous and conspicuous the exceptions, the more firmly the rule 
 holds good. If your father were here he would say so. Ask any 
 one. . . . What's that, Partridge?" 
 
 Actually our old friend Partridge, come to see if her mistress is 
 ripe for a night's rest. No she isn't, hut will be the moment Mr. 
 Charles has finished his cigarette. Partridge is sixteen years older 
 than she was when she first established a sort of proprietorship 
 over Alice. She is not inclined to relinquish it altogether now, 
 for all the Hospital-nurses in Christendom. Hence suppressed 
 ructions between herself and Sister Eulalie a usurper! It is 
 rather hard, you see, when you have been re-vaccinated on purpose 
 to give an unqualified welcome to an ex-smallpox-patient, to have 
 an unexpected Sister thrust herself in and keep you off. 
 
 "Never mind, Partridge," says Charles. "To-morrow she'll go, 
 and you'll have Alice all to yourself." 
 
 So now, as Alice is comfortably located for a complete conva- 
 lescence, the particulars of which are not wanted for this story, we 
 may leave her to enjoy it, and you may fancy for yourself how 
 Charles went back to work and made up for lost time. He drew 
 ten cartoons of Breaches of Commandments and ten Observances. 
 And also began a picture to be called, "The Shirt of Nessus" the 
 dying centaur giving Dejanira his tunic as a legacy. 
 
 Whether it was a mere accident that made the bride of Heracles 
 much more like Lavinia Straker than ever was Regan, we do not 
 know. But she turned out like enough to make Charles's intimate 
 friends, on analysing the story, see in it a trace of the leniency with 
 which he always spoke and thought of his wife's desertion. Jeff 
 remarked that it was a good job Charles hadn't a poisoned arrow to 
 send after his Nessus. He never regarded the disappearance of 
 Mrs. Charles Heath as an unmixed evil. In fact he expressed sur- 
 prise (to Mr. Pope) that Charles had lost an opportunity of immor- 
 talising his late wife in a "Breach" medallion of the second window 
 for West Eastleigh.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 A SUDDEN CASE OF CATALEPSY. THE NAME WAS VERRINDER. HOW SIB 
 RUPERT ADVOCATED TREPHINING OLD JANE. WAS THE OLD OAK- 
 CHEST WORSE ? WHY VERRINDER WATCHED BEDLAM. HOW CHARLES 
 BELONGED TO THE GENERATION OF PEN-VIPERS 
 
 "!F I could only get some sort of coolness between them, so that 
 they would quarrel and make it up again, like regular lovers, 
 there would be some chance " 
 
 Peggy is speaking to her husband three months after the end of 
 last chapter. Let her go on: 
 
 "But it's perfectly useless. If I try talking to each of them about 
 the other's little affairs imaginary ones you understand ? . . ." 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 ". . . it only ends in Charles investigating through all Alice's 
 applicants and saying they're not half good enough, and Alice 
 raking up Lady Anstruther Paston-Forbes." 
 
 "Why, she's married a curate!" 
 
 "I daresay she has. I'm sick of her, anyhow !" Peggy pauses a 
 few seconds, presumably to allow of her ladyship's decent interment 
 in a country parish, and then goes on: "I suppose now Alice will 
 look up some other dazzling meteor for Charley, and turn her on. 
 It's all so unsatisfactory! " 
 
 "Let 'em alone, wife, let 'em alone. 'Over rocks that are steepest,' 
 don't you know ?" Sir Rupert is making entries in his Diary in his 
 own room, and his voice heard through the open door between it 
 and his wife's bedroom gives a hint of preoccupation. 
 
 "You're not listening, Dr. Jomson." For this is the family 
 name, par excellence, for its head. It is a tribute to Alice's status 
 in it from childhood. 
 
 "Fire away, darling! I'm listening now." And Peggy hears 
 the Diary slapped to. She hopes he won't begin stropping a razor 
 next. But sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. She con- 
 tinues, seriously: 
 
 "If I dared, I would do as you said speak straight to Charley, 
 and tell him I don't believe Alice will ever be really happy with 
 any one else. But just think if I were to make a blunder do 
 it all wrong! I might just spoil all." 
 
 377
 
 378 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 "Don't do it if you feel afraid. But I don't think I should feel 
 much afraid, if I were a woman." 
 
 "Why don't you do it now ?" 
 
 "Because a man speaking to a man on the subject always has a 
 flavour of a moral lecture." 
 
 "Why hasn't a woman ?" 
 
 "Because a woman may be undertaking a confession for a friend. 
 A man would be supposed to act in consequence of something 
 noticed in behaviour ; attentions that sort of game !" 
 
 "Charley wouldn't mind anything from you." 
 
 "He wouldn't be angry with me, I know. But would the end be 
 gained? I doubt it. It's ticklish, anyhow! I'm bound to say I 
 had much sooner let it alone." 
 
 Sir Rupert comes out of his room, dressing-gowned. Peggy is 
 in like plight, sitting before the fire. The wind is north, and we 
 shall have snow, and poor Robin will very soon be sitting in a barn. 
 Fires are welcome, and Sir Rupert isn't sorry to roast himself a 
 little before going to bed. 
 
 "Don't fret about it, dear love!" he says; "it will all turn out 
 right, left to itself. You see if it doesn't!" But Peggy's anxious 
 beauty only clears a little; the cloud hangs. Still, the hand that 
 comes caressingly round her head has reassurance in it. It is like 
 her husband's voice. Both make matters better than they find them. 
 
 "I won't fret, dear!" says Peggy, and means not to. But she 
 isn't sure what she ought to do, and she remains as one who con- 
 siders. He talks of something else, to clear the cobwebs. 
 
 "Talking of love-affairs, I went to Bedlam to-day. They're all 
 against me about that case except Paisley." 
 
 "Let's see! What case was that? The girl that eats the 
 needles?" 
 
 "No no! She's at the Hospital. I mean the very old woman 
 who never speaks; has been fed with a spoon for fifty years you 
 know?" 
 
 "I think I remember. She moves about though, doesn't she ?" 
 
 "Hardly that! Still she does move and takes nourishment, so 
 that there is no difficulty in dealing with the case, from the nurses' 
 point of view. But it is all like an automaton. In a certain sense 
 her health is wonderful. She must be nearly ninety, but is 
 extraordinarily well preserved." 
 
 "Well ? you were going to say ?" 
 
 "I was going to say that they had a consultation over the case at 
 my suggestion, and that they won't have it except Paisley that 
 she's a case of traumatic insanity. I'm sure she is. It was not
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 379 
 
 found out at the beginning ten years nearly before she came into 
 the Hospital, and then she was badly diagnosed, I suspect. And 
 I believe there would be a possibility it's only a possibility, mind ! 
 that if she were trepanned some mental revival might take place. 
 But I'm the only person it has ever occurred to that it might be a 
 case for operating. It would be very interesting to try, at any 
 rate." 
 
 "Would it be right ?" 
 
 "Perhaps. Possibly even a release from a long agony an incon- 
 ceivable release. Baron Trenck would be a trifle by comparison. 
 Anyway, it wouldn't be wrong because it was intensely inter- 
 esting." 
 
 "No, darling! I didn't mean that you know?" 
 
 "I don't want to slice people up for a lark. But there are cases 
 and I think this is one " 
 
 "What is known of how it began?" Peggy's thoughts have got 
 free of her perplexity, and she is getting interested in the Case. 
 
 "The description in the Register at the Asylum it's fifty years 
 old now ! just fancy ! it was standing there near ten years before 
 we were born " 
 
 Peggy shudders. It is too appalling to bear thinking of. Rupert 
 continues : 
 
 " says she was found one day by her husband seated at the 
 
 foot of the stairs, in the state in which she remains now. She was 
 not brought into the Asylum for a long time after. There was then 
 no trace of a lesion on the head or spine. My own belief is that 
 if she had been properly examined at first something would have 
 been found. But the husband doesn't seem to have been very 
 sharp about it." 
 
 "Didn't care, perhaps?" 
 
 "On the contrary, he was heartbroken. Lived for thirty years 
 in a place close by, that he might be at hand if a lucid interval 
 came. None ever came. He's been dead a long time." 
 
 What strange tricks memory plays us when she has the field to 
 herself! A good honest wench, and serviceable, is she when any 
 check is at hand, to keep her in order and make her do her duty. 
 She only wants the slightest reminder, and there she is, ready at 
 her post to act when called on, or candidly to confess to failure. 
 But leave her in empty space (we ought to say empty time, in her 
 case) without a monitor of any sort in sight, and behold! in the 
 twinkling of an eye she changes to a disorderly slattern that will 
 do nothing; and then, in the twinkling of another eye, into an imp 
 of the activity of a wildcat and the mendacity of a Jack-o'-lantern,
 
 380 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 Don't say that it is impossible that Peggy and her husband can 
 have forgotten Verrinder and Charles's report of his death, and 
 gone on with their conversation as though they had never heard 
 of it. Take account of sixteen mortal years, and recollect that 
 you read it yesterday. We will answer for it that neither of them 
 at the moment connected Verrinder with this case of catalepsy. 
 
 "What a terrible story! What is her name?" 
 
 "Do you know ? now it's very funny but either I've never been 
 told, or I've forgotten. The name was on the register too Mac- 
 farlane Brindley what was it? Very funny!" 
 
 "But what do they call her at the Asylum?" 
 
 "Oh they call her Old Jane. I don't know if her name is really 
 Jane. It doesn't follow." 
 
 Old Jane ! Sixty years of torpor ! And the man that loved her, 
 that she loved, waiting waiting a stone's throw off, for a lucid 
 interval that never came. Oh, but it was grisly ! Peggy felt quite 
 sick to think of it. She shut her eyes tight, tried to grasp what 
 it would have been, had it been herself and Kupert. And it might 
 have been, for that matter. Just a knock on the head, enough to 
 depress the skull (if Rupert was right) but not enough to cause 
 merciful death, and then sixty years of life such life! How- 
 ever, of course it was quite possible that Old Jane was insane 
 constitutionally, and that accident had nothing to do with it. That 
 would be much less shocking, somehow. You say why, perhaps? 
 But is it not true that a life all warped and twisted, by a trivial 
 miscarriage, is more shocking than when it bears the hallmark of 
 an unseen mystery something that looks like the well-considered 
 fiat of a malignant Destiny, not an unintentional stab of Chance ? 
 The higher metaphysic will no doubt point out that there is really 
 no such thing as Chance. But it won't point out what constitutes 
 the strange thing, Chance, that there is no such thing as. 
 
 Peggy and her husband talked so long and so late about Old 
 Jane, that Lucy their eldest daughter (we have not seen her, so 
 far), who slept overhead, wondered what on earth papa and mamma 
 were going on about. And just on the point of dropping asleep, 
 mamma suddenly half -roused up and asked (somewhat in the man- 
 ner of an inquisitive dormouse in January) whether the name 
 wasn't Verrinder. But papa had quite stopped going off, and had 
 gone off, past recall. 
 
 "What, on, earth," said Miss Lucy, when she appeared next morn- 
 ing she was Miss Johnson, please you, and going to be fifteen very 
 soon. "What on earth, were you and mamma talking about
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 381 
 
 late last night? Talk talk talk talk talk talk ! I thought 
 you were never going to stop and go to sleep." 
 
 "We were talking," replies her father, mendaciously, "about little 
 pussy cats, and how they ought to kiss their father on both sides, 
 instead of only one." 
 
 "Nonsense, puppy !" But the broad hint was taken for all that. 
 "Do come and help me to manage him, Aunty Lissy. You know 
 you can always make him reasonable." Lucy's mother used to say 
 she reminded her strongly of her Aunt Ellen when she was a girl. 
 
 Alice is making tea at this moment in the story. When you 
 are making tea you don't answer chits. But when you have filled 
 the pot quite up to the top, then you answer the chits, and tell them 
 to kiss you on both sides, as well as papa. At least Alice did so, 
 in this case. 
 
 "And there is no bad side, and I don't care WHAT you say, Aunty 
 Lissy. You can't feel it with your lips, if you try ever so." The 
 chit tries ever so. Others try ever so too, and our old Alice bids 
 fair to be suffocated under this course of experimental research. 
 One has to pay penalties for extreme popularity. 
 
 As Peggy appears, rather later than the world generally, we 
 can't help being reminded of that other breakfast-table, years ago, 
 at Hyde Park Gardens. We see that Peggy is on her way to her 
 mother's majesty of form (suppose we call it) and it can't be 
 helped. If she could only achieve a certain pomposity ("poor 
 Grandmamma !") we should feel that she was on the road to gen- 
 eral identification. But she doesn't come up to the mark. We see 
 the likeness of the confidence and youth of now to that of old; that 
 Lucy is as cocksure of everything in Heaven and Earth as her 
 Aunt Ellen was before her; that poor little drowned Dan's posthu- 
 mous namesake (given the chance) would go on the ice in defiance 
 of park-keepers, even as he did. Let us hope no such thing may 
 happen, and that Lucy may not marry a reprobate in the face of 
 every warning, and be left a young widow dependent on relations 
 after paying all her dear husband's debts, gambling and otherwise. 
 
 We see all these things, and then we see there is a thing we miss. 
 It is Alice-for-short. There are midgets and poppets in this house 
 too, but if they were downstairs now and not in the nursery, we 
 should see they belonged to another type of midget and poppet. 
 We are glad to find that the young woman who is correcting the 
 effects of what amounted to a scrimmage, before sitting down to 
 breakfast, actually reminds us of what Alice-for-short was then. 
 
 "Well, children, I hope you're satisfied. Aunty Lissy is going 
 to have tea, thank you ! And you may pour it out for her, Juicy
 
 382 ALICE-EOR-SHOET 
 
 dear, and save her the trouble. And you boys may hand her the 
 hot rolls from the fender; only don't fight for which it's to be." 
 Juicy is of course Lucy, who proceeds to predominate over the 
 serving out of tea and coffee. 
 
 "I tell you what, Aunty Lissy" it is Eupert who speaks "if 
 you don't look alive and settle up about who he's to be, you won't 
 
 get the benefit of your marks " Two or three demands are 
 
 made for explanation. 
 
 "Why ! wasn't your epidermis going to keep worthless, shallow, 
 thingummy-bobs, and mere something-or-others at a distance? 
 Briled rasher? yes pass your Aunty the mustard along with it, 
 Dan, and don't spill it over the tablecloth." 
 
 "You've given me the whole dish full. No, Dr. Jomson come 
 now be reasonable! It wasn't me said that. It was mamma." 
 This is the name Peggy is known by whenever there is a quorum 
 of children. 
 
 "Was it me ? I hope not. It's too much like a book for a good 
 boy." 
 
 "All I can say is," Alice goes on, "that if Mr. Charley's next 
 great find for me comes and says: 'See how I love you in spite 
 of your repulsive physiognomy,' I shall just " But she is inter- 
 rupted by Dan, who wants to know what physiognomy means. 
 
 "It's long for mug." And Dan retires for the time to reflect. 
 "There now ! that boy's made me forget what I was going to say !" 
 
 "Do you know," interposes the great physician, "last night 
 mamma asked me quite suddenly what an old woman's name was, 
 and I knew it, I know; and her asking knocked it clean out of my 
 head, and I haven't been able to get it back since." 
 
 "Of course you did !" says Peggy, looking up, "and I recollected 
 it afterwards, and you were asleep!" Sir Rupert expresses bewil- 
 derment by ruffling his hair, and glaring. "Well, that is a little 
 incomprehensible, I admit. But I recollected what the name must 
 be. Of course it was Verrinder. And that poor fellow Charley 
 knew, that died oh! before ever we were married, must have been 
 her husband?" 
 
 Rupert sits still with an animated face, letting memory revive 
 and take possession. "Of course ! I recollect it all now. Eancy my 
 never putting two and two together!" 
 
 One of Time's odd revenges, or paradoxes, is that Alice shows no 
 interest at all in this reminiscence. But is it really odd, seeing 
 she was six when it happened ? She certainly shows none, and while 
 Peggy and her husband talk about Verrinder, she explains to Dan 
 the meaning of the word mug, metaphorically used. Dan has come
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 383 
 
 out of his maze of thought, and demanded light, more light. But 
 Peggy brings Alice back into her section of the conversation, say- 
 ing, "Alice dear, do listen to this. You ought to be interested in 
 it because it's all mixed up with your ring." On which Alice does 
 one of the little illogical things one so often does, in reality and 
 out of fiction, and immediately looks at her ring, with her pretty 
 fingers stretched out for its best advantage. "Why my ring?" she 
 asks. 
 
 "Because, Miss Kavanagh, this Verrinder was the queer old 
 artist Charles knew, that had the portrait Phillips was called after, 
 that was supposed to have been painted at No. 40. And was sup- 
 posed to have been connected with your ghost. And was supposed 
 to have had to do with the murder in the cellar." 
 
 "Oh, I remember! They dug up bones." Thus far Alice, in 
 response to explanation as above, given mixedly by Peggy and her 
 husband. We have to keep on recollecting Alice's age sixteen 
 years ago, to account for the way she accepts the story as a passing 
 interest, nowise vital. The ring had always been to her a ring 
 with an odd association, half -forgotten, that had as it were wanted 
 to spell Phyllis and failed. There had been some talk of the story 
 since; as when Phillips was christened Phyllis Cartwright John- 
 son, in a freak, at the time Charles had the old picture out and 
 was discussing if it should be cleaned or not. But even about her 
 own ghost, Alice was, as Charles said, a weak-kneed witness. If 
 you are about twenty-three, turn to and try recollections of six and 
 seven, and you won't wonder at Alice. 
 
 However, she on reflection acquired a strong vicarious interest 
 in the subject. She recollected how interesting it would be to Mr. 
 Charley to hear all about it when he came in the evening. Also, 
 as soon as she fully assimilated the story of Old Jane, she felt 
 excited to see how the experiment would turn out, if it were ever 
 tried. 
 
 There were a good many difficulties in the way of this. All the 
 Asylum was against it, except Dr. Paisley, mentioned by Rupert as 
 his only supporter. Its strongest opponent was Dr. Fludyer, whom 
 we recollect at the time of Verrinder's death, and who was in fact 
 the only person who could be considered to be his representative. 
 He had what Rupert called a strong inverse interest in the life of 
 Old Jane, because a sum of money left with him as trustee for 
 her, was to come to him at her death. This made him morbidly 
 sensitive about any departure from the routine of fifty years. So 
 long as no change was made, he was safe from imputation of an 
 unpleasant sort. He certainly would not consent to an experiment
 
 384 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 which could at best only give one chance in a thousand of any 
 benefit to the patient; and, which, ten chances to one, might end 
 in her death during the operation. Sir Rupert, who was a very old 
 friend of his, said to him: "You know, Fludyer, I have only a 
 scientific interest in the case. And I have no locus standi. For 
 I am not even attached to the Hospital. All I say is, that if Old 
 Jane were my mother, I would make the trial." Fludyer replied: 
 "So would I, on the strength of an opinion like yours, if she were 
 my mother. But she isn't, and at her death I should come into a 
 thousand pounds in consols. I would rather she died a perfectly 
 natural death." 
 
 "You admit then," said Sir Rupert, "that you are grudging this 
 poor old remnant a chance you would give your mother, in order to 
 avoid an imputation no man who knew anything about you would 
 attach the slightest weight to." 
 
 "Would you guarantee her surviving the operation, Johnson ?" 
 
 "No I wouldn't! Nor your mother's either, cceteris paribus." 
 
 "You don't understand. What I mean is that nobody would 
 impute mere selfish scientific interest nor even a wish for a thou- 
 sand pounds as a motive in the case of a son and mother." 
 
 "Quite a mistake ! There is a large and influential public which 
 believes that the Faculty of Medicine is only restrained by Law 
 from vivisecting its wives and daughters under anaesthetics; and 
 a still larger one that credits it with readiness to do the same with- 
 out anaesthetics for a thousand pounds mother, father, anybody, 
 even to the third and fourth generation. Never mind them! Give 
 the old woman a chance. If you do kill her she'll be grateful." 
 
 "You don't know that." 
 
 "Don't I ? Well ! she's not altogether in her right mind so per- 
 haps I don't !" 
 
 A short time after this conversation Sir Rupert got a note from 
 Dr. Fludyer, as follows: 
 
 "I have managed to assign my trusteeship to the Hospital, as 
 well as the interest in the reversion. My colleagues know why I 
 have done this. I shouldn't at all wonder if a good many changes 
 of opinion came about in the matter of Old Jane. I fancy the 
 opposition was a good deal my doing. . . ." 
 
 "I do hope you're right, dearest," said Peggy, when he read her 
 this letter. 
 
 "I shall have no doubt I am if they all come round. But I shall 
 say nothing further to influence them. I told them my opinion 
 because it was and is my opinion. But the case is theirs, and 
 they must take the responsibility of deciding."
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 385 
 
 "Well now I call that mean!" 
 
 "Not a bit of it! If they settle to do it, I shall back them 
 up. But I shan't say more than I have done. They know what 
 I think." And then his wife felt certain that sooner or later the 
 trial would be made. 
 
 Meanwhile, Old Jane that was young Jane once was a case 
 in a ward. She was young Jane once, young and active Jane, 
 with a life before her to live, with another young life (so it trans- 
 pired afterwards) to come and to be lived for later, when that 
 strange unforeseen mischance consigned her to a living death, 
 with the husband she had loved watching by the tomb, waiting for 
 news that the corpse had moved, for a gleam of hope that he might 
 see the dismantled home replenished, and the fires burning again 
 upon the hearths. Think how he must have started at every step 
 upon the stairs, how he must have said to himself a thousand times, 
 "It may be at last !" and how it was a mistake, or a parcel, or a 
 letter with nothing in it. Think how, one by one, the friends he 
 had had died away, and he had no heart for more, even had he had 
 the power to draw them to him. But the springs grew brackish in 
 that desert, and then dried up. And the canker of his loneliness 
 crept into his heart, and his life grew to be a blank, a long drawn- 
 out pause, an awaiting of a thing that came not; a silence with a 
 listener in it a listener for a word that was still as possible so 
 they said who should know as on the day when he found his wife 
 speechless at the stairfoot, at the beginning of the silence, and 
 wondered why she did not speak. 
 
 Poor old Jane, that was young Jane once! That was alive, and 
 spoke and breathed and moved in the days before the battle of 
 Waterloo; the days before any railway with trains worth men- 
 tioning on it, or any paddleboat on the Atlantic, with its trium- 
 phant record of nine miles an hour all the way from Bristol to 
 New York; the days before the Twopenny Post and Winsor's 
 Patent Gas. In those days her awful home of half-a-century was 
 unbuilt ; and the fields were green near where it stands ; and mile- 
 stones told the foot-traveller on the Lambeth Road that he was one 
 from Westminster and two from London. For then Bethlehem 
 Hospital was in Moorfields, far enough away, and "The Magdalen" 
 stood where it stands now; and its patients were under treatment, 
 in those days, with leg-locks and surprise-baths, and rotatory chairs. 
 Lucky for Jane that while this System was in vogue she was still 
 young Jane, and the daughter of a fashionable portrait-painter 
 who was having a high old time at No. 40, our old house in Soho ;
 
 386 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 where she was requiting the passion of his young assistant, whose 
 employment was to put his tablecloth, his chair-back, his bit of 
 drapery, his landscape background, into his fashionable portrait. 
 This father of hers had a very good standing in his day ; and even 
 now the fortunate owner of one of his works will say to you, "That's 
 a Sleezle," with confidence that you will be au fait of Sleezles. 
 That wasn't his real name, and we are not going to tell it, for the 
 same reason we have kept secret the name of the street he lived in. 
 He was there, name or no, and painted the fashionable portraits 
 in the room where Charles is now at this moment, with Alice, who 
 has been shopping in Oxford Street and has looked in to pay him a 
 visit, telling him that Dr. Jomson is quite excited because, owing 
 to his advice, they are going to trepan the old lady of nearly ninety 
 at Bethlehem Hospital. 
 
 "And she was old Verrinder's wife! Poor old chap! Sixty 
 years!" Charles, who says this, is, we perceive, going to leave off 
 bringing his picture together (that is what he was doing) and to fill 
 a pipe. One would really think, from the amount of bringing 
 together they require, that Charles's pictures were painted in seg- 
 ments, each in a different European capital. He deserts some piece 
 of it (so to speak) on its way from Buda-Pesth (for instance) and 
 sits down on one of those boxes with an S perforated in them, into 
 which valuables get and rattle for ever and never come out. He 
 lights the pipe and sits facing Alice, and the gloom we know was 
 on his face before she came in has vanished. She has thrown her- 
 self into the chair Miss Straker sat in as Miss Thiseltoii, reading 
 about the Octopus. Her hands are on the arms, and her face is 
 bright and animated, and flushed with walking in the cold, clear 
 weather. And you really can only just see any mark, bar that bad 
 place round the corner where people kiss you. That, it seems, was 
 on the next page of that letter. What did it matter, as long as they 
 kissed you ? That was her selfish view. 
 
 Alice keeps her parcels on her knee, to express the full momen- 
 tariness of the proceeding. "I am in the lap of a bird of passage," 
 they seem to say. She very often pays Charley a flying visit of this 
 sort, but always defines the position to herself, no doubt as an 
 apology for interrupting business. This time she has come in 
 to tell him about Rupert's announcement the night before. It is 
 quite true he will be at Harley Street in the evening, but then 
 you see Alice was absolutely passing the door. 
 
 "Dr. Fludyer was at dinner last night, and Mr. Lionel Isaacson, 
 who's to do it." Alice continues thus: "We were so sorry you 
 weren't there."
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 387 
 
 'It was Mrs. Jeff's birthday, and I couldn't be off going. Did 
 Fludyer say if he's found out any more about Old Jane?" 
 
 "Oh yes. He talked a good deal about her, and told us lots of 
 things. But I thought it was the twins' birthday or the twinses' 
 which ought it to be?" 
 
 "I prefer twinses'. But it was most of their birthdays. They 
 take them all in a lump now, on the same day. We had a most 
 turbulent evening. But tell me what Fludyer said he'd found 
 out." 
 
 "Well he hadn't found out anything new. But when Miss 
 Peggy and I got at him, of course we made him talk about what 
 Verrinder had told him heaps more than Lord Rupert ever did." 
 This was another sobriquet of Rupert, used in this case as a sug- 
 gestion that its owner needn't be so high and mighty and give him- 
 self airs, because we could collect evidence much better than he. 
 Verrinder had told at odd times a good deal about his wedding. 
 ''It was a regular Gretna-Green business. Thdy actually went all 
 the way to Scotland, and were pursued, and got a couple of people 
 their own size to put on their clothes and go on instead of them 
 in the coach to York, and they stayed at the Inn and took another 
 coach later. Then her father was in such a rage he never would 
 speak to her or see her after. Dr. Fludyer says he never saw Ver- 
 rinder really smile except that time he told about the stage-coach 
 trick." 
 
 "Did Fluyder make out there had ever been a reconcilia- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Oh yes there was no reconciliation. He never told Dr. Flud- 
 yer the father's name. But they never made it up. He made a 
 little by illustrations to books they were always done from his 
 wife." 
 
 "I think I've seen one. It was called Melesinda. She was being 
 a Beauty, and goggling at you." 
 
 "I know ! Well poor Jane, or Melesinda, used to give singing 
 lessons to help things out. And they were awfully poor and the 
 father never would help." 
 
 "And did Fludyer say he told him how the catalepsy, or whatever 
 it was, began ?" 
 
 Yes only he says he didn't tell him much. Only he told it 
 over and over again ; so he recollects it. There was a very old lady 
 Melesinda knew, whom he called her father's landlady but Dr. 
 Fludyer never made out why, or what she was. Either she had 
 spent the evening at their house, or they at hers, Dr. Fludyer 
 wasn't sure which, and she had been telling them odd stories of
 
 388 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 when she was a girl, and either Melesinda that's Old Jane, you 
 know " 
 
 "I know. Go ahead !" 
 
 "Either she went upstairs to hring the old lady's things down for 
 her to go, or went up to get on her own, one or the other ' 
 
 "Doesn't matter which ! And she tumbled downstairs ?" 
 
 "Just that! Only you might have let me do the climax, Mr. 
 Charley dear! Spoiling my story! Well they heard a cry and a 
 tumble and went out and found her sitting at the foot of the 
 stairs. And he said to her, 'My darling are you hurt?' And she 
 never answered, and never spoke again." 
 
 Alice's voice breaks as she finishes Dr. Fludyer's reminiscence. 
 "Poor old Jane!" says Charles. And both sit silent for a space. 
 Then Alice speaks. 
 
 "I think the Old Oak Chest was worse," she says. 
 
 "Do you? I don't! Young Lovell's bride was dead outright. 
 And as for young Lovell, I expect he married the prettiest brides- 
 maid. Oh no ! This was worse. But did he never tell Fludyer 
 how he came to have the father's pictures ?" 
 
 "Oh yes Dr. Fludyer did say something about that. What was 
 it? Oh, / remember. He the father died a year or so after the 
 daughter was placed in the Hospital. All his belongings went to a 
 nephew, who wasn't a bad fellow and allowed Verrinder to choose 
 a dozen of the pictures provided he only saw the backs. So Ver- 
 rinder chose from them with their faces to the wall." 
 
 "He made a lucky choice. Bauerstein has just sold the Turner 
 for eight hundred. I suppose that was when he noticed the name 
 Phyllis Cartwright." But Charles didn't say the last two words. 
 He only thought them, and Alice wasn't on the alert, and didn't 
 ask what name. 
 
 "Why did he never try to sell them?" 
 
 "I can understand that. There was nothing to be gained then 
 by withdrawing her from the Asylum. Probably she was better 
 cared for there than she would have been elsewhere. Besides, he 
 knew the value of the pictures would go up. He kept on hoping 
 poor devil ! for news of a gleam of light." 
 
 "I suppose it was what they sold for that made up most of the 
 thousand pounds Dr. Fludyer talked about." 
 
 "I was told they fetched two hundred. But he must have had 
 something of his own, or what did he live on ?" 
 
 "Dr. Fludyer supposes he ran through most of it trying to keep 
 up his home, and nurse her. And then when he was beaten at that, 
 he got her into the Hospital and lived on a shilling a day, and
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 389 
 
 spent as much of his life as he could at the Royal Academy Schools. 
 The landlord of the house says he used to pass whole hours outside 
 on the roof, looking at the dome of the Asylum." 
 
 Charles's face clouds over slightly "That's how I shall end up," 
 said he. "I don't mean sitting on a roof looking at Bedlam. I 
 mean messing ahout at the Schools. Only I haven't a Life-Stu- 
 dentship, by-the-bye ! Not even an Academy medallist !" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley! What affectation and nonsense! You know 
 you're only fishing for compliments. Why 'The Shirt of Nessus' 
 is the best thing you've ever painted, and it's to be done by April 
 and hung on the line." 
 
 "It sounds exactly like the Wash," says Charles. "I wonder 
 whether Nessus's shirt was sent home starched, and pinned to- 
 gether without cause, and Nessus couldn't get the pins out and 
 used an expression." Alice laughs with pleasure at a relaxation in 
 the tone of the conversation. 
 
 "I like you now!" she says. '^You've come out of the dumps. 
 But you know what I think, Mr. Charley, and what Mother Peg 
 thinks?" Yet another nickname, for Peggy, this time. 
 
 "No what?" 
 
 <r Why, we both think you would succeed in the other as well." 
 
 "Which other? I haven't succeeded in this one yet." 
 
 "Now, that's mere affectation. Don't be so juvenile, Mr. Charley 
 dear ! Why, of course, Literature Fiction I ought to know ! I'm 
 a literary lady." 
 
 "I daresay you would know, Alice, if I had ever written any- 
 thing." 
 
 "That's suppressio veri and suggestio f alsi ! Besides, it's fibs !" 
 The blue eyes get more serious as Alice goes on "No Mr. Char- 
 ley dearest ! I'll deal candidly with you. I stole a manuscript of 
 yours and read it." 
 
 "Hullo!" 
 
 "Yes, I did. And it went away with me and my germs to the 
 Nursing Home, and when the rash had come out I began reading 
 it. Then I got awfully bad again and I had to finish it after." 
 
 "Here's a pretty confession, Alice-f or-short ! Well I never!" 
 Charles's face, as he sits puffing at his pipe and gazing at the 
 penitent, is full of love and admiration for her. If the former 
 is crossed by a half -thought that the love of a real father, brother, 
 uncle whatever he counts himself does not call for keeping 
 under; he thrusts it aside, fortified by the confidence that she has 
 no such line of thought ; and if it is so, so long as he keeps it under, 
 it can't matter what it is. Alice-for-short is to be beloved of a
 
 390 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 sanctioned Romeo, with never a blood-feud between the families 
 a highly endowed Lovell whose old oak chests don't hasp. Prob- 
 ably what would be reluctance to lose Alice takes the form of pre- 
 posterous demands on the powers of the Creator in connection with 
 Mr. Alice. But his admiration is unqualified, even by that awful 
 mark just round the corner, where they kiss you. However, let 
 Alice go on with her story. 
 
 "I'm not much ashamed, Mr. Charley Heath; so you needn't look 
 so reproachful. I finished it after, when I was getting better. And 
 I thought it was because I was so weak and used-up that I cried 
 over it as I did." 
 
 "Probably it was. A sufficiently large Public of convalescents 
 from Smallpox would be a boon to sentimental publishers." 
 
 "No it was nothing of the sort. Sister Thea got it after 
 me " 
 
 "The Smallpox?" 
 
 "No ! The manuscript. And she cried and sniffed all one night. 
 And then the Mother Superior got it and cried and sniffed too." 
 
 "And which was this valuable and affecting work that you stole, 
 Miss Thief, dear ? And where did you steal it ?" 
 
 "Out of the drawer in the old table. If I'd known there were 
 others, I'd have turned the whole place out." 
 
 "What was this one?" 
 
 "About Cicely Smith " 
 
 "Oh yes, I remember her. She lived in a small stuffy semi- 
 detached villa on some land that was ripe for building, and nobody 
 built any more villas " 
 
 "Yes, and her father called himself an Agent, on a brass plate, 
 and nobody knew what he was Agent for. And she had a stuffy 
 mother, and a stuffy aunt, and there were scarlet geraniums and 
 dandelions in the front garden. And, oh, my gracious me, how 
 stuffy it all was !" 
 
 "I remember Sis'ly Smith. She wanted to marry anybody to 
 get away from home, and proposed to a cabman. She proposed by 
 letter, and directed to his number, and he wasn't driving his own 
 cab, and the wrong cabman wrote that he was a married man or 
 nothing would have suited him better." 
 
 "Oh, indeed, Mr. Charley! Then there's another one for me to 
 read. Hand over the manuscript !" 
 
 "Wasn't that Sis'ly Smith? Then it was Sis'ly Brown. There 
 were three of them, I know, all Sis'ly. Which was Sis'ly Smith ?" 
 
 "How funny you don't remember! Don't you remember the 
 young man who used to go every morning to the City past Cicely
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 391 
 
 Smith's house? And how he asked if the umbrella was hers, and 
 then after that they said good-morning always? And how she 
 used to look out for him every day, and one day he didn't come ?" 
 
 "Allow me to remark, Miss Kavanagh," says Charles, speaking 
 exactly in the same way as he spoke to Alice as she huggec the 
 fragments of her broken beer-jug in the street, years ago, "that the 
 British novelist would have an easy task before him if he could 
 command a public ready to shed tears on such very small provoca- 
 tion. The tale, so far, strikes me as neither novel nor exciting." 
 
 "You old stupid ! It was the way it was told. It quite made one 
 smell the London suburb the May mixing with the burnt ballast 
 and then when the heap was burned and got cold, how the mallows 
 burst out all over it. And the inexplicable steam-boiler that had 
 got left in the fields and seemed to belong to nobody." 
 
 But Charles shakes a slow incredulous head. "There is nothing 
 in that boiler beyond the powers of the humblest aspirant to 
 literary fame," he says, and Alice thereon says if he means to be 
 aggravating, she shall go. So he draws in his Korns. 
 
 "No darling child! It's only my nonsense! I remember the 
 story quite well. Sis'ly heard the young beggar was dead, and 
 cooked up a romance about him. And the stuffy home went on, and 
 Sis'ly got older and older and older, and her father took to drink- 
 ing and had a stroke, and the stuffiness got stuffier." 
 
 "Of course, you remember all about it! But what I thought 
 so good was the growth of the ghastly suburb, and then the end. 
 Only I don't think you should have made the old man tell her he 
 'thought he recollected coming along that road every morning 
 when he was a boy, before they made the short-cut to the station,' 
 and never recognise her." 
 
 "What would you have had me do, Mistress Alice? Marry 'em 
 up?" 
 
 "Certainly. It would have been such a relief !" 
 
 "And him sixty!" 
 
 "How often am I to tell you, Mr. Charley, that Age has noth- 
 ing nothing whatever! to do with it!" Alice is quite flushed 
 and excited, because, you see, it is this rubbish about age that is 
 standing in the way of some most happy arrangement for Charles. 
 Her eyes are this much more open than his, that she has wondered 
 whether, if he married again, she would misbehave herself as she 
 did on the eve of his first marriage. She acknowledges the wrench, 
 but is blind to every happiness except his. What would she have 
 been, but for him? 
 
 Her rooted belief in the terms of his affection for her is two-
 
 392 ALICE-FOR-SHORI 
 
 fold; one phase of it assures her that he doesn't love her "like 
 that"; the other that their relation (consequently) need not 
 change if he marries fifty wives all of whom Alice would love 
 too if he did. 
 
 But Alice will be late for lunch, and the trampling of Pope & 
 Chappell's men going upstairs says one o'clock. So she cools down 
 and says she must run, and she and the parcels, which have awaited 
 this moment with confidence, are consigned to a Hansom, which 
 promises to look sharp, and nearly runs over a butcher's boy, who 
 defies it with yells. 
 
 Charles goes away to lunch at Cremoncini's, with a happy glow 
 at heart, which will have to last him till seven o'clock, when he will 
 have Alice again in Harley Street. He builds a few extra per- 
 fections into Romeo, or Lovell, without the dimmest overt idea of 
 any self-defensive motive in so doing. 
 
 Parenthetically, we may ask you to note that there was nothing 
 in the foregoing interview to fix Alice's attention on Verrinder's 
 connection with No. 40. She knew of it, but vaguely. The whole 
 of his tragedy could be dwelt on without the old house coming into 
 the story at all. You will see later why; we call your attention to 
 this.
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVH 
 
 HOW SIB RUPERT GOT HIS WAY, AND PEGGY AND ALICE WENT TO BEDLAM. 
 WHERE WERE THE PATIENTS? A USELESS VIGIL 
 
 IN spite of Dr. Fludyer's change of opinion, there was a good 
 deal of delay before the operation was decided on. All the officials 
 of the Hospital seemed to feel confident that if Old Jane was care- 
 fully fed she would last indefinitely. After sixty years, three 
 months counted for little. It was February before the final deci- 
 sion was arrived at and the day fixed. 
 
 Then, one morning suddenly, Sir Rupert said to his wife, "The 
 operation on Old Jane is fixed for Thursday." He spoke as if it 
 was quite an everyday affair. 
 
 "Oh, Rupert, darling! How anxious you will he!" But he 
 appeared quite unmoved. 
 
 "Not the least!" said he. "I've given my opinion for what it's 
 worth, and they think it worth acting on." 
 
 "I should run away and hide my eyes and hold my ears till it 
 was over, if I were you!" 
 
 "No you wouldn't! If you were me you would do as I mean 
 to do. I shall be on the spot the whole time. I shan't be of any 
 use, but Isaacson says he would like me to be there. He's twenty 
 times the operator I am. But he would like my moral support, he 
 says." 
 
 "I'm thankful I'm not going to be there." 
 
 "I want you to come. You and Alice." 
 
 "Good heavens, Rupert ! What next ?" Peggy exclaims. 
 
 And then the voice of Alice comes through the door from the 
 little puff-room where she is scribbling: "What's that about me?" 
 
 "Come in here and we'll tell you." Both say this together, and 
 Alice rustles, and adjusts papers, and shuts an inkpot, and comes. 
 She settles on a sofa, with her chin on her hands, as we have seen 
 her before. "Fire away!" she says, and the blue eyes stand open 
 to receive information. Sir Rupert sits down beside his wife oppo- 
 site to her. 
 
 "Didn't you hear what Dr. Jomson said?" 
 
 "No I didn't!" 
 
 393
 
 394 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 "He wants me and you to go to Bedlam and see that poor old 
 woman trepanned." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well! I don't think I can stand it." 
 
 "No more could I. But if Dr. Jomaon likes me to go, and break 
 down and have hysterics, I'm game." 
 
 "I don't want you to see anything of the operation." He is 
 grave and serious, and quite in earnest. "What I want is to have 
 one or more good observers, preferably women, at hand when the 
 revival of consciousness comes, if it comes. My own impression 
 is that it will, to a certain extent. Only there may be a complete 
 relapse after, and I want everything to be observed and recollected." 
 
 "Why won't the people nurses attendants at the Asylum do ? 
 Why us?" It is Peggy who asks. 
 
 "Because," answers her husband, "they've got a theory apiece 
 about everything, and none of them will recollect anything that 
 don't agree with it. I want raw, live human creatures, of good 
 average intelligence." 
 
 "Go and slap your wicked papa, Alcey darling." Big Alice is 
 speaking to little Alee, who was present, and took an early oppor- 
 tunity of climbing up her when she sat down. 
 
 "Then you'll come, you and Alice?" 
 
 "No, that's not fair! We never promised." Both join in this 
 statement, more or less. 
 
 "I must tell you, I don't the least anticipate anything like a 
 resurrection from the grave. It would be almost like that if she 
 showed any consecutive intelligence. But what I want to have 
 very carefully noted, is whether she throws any light on how far she 
 has been conscious in all this enormous period of apparent mental 
 torpor. Is absolute suspension of the mind for so long compatible 
 with maintenance of the circulation and all the bodily functions? 
 If it was so, in this case, a good many scientific conclusions will 
 have to be reconsidered." Sir Rupert pauses. Perhaps he is run- 
 ning too much into anticipation of the lecture on the subject ha 
 will certainly give at some future time, at the Hospital, or else- 
 where. He pulls out his watch and looks at it. "That man's late," 
 he says, showing that his present moment of idleness is not part 
 of a programme, though a recent cup of tea was. But there comes 
 a knock at the door. "There we are," he says. And Handsworth 
 comes in and says he has shown the gentleman into Sir Rupert's 
 room. "Very good then! Three o'clock on Thursday." And he 
 hurries away, looking back to say, "Now mind you neither of you 
 make any other engagement."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 395 
 
 "A wilful man will have his way," says Peggy, laughing, to Alice. 
 And Alice replies: "Never mind! He really wants us; so let's 
 go!" 
 
 The day had come for Alice and Peggy to visit the gloomy 
 mystery, Bedlam, which had been hitherto, to both of them, only 
 the name of a nightmare, a Dantesque Hell of horrors, that went 
 on existing somewhere, but that no one had ever come across. To 
 have Bedlam sprung upon them as an actuality, in a modern time 
 and in the metropolitan area, was an experience in itself, quite apart 
 from what it was going to be when they got there. Peggy looked 
 forward to this with shrinking, in which anticipated pity of the 
 unhappy inmates aDowed of no alleviation from curiosity. Alice 
 felt the same, but the vital activity of her inquisitiveness about 
 the unknown palliated it, and now that she had made up her mind 
 to the adventure she would not have given it up on any account. 
 
 Her imagination, running ahead of her companion's, suggested 
 that it would be safe to forget medieval Bedlam, and prepare the 
 mind for something not much worse than a Workhouse. To this 
 end, the mind would clearly be easier, if the conversation on the 
 way down took the form of a general resume of recorded horrors. 
 It would be like Garrick's performance of Macbeth, when he showed 
 his dread of Banquo's ghost by going nearer to it with outstretched 
 protecting hands and averted head. Besides, so much stress could 
 be laid on pastnesses, and the general advantages of being Modern 
 could be exhibited by force of contrast. 
 
 "All the time I was going off last night," said Alice, in Saint 
 Martin's Lane, "that song Madge Wildfire sings was running in 
 my head : 
 
 "In the bonny cells of Bedlam 
 When I was ane-and-twenty 
 I had hempen bracelets strong 
 And merry whips ding-dong 
 ' And prayer and fasting plenty." 
 
 And Lady Johnson said she remembered it well and how it used 
 to make her shudder when she was a girl. "Oh, Alice, think of it !" 
 she said, "one and twenty!" 
 
 "It is unpleasant," said Alice; which was bravado. She con- 
 tinued, piling up the agony, "They used to be put to sleep on 
 wooden pallets in the middle of big rooms with the floors covered all 
 over with pin-points sticking up. And exhibited to the public as a 
 show, and spun round rapidly on chairs, and confined without food
 
 396 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 in underground dungeons. And they were really sane, as often as 
 not. How nice it is that it's now, now! And that it's Charing 
 Cross, with the fountains playing." 
 
 It was Charing Cross, and the sun had just come out after a 
 shower, and a very small street Arab was indulging in an escapade 
 in the fountains. For in defiance of all decency, he had flung off 
 his things and gone into the water, and was deriding the civil 
 authority. Peggy wanted to stop and adopt him on the spot he 
 was so tempting in his well-knit nudity but the other appoint- 
 ment could not be trifled with. They had to go on. 
 
 Everything they passed and saw insisted on being looked at 
 and weighed in its relation to Old Jane. Even the juvenile rebel, 
 slapping his shining tummy contentedly in the sunshine, with a 
 subdivision of Police threatening him, but unable to act, made 
 them contrast his splendid liberty, and glorious outlook of future 
 defiance of authority, with her cancelled and torpid life. The 
 window of Whitehall from which King Charles stepped out into the 
 sun, and thence into his grave, suggested that his fate was an 
 enviable one by comparison. The Horseguards, however much they 
 were making believe that they were cut off from sympathy with 
 human life, its struggles and passions, were only doing so officially, 
 and were really taking notice of everything and meaning to con- 
 verse intelligently with one another about it as soon as they were 
 at liberty to speak. No surgical relief to the brain would be 
 necessary there. Even when Peggy and Alice said nothing to 
 one another about impressions of this sort, they felt them, one or 
 both. And both probably experienced, without defining, a feeling 
 of the callousness and self-absorption of the vast crowd in its con- 
 stant ebb and flow, and contented ignorance of old Jane's sixty 
 years of silence and oblivion. This was unreasonable; for were 
 they themselves giving her a thought, six months ago ? 
 
 "I must say," said Alice to Peggy, as they turned round towards 
 the bridge, "the poor old woman's was a much nicer sort of insan- 
 ity than that other one's Dr. Fludyer told us of, who talked inces- 
 santly for seven years. I hope to goodness we shan't see a case of 
 that sort." 
 
 "I hope not," said Peggy, fervently. She was feeling very un- 
 easy about possible horrors. Alice wasn't unfeeling, but in her 
 temperament active curiosity outflanked uneasiness. She there- 
 fore talked and speculated for herself and her companion. 
 
 "What a good thing it would be if people that talk too much 
 could be vaccinated off Old Jane! What are all those men on the 
 terrace there over the river? Members of Parliament, are they?"
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 397 
 
 Alice stopped and became reflective. We have no means of 
 knowing whether her thoughts were disrespectful or otherwise. 
 They must have lasted over the bridge, as it was abreast of St. 
 Thomas's Hospital that she drew a long breath of relief, and said, 
 "We're not going to hear a debate that's one comfort!" 
 
 Perhaps you who read this have been a prowler about London, 
 like ourself. If so, you will know the huge building with the 
 portico and dome, and its pleasant open grounds all round, and its 
 beautiful oval lawn in front. But, if a languid prowler like 
 ourself content to look at many things and wonder, and make 
 no enquiries, you may have sauntered by this huge building and 
 never asked its name; never known that, as an institution, it 
 records and represents three hundred years at least of the most 
 appalling misery that can fall on man. You may have passed it 
 over and dismissed it; as, if one is lazy and prowls, one is apt 
 to do with large buildings that look as if they had boards and funds 
 and annual reports. No doubt they are all right, and really have a 
 purpose if one could only find it out. If they were merely Insti- 
 tutions per se, without qualifications, we must surely (if we think 
 seriously) wonder that any one should have been at the trouble and 
 expense of constructing them ! If, however, after you got home it 
 came to your knowledge that the huge building was Bethlehem 
 Hospital, and that Bethlehem Hospital was actually Bedlam 
 Bedlam itself, no other! you must then have felt sorry you did 
 not know it at the time, and pay a little more attention. 
 
 For though it is no longer in Moorfields, but Saint George's, even 
 as when in Moorfields it was no longer in Bishopsgate, it is still 
 the Hospital of St. Mary Bethlehem. Even as the Cases that 
 were in the home of the old thirteenth-century monastery, whose 
 property had been "redistributed," were shifted through the air 
 and light from their prison to the new one of Moorditch, so when 
 the latter gave up its mentally dead, this was the new tomb to 
 which the still animated bodies were transferred. The tradition 
 of horror has never paused, since the first poor creature, supposed 
 (groundedly or not) to be possessed by an evil spirit, was taken 
 charge of by the pious fraternity of Saint Mary, and judiciously 
 impaled on spikes, burned, lashed, or put in cramping irons, as a 
 practical step towards the ejection of a Devil who made light of 
 Exorcism. 
 
 And if Alice and Charles, as a result of slight and unskilful 
 investigation, had hit upon the right records of the treatment of 
 this last exodus of woe, it was little better than that of the Friars.
 
 398 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 If the merry whips ding-dong had been hung up out of the way, the 
 hempen bracelets strong continued in evidence and did so till a 
 few years later. But it is all long ago now, for except as an expe- 
 dient of relativesa check on obnoxious brothers and sisters, 
 wives or husbands probably there has never been a fetter on a 
 lunatic for more than fifty years past. Maybe it makes less differ- 
 ence than one thinks! But it is pleasant to know, pleasant only 
 to believe, that nowadays Madness is all the lunatic has to suffer 
 from, and that he has not to endure Medievalism into the bargain. 
 Still, insanity is what it is! What the Latin poet called it two 
 thousand years ago it remains now the greatest of evils, that 
 knows not the name of the slave that boyhood knew, nor the face of 
 the friend who calls us, in vain, by our own. 
 
 "But I can't hear any patients," said Peggy to her husband, 
 when he met them under the great porch, with Dr. Fludyer. He 
 had come early to be present at the operation, and had sent the 
 carriage back for them. "What did you expect?" said he. 
 
 "Why, of course, Dr. Jomson dear!" answered Alice, for 
 her. "Mother Peg expected to hear the patients howl and 
 gibber." 
 
 They passed up two flights of stairs into a long gallery-like 
 ward quite a hundred and fifty feet long. But it wasn't like 
 Peggy's idea of Bedlam at all, nor Alice's. It was furnished from 
 end to end as luxuriously as a first-class hotel. There were pictures 
 on the walls and flowers on the tables. A lady was playing a 
 piano. Others sat about reading, or looking at picture books, or 
 doing needlework. One saw nothing wrong, so far. 
 
 "But we shall see some of the patients ?" said Peggy. The nurse 
 who accompanied them answered: 
 
 "These are all patients. This is a patient." She laid her hand 
 on the shoulder of a girl who sat close by, counting her fingers. 
 "Oh, no! she doesn't know I'm speaking about her. She doesn't 
 know anything." This was in answer to a half -expression of pro- 
 test or apology from Peggy. Then she addressed the girl herself 
 by name, and the girl replied, "Directly !" But she went on count- 
 ing her fingers. 
 
 "It looks so reasonable for a moment," said the nurse, "but she 
 has been like that for three months. She'll become chronic, most 
 likely. But she's perfectly safe by herself. That other one isn't." 
 The other one was a placid respectable lady, who looked quite fit 
 to be left in charge of the ward single-handed. Peggy said so, and 
 the nurse replied: "Yes! Responsible sort of person, to look at!
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 399 
 
 But she's not safe with a knife. It came quite suddenly though; 
 it may go away as quickly as it came." 
 
 "How did it come?" 
 
 "She sent a leg of mutton flying at her husband's head one day 
 at dinner. Something he said annoyed her, and that brought it 
 out. This is the ward." 
 
 They had got to the end of the long ward, and went into a 
 passage that made a lobby to another. Alice would so much have 
 liked to know why the girl counted her fingers, and what it was the 
 husband had said to exasperate his wife. Did not many husbands 
 deserve to have legs of mutton thrown at them? Also a group she 
 had noticed, near the piano, had puzzled her. A young man on a 
 sofa with his face in his hands, seeming to be either in pain, or 
 great trouble. Over him, with pity on her face, stood a comely 
 pleasant girl. Her right hand was on his shoulder; her left 
 stroked his head. "It's her husband," said the nurse. But then 
 this was a Women's Ward ! However, there was no time for ques- 
 tioning Alice would ask after. They passed on into a small ward, 
 with beds, where they were to find the object of this journey the 
 old chronic patient of a lifetime. 
 
 You know, perfectly well, how when the image of anything you 
 anticipate seeing has taken up space in your mind, you expect 
 the thing, when it comes, to fill up as large a space in the room (or, 
 for that matter, the district) in which you find it. Old Jane had 
 filled up so much of Alice's and Lady Johnson's minds, that they 
 could hardly believe that little white still thing on the bed was 
 really she. What they saw seemed a small mask with white hair 
 on a pillow, the head it belonged to encased in a covering that made 
 it more Kke the sarcophagus than its contents. The body it be- 
 longed to was just manifest, no more, through its coverlid. The 
 likeness to a graven image was the greater that it hardly, if at all, 
 suggested Death. 
 
 The operation had only just been completed, and all sign of it 
 removed except the head bandages, when Alice and Peggy came into 
 the ward. Mr. Isaacson the surgeon stood by the bed, his eyes 
 fixed attentively on the face. His intensely Egyptian features 
 suggested a Pharaoh standing over his mummied mother. He took 
 no notice of the new arrivals. Sir Rupert went to him, and they 
 stood talking, sotto-voce, side by side. Then Isaacson raised his 
 voice. 
 
 "I don't believe she'll speak. I can't. But if she does, it will 
 be within a week; either speak or try it on. I must be off." He 
 dropped his voice again and Alice fancied she heard him say he had
 
 400 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 to remove a kidney at three. So like a late lunch, thought Alice! 
 He wished Lady Johnson and Miss Kavanagh good-morning, but 
 reluctantly, as if he scorned to he ungenerous, but had very little 
 heart in his wishing. However, he made up for it by the cordiality 
 with which he wished them a whole good-day a minute later. But 
 then, mind you, the first wish was that of a detained, the second 
 of a released man. 
 
 And then Alice and Peggy, at Sir Rupert's wish, made up their 
 minds for a long vigil. It was two o'clock, and they were not to be 
 at liberty till eight ; not even then if Old Jane broke out in speech. 
 "But it's what she says first I want," said Rupert ; "and if it doesn't 
 come very soon it won't be for some time. Still, it's worth the 
 chance of her speaking for you to be here." 
 
 So he departed and left them sitting on. They could chat with 
 the nurse, and hear about Cases. 
 
 "I didn't know you had any male patients on this side," said 
 Alice. 
 
 "We haven't any. Why?" 
 
 "Because of that poor fellow we saw, whose wife had come to 
 see him." 
 
 "She hadn't come to see him. He'd come to see her. He's all 
 right ! She's as mad as a March hare." 
 
 "Is it possible ? She looked so absolutely sane." 
 
 "She put the baby in the fire, to purify it from Sin. Has to be 
 watched constantly, or she'd kill herself. Because she's too bad 
 to live! Only been married a couple of years." 
 
 "Was she" Alice nodded towards the bed "always quite still 
 and silent, like this ?" 
 
 "Not quite like this: that is, she has never spoken since she 
 came here. Before we were born. But she has always moved 
 slightly enough to show she was alive. A nurse who was here 
 before her husband died, told me that once she was thought to have 
 moved and tried to speak. They sent for her husband, who used 
 to live near here, in case anything changed. But it turned out a 
 mistake. They had better have waited till they were sure." 
 
 Poor Verrinder! Fancy how he came round in response to the 
 summons! Fancy how he went back! So thought Alice to her- 
 self. 
 
 "She told me too," continued the nurse, whose name was Gais- 
 ford, Alice learned, "that after that he got so sleepless at night 
 that he took to chloral or chloroform. It had to do with his death 
 in the end." 
 
 Lady Johnson was very silent, and seemed oppressed. Alice
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 401 
 
 on the contrary prosecuted active enquiry on all subjects. Was 
 it not horribly trying work? It was and very few people could 
 bear it for long. "You might stand it for six weeks ; her ladyship 
 wouldn't hold out for twenty-four hours." Peggy felt the truth 
 of this. How came Mrs. Gaisford to be able to bear it? She sup- 
 posed she knew what it was to be worse off. How long had she 
 borne it? She had been eighteen years in the institution about 
 sixteen in her present position. Alice thought this referred to her 
 status as a nurse, and asked no further question on the point. 
 She fancied she noticed some reserve, and changed the subject. 
 Would Mrs. Gaisford show her all over the institution some time? 
 Oh yes, that she would, padded rooms, swimming-bath, billiard- 
 rooms, theatre, and ballroom everything! If it hadn't been that 
 this Case must be seen to, we could have gone to see the Magic 
 Lantern this evening under the Dome in the Chapel Room. Dr. 
 Livingstone in Central Africa, Mrs. Gaisford believed. Alice 
 thought of Madge Wildfire's song, and the prayer and fasting 
 plenty. The clash between the perfect modern Hospital and the 
 genuine scrap of moyen-age that Alice had brought from Harley 
 Street might be described as historically painful. 
 
 As Alice and Peggy remained watching by the motionless figure 
 for over five hours, and Alice talked almost all that time with the 
 nurse, you may be sure she heard a great deal about Insanity in all 
 its phases. But we cannot write it all down here, and need not, 
 as she wrote it all down herself afterwards. If you recollect her 
 story of "Ann Carlyon," you will see how she made use of the girl 
 who counted her fingers. Ann (you may remember) was betrothed 
 to a man who was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude for 
 forgery. In the first year she got into the habit of counting her ten 
 fingers continually; in the second she counted to the ninth, and so 
 on. If spoken to she always counted to her limit before answering. 
 At the end of the fifth year came the news that he had died in 
 prison. After that she never ceased counting as far as the fifth 
 finger, and became a hopeless lunatic. Peggy said she had a great 
 mind never to speak to Aunty Lissy again when she wrote this: 
 "You wicked A. K.," said she; "how ever can you do such things, 
 with that innocent blue-eyed look all over your face, I can't think !" 
 And Alice looked ashamed, and answered: "But I did cry over it, 
 Mother Peggy dear, and real tears too!" And, as she said it, the 
 little six-year-old Alice, "Alice the kid," came back oh, so strongly 
 to her questioner's mind. But all this has nothing to do with 
 the story. 
 
 More than once during the long vigil by the bedside one of the
 
 402 'ALICE-FOE-SHOETi 
 
 three watchers fancied she saw a movement of the still features. 
 It always turned out to be a mistake due to nervousness. At 
 least, if movement there had been, it was not confirmed and 
 repeated. There was a great difference between the susceptibility 
 to nervous impressions of the three ; the nurse being by far the least 
 impressionable, while Lady Johnson towards the end of the time was 
 quite upset in her judgment by the constant strain of fixed atten- 
 tion. "I'm sure I saw the lips move then," she would say at inter- 
 vals. But she was always wrong. Both she and Alice were glad 
 when the clock gave them leave to go. 
 
 And when Peggy arrived at home, and went to her own room, 
 tired and disconcerted, she felt quite sorry for her husband, and 
 the report she had to give. "I'm afraid you'll be so disgusted, 
 darling," she began. But Sir Rupert, who was in his dressing- 
 room, only asked if they had brought back Fludyer in the carriage 
 with them. "I told him to come," he said. "Is any one else com- 
 ing? No one else. Then I shan't dress, it's so late oh! there's 
 his knock. I thought he'd come." 
 
 "But it is disgusting, dear, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes! The old lady ought to have looked alive! But better 
 luck next time 1"
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVin 
 
 HOW OLD JANE WAKED FROM YOUNG JANE'S SLEEP. HOW ALICE WENT 
 BACK TO BEDLAM 
 
 IT was a disappointment there could be no doubt of it. Alice 
 and Peggy had, without admitting it, worked themselves up into 
 a state of expectation that Old Jane would "come to." It was true 
 that Sir Rupert had dwelt on his belief that there was only one 
 chance of it in thousands; that, almost to a certainty, the matter 
 of the brain was compacted past all reinstatement, and that the 
 recovery, if any, would be slow and the steps imperceptible. All 
 that he had committed himself to was that there would be some 
 amount of recovery, and when there was none whatever he was 
 disappointed. Still, he bore it philosophically. On the other hand, 
 Alice and Peggy, whose imagination had endowed the human brain 
 with a resiliency surpassing that of the best Para rubber, were 
 inclined to resent the result of the experiment, and to consider that 
 they had been cheated. However, in response to Rupert's caution, 
 "not to be too previous," because the play wasn't played out yet, 
 they agreed to suspend judgment. 
 
 As it turned out, it was as well that they did so. For a fortnight 
 after the operation Old Jane, quite suddenly, spoke. We have to 
 rely for the particulars of her first utterances on Mrs. Gaisford, 
 the nurse who was with her at the time, and on Dr. Fludyer, who 
 was at once summoned. Stated briefly, the facts appear to have 
 been as follows : 
 
 Since the operation the only noticeable change in the patient 
 had been that the slight appearance of a distinction between a 
 sleeping and a waking state had become intensified, so that it was 
 no longer a matter of opinion which predominated. On this occa- 
 sion the nurse's attention was aroused by a more definite aspect 
 of healthy sleep than she had seen hitherto. It may have been 
 only her fancy that the colour of the face had changed, but she had 
 no doubt of the fact that the lips moved once or twice without giv- 
 ing any sound, in a way that seemed to suggest an effort to speak. 
 She at once sent word to Dr. Fludyer, who arrived from his own 
 residence about an hour later. Her impression must have been 
 strong about the movement of the lips, as it was well past midnight 
 
 403
 
 404 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 and there was a heavy downpour of rain. It was not an occasion 
 to bring even a doctor out of his bed into the streets, except for 
 cause shown. 
 
 On his arrival he found that nothing further had occurred; but 
 he noticed the change in the appearance of the patient, and re- 
 marked to the nurse that had he known nothing of the case, he 
 should have supposed her to be in a healthy sleep, making of course 
 due allowance for her age. The sleep of very old people when not 
 stertorous has an appearance of torpor, often enough. He remained 
 watching by the bedside for the slightest movement, occasionally 
 touching the patient's pulse, but observed no change of any sort. 
 At last, despairing of anything, and hearing a slight lull in the 
 steady torrents of rain which had continued for more than two 
 hours without intermission, he got up to go. 
 
 "Send for me again," said he to the nurse, "if you see any move- 
 ment whatever, or think you do. Never mind if it is fancy. I 
 would sooner be brought here fifty times by mistake than miss see- 
 ing the return of consciousness if ever there is any. Possibly 
 you were, as you think now, mistaken this time. But never mind ! 
 Send again." And the nurse promised to do so, though evidently 
 disconcerted at her mistake. 
 
 Dr. Fludyer put on the overcoat he had taken off on coming into 
 the ward, and his hat. He took one more look at the almost inani- 
 mate white figure on the bed before him, the head enclosed in a 
 close-fitting black coif that protected without oppressing the seat of 
 the operation. He touched the pulse of the motionless hand on 
 the coverlid once more, and finding no fluctuation of the slow beat 
 that had for sixty years registered the vitality of a living tomb, 
 turned to go, leaving the nurse to her dreary vigil in the silence, 
 broken only by the sound of the falling rain, and now and then 
 the groan, or, almost worse, the laugh of some distant patient. As 
 he walked out into the corridor a door slammed and the echoes rever- 
 berated through the building. The sounds of a discussion or alter- 
 cation, that was part of the door-slamming incident, mixed in with 
 another sound that had caught his attention and made him stop. 
 The voice of a woman, not the nurse, coming from the ward he 
 had just left. 
 
 Yes, it came quite distinctly from that room, and was not the 
 voice of the nurse, for her voice followed it immediately entirely 
 different. 
 
 "Oh Dr. Fludyer! come come at once!" -And as he returned, 
 in response to the agitated summons, the first voice came again, 
 with the startled sound that was in it before, showing a growth
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 405 
 
 towards terror. "What is it?" and again, "What is it?" And the 
 louder accent suggested the sort of utterance of one who, anxious 
 to warn a suspected evil-doer, betrays his own apprehension in the 
 attempt. 
 
 Dr. Fludyer afterwards told Sir Rupert that at this point he felt 
 dumb-struck could not find a word. The nurse was more prompt ; 
 perhaps readier in the class of fiction with which patients are 
 soothed and silenced. 
 
 "The doctor says you are not to move, Mrs. Verrinder, but to lie 
 quite still till he comes." 
 
 The figure that had half-moved, and still seemed to struggle 
 to move, fell back passively. Then the voice came again, only with 
 less of strain and tension. 
 
 "But you will tell me what it is ? What is it ?" 
 
 The nurse replied with what struck Dr. Fludyer as a good deal 
 of readiness and tact, "I am only just come. The doctor will be 
 here soon." The patient appeared to attach full meaning to these 
 words. 
 
 "Will you," she said, still with bewilderment and apprehension in 
 her tone, "be so kind as to ring the bell, or call the girl. Call 
 'Elizabeth' over the stairs, and she will come." And then, as 
 though she mistrusted the carrying out of these instructions, she 
 began to call herself, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" No response fol- 
 lowing, she went on, "The girl must have gone out." And then 
 suddenly, "Where is Mr. Verrinder?" 
 
 The nurse replied as before, "I have only just come, Ma'am," and 
 then looked enquiringly at Dr. Fludyer. He understood her, and 
 nodded; she continued, "The doctor has just come but he begs 
 you will lie still and not try to talk." 
 
 "That is quite right, Mrs. Verrinder," said he; "you lie quite 
 still and try not to talk." This slightly varied way of putting it 
 seemed to have its effect, for the patient appeared to acquiesce. 
 Dr. Fludyer said afterwards to Sir Rupert that from this moment 
 he made up his mind to behave exactly as he should have done had 
 the suspension of consciousness been sixty hours instead of sixty 
 years. He found, he said, that by adhering blindly to this rule, 
 difficulties that seemed insuperable vanished. 
 
 He sat down by the bedside, and put his finger on the pulse. 
 "That is right," he repeated, "lie quite quiet and we shall do 
 nicely." Then anticipating that her next speech would be a repe- 
 tition of her last, he thought it safest to forestall it. He had made 
 up his mind that some falsehood would be inevitable, and felt it 
 would be safest to be beforehand.
 
 406 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 "Mr. Verrinder has been obliged to go away," he said. "We 
 have not heard from him." And then, conscious that it was abso- 
 lutely necessary to touch some new point, little matter what, that 
 would arrest the current of enquiry, he added, "I am Dr. Fludyer." 
 He could not at the time analyse his reasons for believing this 
 would answer the purpose, but it seemed to do so. Maybe it carried 
 a suggestion that more would come without being asked for ; and he 
 thought it safest, having procured a pause, to follow on in it at 
 once, and choose his own line of explanation. 
 
 "You have had a most dangerous illness, Mrs. Verrinder, and 
 have been for a long time unconscious. You are not in your 
 own home, but in a Hospital. You were moved here at your 
 husband's wish, as he knew you would be far better nursed 
 here than would have been possible at home." 
 
 "And is he gone away, leaving me here ?" The old lips, that did 
 not know how old they were, twitched and worked about; and the 
 old eyes, that probably saw little and thought the cause was dark- 
 ness, went nearer to turning round and looking at the doctor than 
 they had done yet. 
 
 "He was obliged to go. He had no choice." 
 
 "What could oblige him to go ? He had told me nothing." The 
 doctor felt he was at dangerously close quarters with his difficulty, 
 and he must retreat. 
 
 "You must remember, Mrs. Verrinder, that I have only very 
 lately taken charge of you, and I cannot give you all the informa- 
 tion I should like to give. The nurse also is new, and knows even 
 less than I do. It is now three in the morning, and she sent for 
 me quite suddenly a couple of hours since, having seen signs of 
 consciousness returning." 
 
 "Oh dear! I am so sorry. I could have waited. I fear you had 
 to get up to come to me." 
 
 "That," said Fludyer afterwards to Sir Rupert, "was the worst 
 of all. There was an awful unearthly feel about it that her civil 
 speech was really an apology made in the beginning of the century. 
 It felt as though it were not the old woman who had come back 
 like a ghost into the present time, but that I was being dragged 
 back into the past. The colloquial, everyday character of her 
 speech was so intense." But he persevered in the course he had 
 laid down for himself, and glued his mind to the fiction of the 
 three days' torpor. 
 
 "We doctors get used to this sort of thing, Mrs. Verrinder," he 
 said, cheerfully. And the recumbent figure replied, in the same 
 voice of appreciative civility, "You are very good."
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 407 
 
 "I think it right to tell you, Mrs. Verrinder," he continued, 
 "that your accident made an operation necessary" he hesitated 
 a moment. 
 
 "I cannot understand," she said ; "have I had an accident ? oh, if 
 I could only understand !" The distress in her voice was intensely 
 painful to her hearers, accustomed as both were to every incident 
 of mental disease. Dr. Fludyer thought he saw his way clearer. 
 
 "Is it possible, Mrs. Verrinder," said he, speaking with studious 
 gentleness, "that you do not remember your fall on the stairs?" 
 She seemed to think a minute. "Yes, I do remember that I fell 
 on the stairs," said she, "but that was just now." The doctor 
 saw his way clearer still. 
 
 "No, dear Mrs. Verrinder. That is where your mistake is. It 
 was not just now, but some time since. I will not tell you how long. 
 You have been insensible for a long time." He paused, but the 
 puzzled look on the old face seemed not to intend speech only to 
 wait to hear more. He went on: 
 
 "Your fall on the stairs resulted in concussion of the brain, and 
 as a consequence you fell into a state of insensibility. A recent 
 operation has relieved the depression of the skull which caused 
 this insensibility, but has left behind it the pain you are now feel- 
 ing in the back of the head. You have not spoken of it, but I know 
 it is there." The patient murmured, "Oh yes great pain," but 
 spoke more drowsily than before. Evidently the exertion of her 
 recent speech was telling. 
 
 "Until that pain subsides, Mrs. Verrinder, I wish you I most 
 earnestly beg of you to be patient and not try to talk." He 
 stopped again, for the nurse had conveyed to him by a sign that 
 she thought no more need be said then. "She'll be quiet awhile 
 now," she said. 
 
 What had struck the doctor as strangest in all this was the way 
 in which the speech and manner of the patient had lent itself to 
 the fiction that she had only been two or three days insensible. 
 If he could have felt certain of a result he was inclined to antici- 
 pate namely, reaction and collapse he would have assured her 
 that this was no fiction at all. But he was handicapped by the 
 thought of explanations to come. He was fortified by scientific 
 certainty of her extinction in case of death, and no unsettling new 
 scientific certainties happened to have been recently demonstrated; 
 so, to put it briefly, if she died, fibs wouldn't matter. If you hap- 
 pen to belong to any of the many schools of philosophy that con- 
 demn his view, as well as each other, be good enough to recollect 
 that he had no thought but for the patient.
 
 408 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 After waiting the best part of an hour, both nurse and doctor 
 became convinced that the excitement and exertion of speech had 
 produced their natural effect, and that poor old Jane had collapsed 
 into a deep sleep, or its equivalent in her condition. They were 
 mistaken; for as the doctor was departing, he was a second time 
 recalled by a voice from the bed. Its self-command was extraordi- 
 nary: taken apart from the abnormal state of the speaker. It was 
 perfectly normal in itself. 
 
 "Is the gentleman gone that was here just now?" 
 
 "No, Ma'am ! Dr. Fludyer is here." 
 
 "Dr. Fludyer. I did not catch your name before. I have 
 something, Sir, I wish to ask you. But I speak with difficulty. 
 Something catches. And I have no feeling except the head-pain. 
 Will it go?" 
 
 "Oh yes! We must have patience, and lie quiet. Do you feel 
 my hand on yours? Now!" He raised and replaced his hand 
 on the inanimate one on the coverlid, once or twice. 
 
 "Yes, I think I do. But my head prevents my feeling anything 
 else. Is this good woman touching my other hand?" The nurse 
 had done so. She drew her hand down the body and legs. "Did 
 you feel that?" said she. 
 
 "Oh yes! I felt you touch my chest." The doctor and nurse 
 glanced at each other. 
 
 "We must not talk too much," said he. "There was something 
 you said you wished to ask me, Mrs. Verrinder." 
 
 "Yes. My baby was to come in September. Will this will 
 this ?" 
 
 The doctor beckoned the nurse away from the bed, and they spoke 
 together in a whisper. They had taken for granted that the patient 
 would not be conscious of their doing so. It was a mistake. 
 
 "Is it something I am not to hear?" The terrified inflection of 
 the voice was painful beyond expression. 
 
 "You shall hear directly, Mrs. Verrinder." The doctor said this, 
 and again spoke to the nurse, under his breath, but emphatically. 
 She shrugged her shoulders very slightly, and raised her eyebrows, 
 as in protest, and then went again to the patient. When she spoke, 
 her effort in doing so was audible in her voice. 
 
 "Dr. Fludyer wishes me to tell you, Mrs. Verrinder, your baby 
 was born, and did not live." She could get no further. Yet she 
 was manifestly not a soft character no mere dweller on the senti- 
 mental side of the terrible dramas she saw daily. She was a thor- 
 ough madhouse nurse, chosen as specially worthy of reliance. But 
 this case staggered her.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "What she tells you is true," said Dr. Fludyer, firmly, but quietly.. 
 "Your baby a little girl was born prematurely in consequence of 
 the accident. It could not have been reared, in any case." 
 
 "When we told her of the death of the child," said Fludyer when 
 he afterwards described this scene to Sir Eupert, "she was quite 
 silent and motionless for more than a minute. Then she gave a 
 cry if one can call it a cry such as I hope I may never hear 
 again. It affected Gaisford as much as it did me and I can 
 assure you Gaisford is not one to be easily upset." 
 
 "Did she say anything articulate after that?" asked Rupert. 
 Fludyer shook his head. 
 
 "Hardly a word !" he replied. "She began saying, 'Oh, what will 
 
 my -' or 'What will he ' and got no further. After that she 
 
 became almost silent, and has remained so, except for short be>- 
 
 ginnings, such as 'I must get ' or 'Will you send ?' She 
 
 seems to be weaker than at first, and to half-capture thoughts and 
 let them slip." 
 
 "Get some food, Fludyer ; you must want it. And afterwards we 
 can talk of what's to be done next." For this was in Harley Street, 
 whither Dr. Fludyer had gone as soon as the hour was plausible. 
 He need not have been so scrupulous, for the great physician was at 
 the end of a very early breakfast when he was shown in. "Jane 
 has spoken !" said he. And then he used the last energies a weari- 
 some night had left in him to give a conscientiously detailed 
 account of the amazing revival. 
 
 "I suppose there never was another case like it," said Rupert. 
 "See that Dr. Fludyer gets plenty to eat, Handsworth. You'll 
 excuse me, Fludyer, I must run up and tell Lady Johnson this." 
 For the hallucination we chronicled long ago of a young House- 
 Physician, of a strange wireless current between himself and that 
 handsome eldest daughter of old Heath in Hyde Park Gardens, was 
 still as active as ever. And for all that he was so great and distin- 
 guished, he was just as conscious now, wherever he was, of the locus 
 of Harley Street and Lady Johnson in it, as ever he was of "the Gar- 
 dens" and their relation to Miss Margaret Heath. Only he had got 
 used to it, you see! In the present case Dr. Fludyer's tale was 
 firstly to be passed on to Peggy, and secondly to excite its full inter- 
 est as soon as she was qualified to share it. It was rather a tit-bit 
 to him, but he wasn't going to turn it over in his mouth until she 
 was helped. There was a gleam of satisfaction on his face as he 
 half-opened the bedroom door. He went straight to the point. 
 
 "She's spoken! May I come in?"
 
 410 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "Yes, come in! Who's spoken? Oh dear, I had fallen asleep 
 again." 
 
 "Old Jane, of course. But it's only just eight." 
 
 "You don't mean it ? How did you hear ?" 
 
 "Fludyer has come. Spoke at three o'clock this morning. Seems 
 coherent too." Sir Rupert made no concealment of his trium- 
 phant feeling. He had scored. 
 
 "I'll get up at once. Pull that bell hard, and then run away 
 and don't hinder, that's a ducky ! That's right !" And Sir Rupert, 
 anxious not to hinder, is retreating downstairs, when the door he 
 has just closed is opened to tell him to mind and not let Dr. 
 Fludyer go till the speaker comes. 
 
 (We could have put this little conversation into much more 
 logical order. But the fact is, that's the way people talk, and it 
 can't be helped.) 
 
 Sir Rupert could not have been more than four minutes on the 
 stairs because he only had a short interview with Lucy about 
 what sort of literature young ladies-of-fourteen's governesses have 
 a right to say they are not to read; and as for Phillips and Alee 
 he brought them down, one over each shoulder. Nevertheless he 
 found when he got back to the breakfast-room that Aunt Lissy 
 was interviewing Dr. Fludyer, and knew all about it. 
 
 "I'm going straight away to see her," she said. And she had 
 clearly made up her mind. We believe we have made it understood 
 that when Alice decided on a course of action, opposition was use- 
 less. Besides, Dr. Fludyer was only too glad that she should do 
 as she wished. 
 
 "It will be very kind of you to come," he said. "I have no fault 
 to find with Gaisford, nor the others. But their employment gives 
 them a certain tone they can't help it. This poor old curiosity 
 is, remember, not insane now in any sense. And probably no human 
 creature ever needed consolation and sympathy from a fellow- 
 woman more." 
 
 "Mamma will want to go too," remarked Sir Rupert, using this 
 epithet in acknowledgment of the two little people he was unload- 
 ing from his shoulders. "At least I suppose so." 
 
 "I'm not sure mamma had better come." Thus Alice, thought- 
 fully. 'Won't there be rather too much of us, doctor?" 
 
 "I would just as soon she didn't go," said Sir Rupert. "She 
 does take these things to heart so terribly. Not that you're an 
 unfeeling beast, Aunt Lissy. But you have a sort of buoyancy." 
 
 "Listen to papa trying to get out of his difficulties, Lucy." 
 
 "Why mustn't 7 go ?" says Miss Lucy. And papa observes in an
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 411 
 
 undertone to Dr. Fludyer that he" has brought an old house about 
 his ears. Lucy, however, is reduced ad absurdum by a claim from 
 Alee that she shall do too. 
 
 When Peggy came down ten minutes later, she found the matter 
 settled by council, and enforced by circumstance. For Alice had 
 hurried through her own breakfast in order to depart at once with 
 Dr. Fludyer in his responsible brougham, which had been waiting 
 all this while. Appealed to as Mother Peg, darling, to be reason- 
 able, she surrendered her wish to come too, especially as time was 
 passing, and she couldn't get her breakfast and see Snaith, the 
 housekeeper, in less than half-an-hour. So Alice went off with Dr. 
 Fludyer. "Just like an elopement," said she as she took her seat in 
 the carriage. "Sorry about Mrs. Fludyer," said the doctor. 
 "Also you're sixty if you're a minute!" said Alice, the rude, un- 
 ladylike girl ! 
 
 "And what's so intensely shocking to me," she went on, her laugh 
 dying abruptly, "is that the poor old curiosity we are going to is 
 my age only ; so far as the living of life goes !" 
 
 "And mine into the bargain," said the doctor, "as far as the 
 passage of time goes. And I'm afraid it goes furthest in the long 
 run!" 
 
 The carriage went responsibly along the proper side of the way, 
 with two silent people in it, thinking.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 HOW ALICE STAYED IN BEDLAM, AND HAD TO BE CYNTHIA LUTTRELL. 
 HOW MRS. GAISFORD WAS A MENTAL CASE 
 
 "HAS she said any more?" said the doctor to the nurse, as she 
 met them just outside the door of the ward. 
 
 "Only once. She roused up and said again could we not send 
 to Miss something like 'letter L' I could not catch the name. 
 She said she was very old, but she was sure she would come." 
 
 "What did you say to her?" 
 
 "Oh I said we would send, and she went off into a doze again. 
 She hasn't spoken or moved since." 
 
 "You're a rash woman, Mrs. Gaisford." 
 
 "Oh no nothing easier than to say she was out of town had a 
 cold anything !" 
 
 "You see I have brought Miss Kavanagh back with me. She 
 will remain with you in the ward. I will just look at the patient 
 and then see Dr. Paisley." Alice and Mrs. Gaisford exchanged 
 good-mornings, and they went into the ward. 
 
 "Is it possible she has really spoken?" said Alice, as she looked 
 at the white motionless figure on the bed. She had asked the ques- 
 tion under her breath ; she did not imagine it could have been over- 
 heard. To her surprise the patient moved, and said quite dis- 
 tinctly, but weakly: "Who is it that has come in?" Dr. Fludyer 
 replied : 
 
 "Only Miss Kavanagh. She has come to sit with you till I come 
 back, Mrs. Verrinder." He felt that the policy of taking things 
 for granted was safe, and spoke as though the patient would of 
 course know who Miss Kavanagh was. His instinct was right. 
 She accepted Miss Kavanagh without question, no doubt on the 
 strength of the confidence in his voice. After one or two efforts 
 towards speech, she got at her words again. "Can you find a 
 chair?" she said. Her total unconsciousness of her own history, 
 of the long lapse of cancelled life, could not have been driven home 
 to her hearers better than by this slight speech. All the continuity 
 of her old experience was in it. It was what she would have said 
 to a visitor had she been convalescent in her own bedroom, at home, 
 sixty years ago ! 
 
 418
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 4 1 3 
 
 "I'll sit here, please, Mrs. Verrinder," said Alice. Her voice 
 in the still place, with its centuries of woeful memories, was like 
 spring violets in a coal-shaft. She sat down so that the patient 
 should see her as much as possible. It showed (so the nurse 
 thought to herself) how rapidly her faculties were beginning to 
 assert themselves, that she said, as Alice took her seat, "Yes I can 
 see you now." 
 
 "Is there nothing you would like, Mrs. Verrinder?" said Alice. 
 She settled at once that it would be best to be easy, trivial, collo- 
 quial anything rather than betray her own appalled feeling. 
 "Can't I tell them to get you anything?" 
 
 "She's to have her beef -tea," said Gaisford the nurse. And then 
 Alice felt the truth of what Dr. Fludyer had said. The incidents 
 and surroundings of madhouse nursing made it impossible for 
 this woman (good in herself, no doubt) to adopt the role this case 
 called for. Deference was lacking, and could not be assumed at a 
 short notice. 
 
 "Would you like that, Mrs. Verrinder?" said Alice. But the old 
 figure shook its head, and spoke. 
 
 "I should like a cup of tea. Only tell Elizabeth one slice of 
 bread-and-butter, not more. Is the girl come back?" Then her 
 recollection cleared, and she knew it was no longer her own home. 
 She began, "Oh dear oh dear oh dear !" a panic-stricken sobbing 
 utterance most painful to hear, "why will they not tell me ? I know 
 it is something!" Alice was just making up her mind that it 
 would be quite impossible to keep the truth from her much longer, 
 and that she might just as well be told at once, when the perturba- 
 tion began to subside spontaneously, and before long she had fallen 
 back into seeming unconsciousness. Then Alice spoke with the 
 nurse about the difficulties of the case. 
 
 "If we did tell her the truth," said the latter, "do you suppose she 
 would believe it?" True enough! She wouldn't. "But how long 
 do you mean to wait before telling her?" asked Alice. Postpone- 
 ment and evasion were all Mrs. Gaisford could suggest. 
 
 "If you can get time for the head to heal up, and get her taking 
 regular nourishment why, then the poor soul will have to be told. 
 Only I'm afraid she's going to get too sharp for us. You see she's 
 nothing the matter with her really. It's only the head. And, to 
 me, it looks like coming round." 
 
 "Do you really mean she'll come round altogether ?" 
 
 "If she comes round at all, why shouldn't she come round alto- 
 
 3ther?" This seemed sense; and at this moment Dr. Fludyer 
 
 ejoined them, bringing Dr. Paisley and also Sir Rupert Johnson,
 
 414 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 who had followed as soon as he was able. He had been obliged to 
 answer a letter before leaving the house. 
 
 "Now let's have a look at the old lady," said he. And then all 
 five went on into the ward from the anteroom where Alice and 
 Mrs. Gaisford had been talking. 
 
 It would be tedious to follow the conversation of the doctors at 
 the bedside. We can only touch on points that concern this story, 
 and the old Mrs. Verrinder's relations with Alice. The medical 
 details would have great interest for scientific readers, as the case 
 was certainly what Sir Rupert called it, one of perfectly phenom- 
 enal vitality. But these are already in print. We may, however, 
 take advantage of the words of eye-witnesses. The following is 
 quoted from Dr. Fludyer's account of the case: 
 
 "One very noticeable point in connection with this curious case 
 was that while the patient was able to recollect clearly the inter- 
 view that had taken place immediately before her accident, her 
 memory was (and has since continued) clouded and indistinct 
 about events that occurred before this interview. This went the 
 length of confusing the identity of Miss A. K. (the lady I have 
 mentioned as present at the time of her first recovery) with that of 
 a friend of her own previous to her marriage. Even now that 
 she has come to the full knowledge of her extraordinary history, 
 and can speak calmly and with clearness of her husband's death, 
 she cannot rid herself of this confusion, and constantly goes back to 
 it, and has to be recalled to a knowledge of the actual facts. It 
 was, however, of great service in supplying an antidote to the 
 sense of solitude among absolute strangers which would otherwise 
 have affected her, probably injuriously. I am inclined to ascribe 
 a great deal of her mental reinstatement to the presence and 
 soothing influence of Miss A. K., acting in connection with this 
 hallucination, which it has not always been thought prudent to 
 discourage." 
 
 For, as a matter of fact, the first thing Old Jane said after a long 
 silence, following on the departure of the three doctors from her 
 bedside, was, "Where is Cynthia Luttrell ? She was here just now," 
 and stood out against the nurse's denial of any such person. The 
 latter, however, shrewdly detecting the nature of the delusion, 
 recalled Alice (who had left the ward with Sir Rupert and the 
 others) again to the bedside of the patient; but without bringing 
 any of the doctors back. When Alice resumed her place by the bed, 
 the patient said, more clearly than she had spoken yet, "I am so
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 415 
 
 glad you are come, dear! Kiss me only very carefully, and take 
 care not to jolt my head. Is that nurse gone?" There was the 
 slightest shade of asperity in the tone of the question. The nurse 
 and Alice exchanged nods, almost imperceptibly, and the former 
 acquiesced in self-suppression, disappearing behind a screen. She 
 remained there, but made some very useful shorthand notes of 
 what followed. 
 
 Alice stooped over the recumbent figure and kissed the pale, thin 
 lips. A memory of her own youth crossed her mind; one she had 
 always kept intact, while many others had faded outright. It 
 was the recollection of the beautiful and wonderful Miss Heath as 
 she stooped over the pallid remnant of what she had had to call 
 her mother. To think that, even then, this poor old thing was here, 
 in this very building had indeed been here thirty years and more ! 
 It was not a thing for the mind to face. Alice's could not supply a 
 word. Besides, had she spoken she might have gone hysterical. 
 That would never do! She kissed the poor cold lips, not grudg- 
 ingly, in silence, and sat down as before. Old Jane continued, 
 evidently quite satisfied it was Cynthia Luttrell, whoever she was : 
 
 "I was so sorry you couldn't come last night at least last week 
 or when was I brought here ?" Alice showed presence of mind. 
 
 "When was Mrs. Verrinder brought here, nurse?" But Mrs. 
 Gaisford was far too astute to speak, and Alice continued: "She'll 
 be back directly, and I'll ask her. I was sorry too." 
 
 "Because you know John and I got your old cousin Becky on 
 the story of the ring, and it was more interesting than I can tell 
 you. I feel so much better since that tea." 
 
 "I'm so glad. I do wish I had been there to hear it." 
 
 "Never mind! We must get her on it again, when I'm up. It 
 was so stupid of me not to recollect the drugget. I'd noticed it 
 going up, and then coming back forgot all about it. Then I tried 
 to save the books and missed the banister rail." She was almost 
 garrulous, talking as one who had settled down to a chat. Mrs. 
 Gaisford, in her concealment, felt glad her pencil would not 
 want cutting. Alice, always adventurous, resolved to run a risk. 
 "Cousin Becky does chatter so !" she said. It was a success. "She 
 does! But I can tell you we quite forgave her, this time. She 
 said she thought we knew it all, long ago ! But what with all these 
 new excitements, and the new gas-lamps in Pall Mall, we young 
 people never troubled about our fathers and mothers. She went 
 on talking, like old people do, you know, dear, and she must be 
 near ninety." Oh, how untruthful Alice did feel! Old Jane con- 
 tinued :
 
 416 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 "I should like to tell you the whole story sometime. Only it's a 
 pity I can't now! I recollect it all so plain as if it was half-an- 
 hour ago. But I think I shall have to have a tooth seen to. My 
 mouth isn't comfortable." Alice's curiosity got the better of her. 
 She could not resist saying something to keep "cousin Becky" in 
 the foreground. 
 
 "What was it set her off talking about this particular story ?" 
 
 "She'd had news of a tradesman's wife in Kentish Town whom 
 she used to help with money. I can't remember her name. But she 
 was a sort of illegitimate niece, or cousin. I fancy she was a 
 daughter or granddaughter of Sir Cramer Luttrell that would 
 be Becky's uncle, you know, that horrible man!" This seemed 
 to want an assent, and Alice gave it, feeling more and more a 
 liar. 
 
 "All this happened when Becky was sixteen." This came rather 
 suddenly, after a short pause, in which the old woman perhaps 
 dozed. She spoke as though she was continuing a story. "I mean 
 all this about the duel and that odious sister of his. She was as 
 bad as he was. It's funny that old Becky should be such a nice 
 old lady ! Because she is a dear old thing, with her grand manners 
 and old-fashioned language. Surely that must be John come 
 back?" Alice said she would go and see, and came back reporting 
 a negative. She remarked that little performances of this sort 
 seemed to satisfy at the time. Just so we derive satisfaction from 
 walking to the corner of the street to anticipate an expected return 
 by a few seconds. 
 
 But when she came back she found the patient drowsing off. She 
 roused up a little to say, "I do wish I could recollect the name of 
 that woman at Kentish Town," and then became apparently uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 It was clear to Alice that this vividly remembered narrative of 
 sixty years past, heard then from the lips of an old lady of ninety, 
 might put her in touch with some forgotten events of at least a 
 hundred and thirty years ago ! What might there not be, hanging 
 on this frail old life? Her curiosity was intensely excited. The 
 nurse also was eagerly on the qui vive. Between them they con- 
 certed a plan of action. As the patient had got this misconception 
 about Alice being "Cynthia Luttrell" let her keep it ! If it helped 
 her on through the dangers of convalescence after the operation, 
 so much the better. As to the discovery that she had been deceived 
 in this, when she came to know the whole truth indeed, as to any- 
 thing at all making any difference, the idea was absurd. Let an 
 imaginary "Cynthia Luttrell" be made a stepping-stone.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 417 
 
 Alice, with her usual intrepidity, volunteered to live and sleep 
 at the Asylum for the time being, as her presence was so clearly 
 beneficial. The arrangement was easily made, and a messenger 
 despatched to Harley Street with a letter, to bring back necessaries. 
 When he got there, the only member of the family in the house 
 happened to be Miss Lucy, waiting for friends to call for her to 
 go to the Botanic Gardens. She read the letter and pocketed it, 
 and despatched the goods; and when she rejoined her family (who 
 were a little puzzled at Alice being so late) announced to them that 
 Aunty Lissy was gone to Bedlam, and there was her letter if they 
 liked to look at it ! 
 
 Charles, when he came late in the evening, was much disquieted 
 at this escapade of Alice's. "Just see what a little while ago 
 she was ill herself," said he to his sister. But Peggy reassured him, 
 telling him Rupert was driving down to the Asylum in the morn- 
 ing, and he had better stop and go with him. And as for Alice, 
 she had been quite well and strong for three months past, and he 
 needn't be an old fidget! 
 
 The steady drip of the rain which had begun again and threat- 
 ened to go on through the night made the gloom gloomier at the 
 Asylum. The ward, or room, the patient had been placed in had no 
 other occupant than herself, the nurse, and Alice, for whom a bed 
 had been prepared near by, while that of the nurse was concealed 
 behind the screen. There was an evident animus on the patient's 
 part against this woman, but feelings of this kind are so common, 
 in nerve and mental cases, that no importance was attached to it. 
 The only concession made was that she was to be kept out of sight 
 as much as possible; while Alice's soothing influence which could 
 not be gainsaid was to be made the most of. 
 
 There was a small anteroom with an open fire in it, which was 
 welcome; for the weather had gone bitterly cold, as well as rainy. 
 The ward was well warmed, but a stove is not an open fire; and 
 Alice and the nurse felt glad of the alternative. They satisfied 
 themselves that the slightest sound from the patient's bed would 
 reach them, and sat on late into the night, finding many things 
 to talk about. 
 
 "You'll see it will be as I say," said Mrs. Gaisford. "She'll go 
 back again on this conversation that happened immediately before 
 the accident, and then get tired and fall asleep. She may never do 
 anything else, all the rest of her life." 
 
 "But suppose her head gets stronger you said why shouldn't 
 it?"
 
 418 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "And I don't see why it shouldn't, but it may not. Predictions 
 are not much good in cases of this sort. If it does, she'll remember 
 just like you or me, and then she'll have to be told." 
 
 "It's very dreadful." 
 
 "So it is; but one is sure to have to put up with something, 
 and it may as well be this as anything else. Was that her?" 
 Alice went to see, but the figure on the bed was silent and 
 motionless. She returned to the fireside, and settled down to a 
 chat. 
 
 "How came you to go in for Mental Cases ?" she asked. You see, 
 during Alice's two years' training (at a London Hospital) she had 
 fallen into sympathy with nursehood. 
 
 "I was a Mental Case myself. Here. Acute Suicidal Mania. 
 Then I married one of the attendants." As Alice had made up 
 her mind not to be surprised at anything, this was easy. 
 
 "Mr. Gaisford is at Witley just now. That's the convalescent 
 Home. That's where I met him. We've no children. But I 
 shouldn't have been the least afraid. I saw you thought of inher- 
 itance?" Alice nodded. 
 
 "There was nothing to inherit. I was as sane as you are now. 
 But under the same circumstances you would try to kill yourself. 
 It was the only thing a girl of sixteen, in her senses, could try to 
 do, that I can see." Then, dropping her voice, though there was 
 no one near, the madhouse nurse told Alice her story. It has noth- 
 ing to do with ours ; but, briefly, it was a tale of the sudden revela- 
 tion, to a totally inexperienced girl, of the full resources of the 
 Devil. We need neither tell it, nor dwell on it. 
 
 "He was a Churchwarden," said Mrs. Gaisford in conclusion, 
 "great churchgoer used to read prayers in our church. Man of 
 fifty. Seven children. Said I had encouraged him." 
 
 "Oh dear ! what a sickening world it is !" exclaimed Alice. 
 
 "That's exactly what I said, and felt. And that's what they 
 settled I was mad for. They preached to me said it was wicked 
 to try and destroy myself." 
 
 "What did you say to them?" 
 
 "Said it was God's fault, not mine." 
 
 "What did they say to that?" 
 
 "They couldn't say anything. What was there to be said?" 
 Alice wasn't prepared with an answer. "How long were you here ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Eighteen months. Then I was sent to Witley. By-the-bye, it 
 was there I saw this case first. Dr. Fludyer had her sent down 
 there for a change. He was curious to see if it would have any
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 419 
 
 effect. Her husband went down too. He always lived close to the 
 case. Because there might have been a change." 
 
 "And he died sixteen years ago?" 
 
 "Quite that. Let's see! Yes I've been married fourteen. It 
 was then I met Gaisford. He was a young doctor at least he 
 would have been if he could have passed. But he was always 
 ploughed, on Brain. It was a subject he had given special atten- 
 tion to, so he got a place here. Sir Rupert says he knows more 
 about madness than all the staff put together." 
 
 "How came he to propose to you ?" 
 
 "I know all about it, so I can tell you. He and two others were 
 talking, in the garden. And they saw me on the lawn, with a 
 friend. His friend said: 'I don't believe that Case is mad, or ever 
 was. If she had a husband she would never try to pitch herself 
 out of window.' My husband that is, Mr. Gaisford took a good 
 look to make sure, and then said : I'll play you fifty up for which 
 it's to be.' And they went to the billiard room, and he won in 
 two breaks, and came across the lawn and asked me to marry him. 
 It didn't take long." 
 
 When Alice told this to Charles, afterwards, he recalled how 
 he had met Verrinder, on his way to Shellacombe, a few days after 
 her misadventure at Surge Point. How things do intersect in this 
 world 1 
 
 The end of the story made Alice feel cheerful again. She could 
 sleep now, she thought. So she went to bed, not far from the 
 patient, for readiness' sake. Mrs. Gaisford said she would see 
 the fire out, and then go too. 
 
 She was going to settle down to go to sleep, when the old lady 
 spoke again, but, as she thought, not coherently. For what she 
 said was, "I've just recollected the name of that Kentish Town 
 cousin woman. It was Alice Kavanagh." She was mixing the 
 recollection of what she had lately heard with the memories of sixty 
 years back.
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 HOW ALICE RAN AWAY, AND OLD JANE GUESSED. HOW CHARLES AND 
 ALICE GOT PHOTOGRAPHED IN VERRINDER's LODGINGS 
 
 ALICE lay down tinder the impression she could go to sleep on the 
 Bpot, without more ado. As soon as her head reached the pillow, 
 she found this was a mistake. The ceaseless drip of the rain, 
 and some unwarrantable limb-twitchings without antecedents, had 
 their say in the matter. But she found her way to dreamland in 
 the end, and a very disagreeable dreamland it was. For there was 
 a Hospital there made up of all her Hospitals, and Sir Rupert was 
 lecturing on her smallpox marks, and all the students refused to 
 kiss her on account of them, and she was sorry. Only she couldn't 
 be sure whether it was Sir Rupert or that Churchwarden. She 
 was hoping it was really the latter, when an intelligent nurse, with 
 wings, suddenly said "Cynthia!" and she awoke with a start. In 
 a few seconds Old Jane, who had spoken, again said "Cynthia!" 
 and Alice said she was coming. 
 
 "Here I am, Mrs. Verrinder," said she, and was at the bedside 
 in an instant. 
 
 "Would you light a candle, dear? I want to see if I can't get 
 this thing on my head comfortabler. I was asleep." 
 
 The nurse was on the alert; but, true to the plan of campaign, 
 had allowed Alice to go first. She came forward and whispered to 
 Alice. "We must fuss a little, to satisfy her. We can't touch the 
 bandages now." A little manipulation of this sort, and Old Jane, 
 who probably was feeling restraint more as vitality increased, 
 decided that that was much comfortabler. Mrs. Gaisford said, 
 under her breath to Alice, that she would have been an enormously 
 strong person, had she lived (sic!), and retired to her concealment, 
 to take notes. Old Jane went on talking with less of apparent 
 effort. 
 
 "I really am feeling better, dear. I think it's you. You do me 
 good. Come and sit by me touch me." Alice did so. "You know, 
 dear, you mustn't think it was you I meant, when I said that about 
 Christian-naming. I didn't want you to call me Mrs. Verrinder. 
 You say Kate." Alice afterwards felt vain of her penetration. 
 Instead of trying to find out what the incident was in last night's 
 
 420
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 421 
 
 conversation (sixty years ago), a thing of really no importance, 
 she acted on the hint at once. 
 
 "Did I, dear Kate ? I didn't know. I suppose it was because of 
 the nurse. She's gone." How lucky, thought she, that she had not 
 called her Jane; of course that was a sobriquet. 
 
 "I don't like her," said Old Jane. "But you are so nice. Now 
 I want to tell you what your cousin Becky said. Fancy your not 
 knowing about old Sir Cramer's will!" 
 
 "It is odd. But I've never heard a word of it." 
 
 "Well, you know, it was like this. Old Sir Cramer that was his 
 uncle, you know? he was the man that married the great heiress 
 and brought all the money into the family. Let me see ! She was 
 a Saxelby, and limped not the Northallerton family Gloucester 
 people, I fancy." 
 
 Alice was so afraid the old memory would wander away into 
 seductive genealogies, that she went the length of supporting the 
 claims of the Gloucester people. But she need not have done this 
 violence to her conscience. There was, behind the patient's readi- 
 ness to converse about the last vivid recollection of her healthy, 
 youthful life, a growing need for explanation of her surround- 
 ings. This had been kept in abeyance by suggestions that her hus- 
 band's return was imminent, and it was clear that at any moment 
 dissatisfaction might set in, and suspicion could not be headed 
 off indefinitely. It seemed to Alice that a wave of misgiving 
 passed through her mind at this moment. For there was a tone 
 of distress in her voice as she continued. 
 
 "Perhaps, dear Cynthia, I had better not tell you now; another 
 time might be better. I'll recollect it all for you. Is that nurse 
 here? Oh no, I don't want her! I only wanted to know she 
 wasn't listening." This was trying to an inexperienced liar. 
 How Alice vowed to herself that she would never incur the like 
 embarrassment again! It wasn't her own veracity she was con- 
 cerned about. That might take its chance. It was the fear that if 
 she ventured too far in an unexplored land of mendacity, she might 
 lose her way or get stuck in a bog. She fell back on an ambiguity 
 that seemed to admit everything, and assure sympathy. "Better 
 speak low!" she said, and got nearer, as though to listen better. 
 The old voice fell almost to a whisper. 
 
 "I don't want her to hear what I was going to say. I can't tell 
 what it is, but I feel as if there was something wrong. It may be 
 my head." Alice felt it would be quite safe to assent to this, and 
 indeed laid stress upon it. But the reference to the head injury 
 as a means of accounting for everything seemed to be losing force.
 
 422 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Old Jane fell back on the most troublesome point. "Where can 
 John have gone, not to be back by now? If he had gone to the 
 Gossetts', he certainly would have been back. Can he have gone 
 to the Furnivals' ?" Alice ventured on saying, "Yes ! can he ?" But 
 she was sorry she had spoken at all, for the old woman, noting a 
 sound in her voice, said: "You're not crying, dear? Not about 
 me? I shall be all right soon when John comes back, and then 
 we'll have the piano moved, and we'll try the duet in the front-room. 
 That back-room was always bad for music." She went on with some 
 references to the arrangements of her house. Alice did not under- 
 stand clearly enough to recollect them, and Mrs. Gaisford could 
 not hear. Then she said : "You know the front top room was to be 
 the nursery now we may never want it. No, dear Cynthia, don't 
 now, don't ! Not because of me !" Alice made a shift to pull her- 
 self together, and speak courageously it was a poor attempt. The 
 old voice that went on was weak, but brave. "You mustn't think 
 that I shall fret about my baby. It was God's will. And the doctor 
 said it could not have lived. . . . But I know John will fret 
 and then you know he may blame me for being so careless. I shall 
 be so glad when he comes. . . . We used to talk about the little 
 thing, and how nice one of our own would be. And if it was a girl 
 it was to be called Fanny. And if a boy, Frank. And he wanted 
 a girl, and I didn't care. . . . Oh, dear! it's all done with 
 now. . . . Perhaps that's him?" 
 
 It was no use Alice could hold out no longer. She felt the 
 hysterical tears coming, and that come they must. She had pres- 
 ence of mind and voice enough to say, "Yes, Mrs. Gaisford!" as 
 though she had been called; and then she slipped away into the 
 anteroom, the door of which had been left unclosed, as the nurse 
 had not thought it necessary to shut and lock it according to the 
 usual rule, the outer door being locked and they being the only 
 occupants. She had just time to close it, when she gave way to a 
 torrent of tears. For the life of her she could not keep them back. 
 But she could recover herself would do so in a minute. Only give 
 her a minute ! Perhaps she was a little weakened since that illness, 
 for all she had been so well for three months. 
 
 She felt it was best if it could be done-^-to have her cry out 
 in that minute. If it could not, what a useless girl was she in any- 
 thing of this sort! And she had boasted to herself of her own 
 strength, many a time. She gave way for the minute; then choked 
 it back. "Courage now!" said or thought she to herself, and laid 
 her hand on the knob of the door. Perhaps, please God, the old 
 lady had drowsed off again.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 423 
 
 But there was another hand on the other side. The door was 
 opened from without and the nurse came in. Her face looked 
 set and stony in the firelight, for the gas was turned down. She 
 had been behind the screen, and had come out as Alice closed the 
 door. The minute had been more than a minute. 
 
 Alice had heard no voices through the door, only a cry. But it 
 was a solid door with a listed rim, and shut close. She saw by Mrs. 
 Gaisford's face that something had passed, and that it had been of 
 moment. Yet she started when, in reply to her questioning 
 "Why?" that was a response to an admonitory finger that she 
 pointed at as she asked it, came two words, "She's told!" 
 
 "Oh dear ! it was my fault !" and truly, Alice fancied it was. 
 
 "It must have come," said the other. "Go in. She's quite quiet 
 now." And Alice passed in, feeling that it would be no great 
 wonder if the quietness were death. 
 
 But it was not. She had gone back into a semi-torpid state, and 
 remained so. A shock that might have produced insensibility for 
 a time in a person in full health had reacted in a greater degree on 
 a system that was fighting for existence. When six hours later 
 Sir Rupert arrived, accompanied by Charles, who had been feeling 
 very uneasy about Alice, the patient had not moved nor spoken. 
 
 "We could hardly expect anything else," said Rupert. "And 
 as you say, Mrs. Gaisford, it must have come, sooner or later. 
 I don't think we need assume that it will be permanent." 
 
 "Won't she have to be told all over again?" asked Alice. "That's 
 what I'm afraid of." 
 
 "Well, Aunty Lissy, don't let's beg and borrow troubles. What 
 was it that passed, exactly, Mrs. Gaisford?" 
 
 "After Miss Kavanagh ran away? You did run away, Miss 
 Kavanagh, now didn't you?" 
 
 "Simply turned tail and fled," said Alice. "I couldn't bear it 1" 
 And, indeed, Alice was holding very tight to Charles's arm, for 
 protection against her own shaken nervous system. Mrs. Gaisford 
 continued, stoically enough. It is possible that the patient's animus 
 against her had contributed to her stoicism. On the other hand, 
 attraction towards Alice had no doubt hastened the latter's collapse. 
 
 "I came out from the screen where I had been taking notes 
 (here they are), and then immediately the old lady said: 'Why 
 is Miss Luttrell crying ? What have I done ?' " 
 
 "Miss Luttrell?" exclaimed together Sir Rupert and Charles, 
 both with surprise. But Sir Rupert's was only that another per- 
 son had been in the room ; Charles's astonished tone of voice went 
 deeper. Sir Rupert said: "Let's have Miss Luttrell back then."
 
 424 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Charles answered Alice's "Why whew-w-w, Mr. Charley?" in a 
 rapid undertone: "It's very queer! I'll tell after." 
 
 "There was no Miss Luttrell," said the nurse, incomprehensibly; 
 and then Alice cleared up the situation. 
 
 "She took me for a girl named Cynthia Luttrell that she knew 
 sixty years ago!" Charles felt tue hand on his arm tighten, as 
 the speaker shuddered. "We let her think so. It seemed to soothe 
 her. But I couldn't have kept it up. It must have come." Then 
 Mrs. Gaisford went on with her report. 
 
 "I said, 'You have done nothing, poor soul!' I couldn't help 
 speaking so, Sir Rupert, but perhaps it wasn't cool judgment. 
 She tried to sit up, and said with a sort of indignation 'Why 
 do you "poor soul" me, woman? Why am I to be "poor souled"?' 
 I said, Tor God's sake be quiet, Ma'am, and I'll tell you all' not 
 meaning to tell quite the whole. She said, 'Something is being kept 
 back from me' and after a moment's pause (while I was trying to 
 feel clear about it) 'I know it! My husband is dead?' It came 
 so suddenly I could not speak and she cried out and fell back. And 
 she hasn't moved since. Oh yes! I know she understood. She 
 saw from my silence." This was in answer to a joint enquiry. 
 
 They approached the bed, where the figure lay, as still as before 
 it had first spoken. There was no response to pressure or move- 
 ment of the hand. But the pulse and heart-beat were regular, and 
 the breathing steady. "Unconsciousness was instantaneous, eh, 
 Fludyer?" said Sir Rupert to his colleague, who had come in in 
 time to hear most of the story. 
 
 "I don't think the game's up, though, Johnson?" 
 
 "Nor I. She'll pull round in time. Hope she won't have to be 
 told again!" 
 
 Decisions followed, touching action to be taken. Mrs. Gaisford 
 to remain behind in constant watch. Sir Rupert to be driven 
 rapidly away to an appointment, but willing and able to give 
 Charles and Alice a lift as far as Eaton Square. Lift rejected, as 
 not going home to the heart of the subject. No ! Alice would leave 
 her things in case of coming back, and you would take her for a 
 little walk, Mr. Charley dear, wouldn't you, and then we would 
 have a nice drive home in a hansom because it had stopped rain- 
 ing and was going to come out quite fine. Alice brightened up 
 over the prospect. But it seemed horribly unfeeling to go away 
 and leave Mrs. Gaisford all alone. Especially because the usual 
 result of twelve hours of Alice had come to Mrs. Gaisford. She 
 was in love, and Alice had to kiss the excellent woman for con- 
 solation. Then action was taken on the decisions. Sir Rupert was
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 425 
 
 whirled away Londonwards to fresh fields and consultations new, 
 and Charles and Alice forsook Mrs. Gaisford and found themselves 
 sauntering purposelessly in the opposite direction. Alice spoke 
 first. 
 
 "Oh, if she might only die ! Never come to at all 1" 
 
 "Well-11-11! I don't know " 
 
 "Oh yes! I know very well though. I'll tell you what I should 
 really like, Mr. Charley." 
 
 "Tell away, darling!" Charles used to use all sorts of terms of 
 endearment to Alice, especially when she was visibly in trouble. 
 At this moment she was taking full leave to cry, as a release and 
 luxury. 
 
 "I should like when I get to Harley Street to find a telegraph 
 message to say she was gone." For in those days people didn't say 
 wire, nor even telegram. 
 
 "Poor old lady! I wouldn't grudge her the pleasure of dying, 
 Heaven knows! But I want to hear who Cynthia Luttrell was. 
 Particularly because I remember poor Verrinder himself telling 
 me the old No. 40 house belonged to a family of that name." 
 
 "Then that's why you said whew-w-w?" 
 
 "That is the reason I employed that expression, Madam. That 
 alone was, I submit, a sufficient reason for the employment of 
 that expression." Charles is making use, perhaps you may observe, 
 of the mock-pompous phrasing he so often falls into when he is 
 in a particularly good humour. He is now supremely happy, for he 
 has got Alice all to himself, and though he is concerned at her 
 distress about Old Jane, he knows it will clear off. Besides, this 
 sauntering with Alice in streets unknown, without an idea where 
 they will lead, or any scrutable purpose, exactly meets his views. 
 
 "I may mention, Miss Kavanagh, that if I hadn't said whew-w-w 
 for that reason, I should have said it for another. So, as the sayin* 
 is, it's as broad as it is long." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Charley dear, do come downstairs, and be a Chris- 
 tian I mean tell me right off, and don't go round and round. I 
 never met such an unmitigated circumference as you are in all 
 my life." 
 
 "Very well then! As soon as we have not been run over by 
 this cab, which is now approaching, I will throw off all disguise 
 and speak candidly." And as soon as they have reached an oppo- 
 site side of a road, Charles keeps his promise, in a dry business 
 manner. 
 
 "Cynthia Luttrell was the name on one of the portraits Bauer- 
 stein bought at Verrinder's sale. It was written on the back, like
 
 426 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Phyllis Cartwright. Bauerstein may have it still. I couldn't say 
 at this length of time whether it resembled your ugly little mug, 
 or not." Alice's grave absorption in the subject ignores this un- 
 provoked discourtesy. "She couldn't see it, I'm sure the mug I 
 mean. It must have been my voice. You know it must seem to 
 her only like yesterday that she heard this Miss Luttrell's voice. I 
 wonder if she is still living?" 
 
 "Most unlikely. Dr. Fludyer could not find a trace of any 
 friend or connection." 
 
 "What was Sir Cramer Luttrell?" 
 
 "I don't know. I've never heard of him." 
 
 "She talked about him. He was a bad lot a horrible man, she 
 said and his sister was as odious as himself. But let me tell you 
 all as I recollect it." And thereon Alice gave all the fragments 
 as they had come. 
 
 "It made me wish," said she, "that I had really understood better 
 what we really do know, and what we don't, about the history of 
 No. 40. Now I had quite forgotten that Mr. Verrinder told you 
 the house had belonged to a family of Luttrells. Don't you know 
 how children forget things one would think they would remember, 
 and remember the most absurd things. Then when they hear 
 things repeated after, they don't pay attention because they have 
 heard them before, and they are grown-up people's things, and 
 only belong to that obsolete race. At least I did. So, though I've 
 heard it later, the story has never caught on properly." 
 
 "I tell you what, Alice-for-short," said Charles, "we won't do 
 too much speculating about it don't let's run the risk of making 
 up a legend out of surmises, and then fancying we've heard it. 
 We'll possess our souls in peace, and hope that poor old Jane may 
 pull round enough to give us some more reminiscences. Fancy 
 reaching back through a hundred and thirty years !" 
 
 "Very well then! Let it alone's the word. Now I tell you what 
 I should like to do. We can't be far off where her husband went 
 to live I do feel curious to see the place." 
 
 The neighbourhood had lost the shadowy remains of a semi- 
 suburban character that it still had when Charles and Jeff saw 
 poor Verrinder's departure sixteen years before, and had become 
 sheer unqualified town. But the row of houses (they found it with 
 some difficulty) from one roof-top of which he had watched the 
 madhouse dome for over thirty years always hoping, never quite 
 despairing there it stood, still; one of those terraces that slowly, 
 slowly, gives up its right to be called residential, and makes gradual 
 concession to degrading miscellanies. Ground-floors become offices
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 427 
 
 where no man sleeps or dines ; basements that were humble as mere 
 kitchens thrust themselves forward and claim a status in com- 
 mercial life as storage-room. Institutions are instituted, and 
 supported (in vain) by Voluntary Contributions, TVn first-floors 
 that will one day fall a prey to Dentists, or even to Clairvoyants. 
 Second-floors submit to Milliners and Typewriters, and invite the 
 Public up by an independent appeal on the door-post in polished 
 brass. There too appear more bells than Poe ever wrote about, 
 or Irving acted in a rash of bells that makes you think before 
 you ring. And at the door of the house Charles indentified was 
 a top-top-top-bell that said with emphasis, "Photographer's Bell," 
 and seemed to have no doubt at all about it. Charles remembered 
 the place on the roof : just the place for a Photographic Studio. 
 
 "I should so like to see the rooms," Alice said. "Mightn't we 
 go up?" 
 
 "We should have to be took," said Charles. 
 
 "Then let's be took," said Alice. And they rang the explicit bell, 
 and it made a great noise somewhere. Then, to corroborate them- 
 selves, they went leisurely up the stairs. 
 
 They read the door-plate of the Institution on the first floor, and 
 wondered at the keen insight of its founders into the needs of the 
 human race. But Charles had forgotten its proper title before he 
 got quite upstairs ; for he called it the "Society for Providing Inex- 
 pensive Luncheons for Deserving Baritones," which appeared 
 absurd. However, it didn't matter ! They got to the photographer. 
 And Charles represented, with perfect gravity, that he and Alice 
 had met as strangers outside, and she had asked for his photograph. 
 
 Might they look out and see the view? Yes, they might. What 
 was that large dome over yonder? "I see you're both strangers in 
 this part of the world," said the photographer, trickling onto a 
 glass, reflectively. "That place over there's Bedlam. Some people 
 admire that dome very much. There was a man lived in these very 
 rooms, years ago an Artist, too, he was only for the sake of the 
 view. Thirty -odd years ! Now, Sir, if you're ready, I am." 
 
 When a very promising negative had been secured, and Charles 
 had written the address to which six copies were to be sent, he asked 
 the photographer whether he had known the former tenant per- 
 sonally. "Rather !" was the reply. "Why he killed himself with 
 chloroform bought at our shop!" 
 
 Alice thought to herself that tragedy was easiest to bear with 
 when she has the stage to herself. The clash with grotesquerie 
 makes what is grisly in itself grislier still. She and Charles did 
 not feel quite cheerful again till they were having lunch at Gatti's
 
 428 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 in the Strand. Then they went to the National Gallery, and when 
 they reappeared in Harley Street at past six o'clock, had to confess 
 to having had a regular good outing. 
 
 "I'm quite in despair about them," said Peggy to her husband 
 that night. "Are they going to go on like this for ever ?" 
 
 "You be a sensible wench and let 'em alone," said Rupert. 
 "They're as happy as ever they can be, and what more can you 
 want?"
 
 CHAPTEE XLI 
 
 HOW OLD JANE PUT ON HER WIDOW'S WEEDS. AND SAW HERSELF IN 
 THE GLASS. HOW ALICE AND OLD JANE RESIDED TEMPORARILY AT 
 CHARLES'S HOUSE 
 
 IT must be much less difficult to weave a fiction than to give a 
 narrative of actual events. Our conviction is that the former 
 would be easy by comparison. One could do as one pleased; and 
 one's reader would have to accept one's word for the truth ot 
 statements inconsistent with one another, doing violence to his sense 
 of probability, and not far apart enough for their discrepancy to 
 remain unnoticed. Of course if any obligation rested on the 
 writer of fiction to make improbable events seem probable, and give 
 plausibility to outrages against understanding and experience, he 
 would have his hands full. 
 
 With narrative of actual event, it is otherwise; that is to say, if 
 the event is to be so narrated as not to seem improbable to any and 
 every reader. We may as well say at once that in this narrative we 
 have completely given up the idea of doing so in fact we saw how 
 impossible it would be soon after the first start. We can only go 
 on, stupidly narrating what happened, and not allowing ourselves 
 to be influenced towards curtailment of any portion by its intrinsic 
 improbability. Our only motive in any omission is our wish to 
 avoid prolixity. 
 
 Perhaps we ought to dwell at greater length on the long and care- 
 ful nursing that followed the fearful shock poor old Jane, or Kate, 
 had to endure the shock that had to be endured sooner or later, 
 and that chanced a few hours sooner; on the slow recovery and 
 dawn of life in a changed world ; on her life, in short, in the Asylum 
 until she was cautiously removed from the awful home she never 
 knew the name of, and the terrible companions in misfortune she 
 had never seen. 
 
 But before we got so far forward as this, many things occurred 
 that we should have liked to tell in full. We cannot do more than 
 name them ; or sketch them at most. 
 
 One was, the very painful interval in which Old Jane, though 
 she knew of her husband's death, and of the fact that she had 
 
 429
 
 430 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 passed some time before she was removed to "the Hospital," re- 
 mained in complete ignorance of the duration of her unconscious- 
 ness. She knew that her husband had come to live close at hand, 
 to watch for a possible revival ; that he had been sleepless at night, 
 had resorted to a powerful soporific, and had killed himself with 
 an overdose; that Charles had made his acquaintance as a Student 
 of the Royal Academy "where he went in the evening, because of 
 his Life Studentship"; that "at first" it was not thought advisable 
 to operate, but that her case attracted the attention of Sir Rupert 
 Johnson ; with the result that after much consultation, the operation 
 was decided on, and was performed most successfully by Mr. 
 Lionel Isaacson, the great surgeon; but though she was told all 
 these things she was told nothing about times and seasons. Until 
 she came to a knowledge of the truth about this, the way she was 
 always fretting under discrepancies and impossibilities was most 
 distressing. In the end came the inevitable revelation, and the 
 manner of it was this : 
 
 Clothes had been provided for her the fact that it was a widow's 
 wardrobe having removed many difficulties in choosing it. She had 
 been induced to wear spectacles, for which the accident to the 
 head was made responsible. But now the time had come when 
 she was fit to move, without danger to the head. It was the only 
 source of apprehension, for in all other respects her condition was 
 marvellous; even her teeth being better than those of many young 
 people. They had always been carefully seen to. 
 
 "She's a dear old thing," said Alice to Charles, "but what is so 
 dreadful is that except for the feel of it she really has no means 
 of knowing she isn't young. I know perfectly well that the image 
 she has of herself is that of a young widow probably very pretty. 
 In fact she as good as says she was thought so she calls it is." 
 No doubt Alice had come to rank her as a "dear old thing" the 
 more readily that she herself had become, in the old lady's eyes, 
 such a very dear young thing. In fact the whole of the poor old 
 soul had gone out in love to Alice she was its resource and refuge 
 in a barren land of bitter waters; the one blue gleam in a winter 
 sky. 
 
 So, the trying on of her new dress presented itself to the old 
 mind, that had not aged with the body it dwelt in, exactly as it 
 would have done to any other young woman of twenty -four or -five ; 
 to Alice, for instance, had her case been alike, lapse of unknown 
 time apart. We do not believe that under any conceivable circum- 
 stances is a young woman, who thinks of herself as comely, abso- 
 lutely indifferent to a new dress. Probably Old Jane was as nearly
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 431 
 
 indifferent as any recently bereaved widow ever was. But she was 
 curious to see how the dress fitted, for all that. 
 
 "Isn't the stuff heavy?" she said, "and won't it be too tight in 
 front if I ever get any flesh on my bones again? I've got dread- 
 fully thin dreadfully! Isn't it a very long waist? And such a 
 lot of skirts !" 
 
 "It's much the same as mine, dear Kate. But you're so weak, 
 you know. You won't feel the weight when you get a bit stronger." 
 So spoke Alice, who, of course, had come expressly to see it tried. 
 But she felt like the skater on ice that scarcely bears him. Her 
 heart quite failed her as Old Jane, who could now move about with- 
 out much difficulty, "though feeling very strange," worked gradu- 
 ally over towards a full-length mirror that had come from Heaven 
 knows what purpose connected with insanity, for her to see her- 
 self in. She was preoccupied and distressed with her armpits. 
 
 "It must be let out a little on this side," she said, "it cuts under 
 the arms. But it will do very well for now. They always are so 
 troublesome about that. I have to speak every time, and it never 
 does any good; and I do like room. Who is that?" 
 
 Alice's heart was quaking, and she could not speak. Mrs. Gais- 
 ford spoke: "Who is what, Mrs. Verrinder?" Old Jane, instead of 
 going nearer to the glass, looked all round behind her. 
 
 "I would have sworn," said she, "that I saw the reflection of a 
 new old lady, with white hair, in the glass. Where is she?" 
 
 "There is no one here but ourselves," said the nurse. 
 
 "How very odd!" she replied. "I would have sworn it." And 
 then she approached nearer to the mirror; but, always preoccupied 
 with that vexatious armpit, she did not look up till she got quite 
 close. Then she broke into an hysterical laugh, more painful to 
 hear than any cry of pain. 
 
 "Oh, Cynthia oh, Cynthia it's me!" For she more often called 
 Alice Cynthia than not, although she knew. Alice helped her as she 
 staggered, and guided her, trembling like an aspen-leaf, to a chair. 
 The old hands clung to her as she kissed the wrinkled face. She 
 could not speak the nurse did not. Old Jane spoke first, through 
 gasps that caught her voice: 
 
 "Oh now oh now you will tell me you will tell me all! I 
 knew there was something you will tell? will you not?" And 
 then as one who struggles for self-control, she asked again the 
 question she had asked in the first speech that had followed her 
 sixty years of silence, "What is it?" 
 
 "Yes I will tell you, dear Kate. I will tell you all !" And Alice, 
 recovering herself, told in few and resolute words the story as we
 
 432 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 know it. She flinched at nothing, and ended, "I was near telling- 
 it you all long ago, dear Kate. But I couldn't find the heart." 
 
 "And that is quite all?" asked Old Jane, when she had finished. 
 She seemed to have become much calmer. 
 
 "Quite all!" 
 
 "Help me across, that I may look again." She spoke as being 
 curious to see. There was little fear in her voice. "Stand by me, 
 dear child, so ! Then I shall see both at once. And that is you, and 
 that is me! A little further back I shall see plainer. The glasses 
 are the wrong focus for this distance." She stood with Alice's 
 hand pressed close to her, for perhaps two minutes, and then said : 
 "The dress is not cut like my grey poplin. But it will do very 
 well only, John is not here now. . . ." 
 
 The only scheme that had recommended itself for disposing ot 
 the old lady on leaving the Asylum was that she should go pro- 
 visionally to Charles's house; and accordingly a few hours later she 
 was on her way there with Alice and Mrs. Gaisford, who were glad 
 on the whole that their companion failed to identify places and 
 buildings. Perhaps dim eyesight had more to do with this than 
 lack of memory. Otherwise she might, by crossing the river, have 
 got a clue to the name of the Hospital she came from, which they 
 had managed to keep back. For all that skill and never-tiring 
 patience can do in the most perfect of modern Hospitals, to alle- 
 viate the lot of the most afflicted of mankind, fails to counteract 
 the terror of the name Bedlam. 
 
 She did not really grasp the position how could she? That 
 Charles (whom she knew by no other name as yet) and Alice 
 (whom she knew now to be Alice Kavanagh though she always 
 seemed puzzled by the name) were most hospitably taking her in 
 this she understood. And also that her stay was to last until such 
 time as some shadowy permanent arrangement could be made; an 
 arrangement dependent on the discovery of a class or section of 
 society which the old lady spoke of as "my relatives." But she did 
 not seem impressed by her family's neglect of her in the Hospital, 
 nor by its delay in turning up to relieve her hosts of her presence. 
 She shelved anything that threatened a difficult problem, nearly 
 always. This was a great relief to Alice was, as she said, half the 
 battle. She used this expression so often in connection with Mrs. 
 Verrinder, that Charles had to point out that the number of halves 
 possible, even to battles, is limited. 
 
 Whatever fraction of the battle it was, this readiness to be quiet 
 under accomplished facts was voted a "let-off" to the bystanders
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 433 
 
 in what might else have proved an embarrassment in more than one 
 case. She accepted the whole of the relations between those who 
 came to see her, without curiosity. And sometimes a good deal of 
 explaining was wanted, or would have been had her mind been 
 fully active. Such a mind might have enquired, restlessly, what 
 was Alice to Charles, or Charles to Alice? What was Alice's 
 position at Harley Street? Who or what was Pierre? But Old 
 Jane never asked any questions. She christened Charles "Mr. 
 Kavanagh" at first, but when she found this was wrong, she 
 accepted him as Mr. Heath, without renaming Alice "Mrs. Heath," 
 although Alice more than once thought she detected a disposition to 
 do so. In truth, Alice and Charles might have puzzled any mere 
 outsider. 
 
 Mrs. Gaisford, towards whom her patient had relented, accom- 
 panied her to Charles's as what might be called a nurse of first 
 instance, without intention to remain long in charge. Peggy (and 
 Sir Eupert acting under her orders) had negotiated this in the 
 course of several visits to the Asylum, which had been fully appre- 
 ciated by Old Jane. "How sweet your Aunt is!" said the latter to 
 Alice after Lady Johnson's first visit. "She does me good." And 
 Alice let the accusation of Aunthood remain undefended. But 
 Peggy was not without a distinct motive in urging this arrange- 
 ment. She took alarm at the alternative, which appeared to be that 
 Alice should go instead. 
 
 "If Alice goes and lives at Charles's," said she, emphatically, to 
 her husband, "there will simply be no chance at all!" 
 
 "I should have thought the more they saw each other the better 
 if that's your game?" 
 
 "Of course it's my game, darling. But you are such a stupid 
 old dear! Can't you see that if they go on much longer like this 
 they'll get grimed in, and there they'll stick, like a couple of geese ?" 
 
 "You express it beautifully, dearest! Doesn't your mamma 
 express herself beautifully, Alcey?" This was to the only other 
 person present, who seemed to hold aloof from the conversation, 
 and to be pursuing a detached line of thought. "Me and Phifulps 
 wants the ciprum on the deery cake between us," she says, quietly 
 but firmly. 
 
 "You delicious little greedy," says her mother; "you know per- 
 fectly well you only put your sister in to save appearances at any 
 rate you shall not have it, ducky, till she conies. That's flat !" For 
 Alcey has suggested that she should become her sister's bailee in 
 the matter of the citron on the Madeira cake, by holding out her 
 hand to receive it.
 
 434 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "Your papa knows perfectly what I mean, Alcey and you know 
 he does! And you know, Dr. Jomson, if Charley and Alice could 
 be dragged apart, one to Jericho and the other to Coventry, he'd 
 write next day to say he couldn't live without her, and she must 
 come at once and make the usual arrangement. Most likely she'd 
 
 have written already. But if she's going to live in his house 1 
 
 Another cup of tea ?" 
 
 "Yes look alive! Because I must run. I vote for letting 'em 
 alone. It's strictly eh?" 
 
 "My dear ! of course it is ! If it isn't correct with an old lady of 
 
 eighty-six there, it never will be. Besides ! However, there's 
 
 Phillips coming and we mustn't talk. That child's getting so 
 sharp she knows absolutely everything. She's five next month." 
 
 But there remains a thoughtful troubled look on the beautiful 
 face, which we, who know things, know to mean, "Oh, Charley 
 and Alice how you are wasting the precious hours! And here 
 you are, constructing a new impasse, a stupid deadlock that 
 will just spoil all, and take away the last chance for good!" 
 
 Alcey and Phillips got the citron off the Madeira cake, between 
 them, and Alcey got most. And Aunt Lissy announced that even- 
 ing that she was going to camp out for a bit at Acacia Road, just 
 till old Mrs. Verrinder had had time to turn round, and get used 
 to things. And she kissed the whole family, to console them for 
 her impending absence. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that in the next chapter we shall have 
 to speak of Alice and old Mrs. Verrinder as residing temporarily 
 (with a sort of firmness in the temporariness) at Charles's house 
 in St. John's Wood. Charles did not trouble much about the extra 
 expense; for, thanks to Alice's discovery of a new employment for 
 him, he was making huge sums of money; three or four hundred a 
 year, Report said. She always deals in round numbers. Anyhow 
 Charles was quite happy about his expenses. And it was well that 
 he should rejoice in Alice while she lasted, for it was just as like 
 as not that when she married he would see little or nothing more 
 of her. 
 
 "Little or nothing more" of Alice! Oh, but his heart was sore 
 to think of it! But sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof, 
 and after all there was nothing, at present !
 
 CHAPTER XLn 
 
 OP THE RUIN OF CHARLES'S ART. HOW ABOUT OLD JANE*S MEMORIES? 
 BEST TAKE HER TO NO. 40 
 
 IT was near midsummer of the year in which Old Jane was oper- 
 ated on before Charles's household could be said to have settled 
 down to the course it intended to pursue. Everybody was con- 
 tented with it inside the family only, you must discount some- 
 thing from the satisfaction of Harley Street, which had lost a 
 great deal of Alice ; more than it could afford. But it would have 
 been worse, "if Mr. Alice." We borrow a phrase of Charles. As 
 for him, if he had had to choose between giving up Alice (to any 
 not impossible he) and accommodating all Bedlam's discharged 
 patients, he would have chosen the latter. And as for Alice, our 
 suspicion is, that though she felt for Harley Street, she consoled 
 herself with the recollection that it was only a shilling cab; and 
 that she really was determined to get as much Mr. Charley as she 
 possibly could, until she (and Peggy, she chose to think) should 
 succeed in their endeavours to consign Charles to some uncom- 
 fortable female with gifts, or exalted motives, or Property or 
 something else Charles would care nothing about. Provisionally, 
 she felt divided between the two establishments, which she spoke 
 of respectively as Harley Street and Charley Street. 
 
 You may be sure that the menage in Charley Street was the sub- 
 ject of much comment and criticism; had it been a menagerie 
 it could not have attracted much more attention. Besides, another 
 subject at the same time kept Charles under discussion among 
 his friends: namely, his extraordinary and unanticipated success 
 in Literature. Our old friend Jeff, of whom we have seen nothing 
 lately, took a gloomy view of the outlook, on behalf of the Fine 
 Arts. He had a low opinion of Literature. 
 
 "'Eath'll never do any more work now," said he, regretfully, to 
 his wife. "He's done for !" And the sensible Dorothea, whom five 
 children had assisted to an expansive maturity, remarked with 
 some, but not much, diffidence: "Perhaps nobody will be any the 
 worse." 
 
 "I don't know, Dolly! I, don't, know, Dolly! No! I do not 
 
 485
 
 436 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 know about that. There was a Quality in 'Eath's work that marked 
 the man " 
 
 "Didn't you say, Jeffrey, that he couldn't draw; nor paint; nor 
 compose ?" 
 
 "I did, my dear! Right you are. But with it all there was a 
 Quality. A something you don't often meet with. Not a thing 
 the untrained eye can see right off. You are incredulous, Mrs. 
 Jerrythought." 
 
 "No, my dear, I dare say it's all right." But Jeff feels that the 
 subject cannot be left stranded in this flat and unsatisfactory con- 
 dition. It has to be illuminated by something that it is not given 
 to normal minds to attach any intelligible meaning to. He turns 
 the searchlight of a Higher Criticism upon it. 
 
 "What was Wilkinson Foster sayin' in that critique of the New 
 Barnet School? Depend on it that's the point. That's the rock 
 Charley 'Eath splits upon, Literary Art, mind you ! It always ends 
 in neglect of Values. Once you begin that game, it's all up. But 
 Charley's work is full of Quality." And Jeff, who is smoking in a 
 garden-hammock on his own lawn at St. John's Wood, on a beau- 
 tiful summer evening, a short time after Charles's first story had 
 such a prodigious run, and watching a spirited rally in a game of 
 lawn-tennis between his eldest girl and a couple of young male 
 appreciators, who have come on their bicycles and don't mean to go, 
 dedicates a sigh and a headshake to the memory of Charles's ruined 
 art. The sensible Dorothea gave up the Fine Arts when she mar- 
 ried, and doesn't trouble about them now. But her interest in her 
 fellow-creatures is strong, and she always diverts all conversation 
 to Humanity. She is neither impressive nor shrewd of tongue, so 
 one wonders that she always succeeds. But she does ! And it must 
 be something in the subject. It's easy, this time. 
 
 "Can you make the old lady out, Jeffrey?" 
 
 "No yes that is, stop a minute!" Jeff is pitting the duration 
 of his tobacco-smoke rings against the rallies of the lawn-tennis, 
 and the rings always beat. "That one's lasted out a rally, and 
 shoutin' fifteen-love, and crossin' over. No, I can't make her out." 
 
 "What did he teU you?" 
 
 "She ain't a relative " 
 
 "No. I know that. But what did he tell you ?" 
 
 "He was rather close about her. But she's old Mrs. Verrinder, 
 and she's had a long illness. That's why she's so rum in her man- 
 ner. She don't seem ill not for an old lady of eighty-six." 
 
 "Of course one can understand why Mr. Heath has her there; 
 only I don't see the necessity for it. After all, Alice is the same
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 437 
 
 as one of the family. And every one thinks they're uncle and 
 niece " 
 
 "What's all that got to do with the turn out?'' 
 
 "Why everything don't you see, Jeffrey? Mr. Heath wants 
 Alice there, and fancies he ought to have some older person in the 
 house. I don't see why, but he thinks so " 
 
 "Isn't it runnin' it rather 'ard to make it an eighty-sixer? I 
 should have thought forty-two forty-three or fifty for strangers ! 
 Plenty ! But, him a widower and all ! 'Ooky !" 
 
 "But where did he get her from? She must be accountable, 
 somehow." 
 
 "Sister Peggy fished her up. Or their friend Dr. Fludyer 
 
 "Stop!" Mrs. Jerrythought points at her husband's watch- 
 pocket, while her eye fixes him to attention. "That doctor that 
 came to 40, years and ages ago, and you witnessed a transfer thing 
 for him he was Fludyer! You told me " 
 
 "Well what of that?" 
 
 "Why, of course! It was about that poor fellow that com- 
 mitted suicide you remember him?" 
 
 "Perfectly. I remember all about it." 
 
 "Well how slow you are ! What was his name ?" 
 
 "Callender." This is an absurd lapse of memory on Jeffs part, 
 and his wife points out that though the name Callender occurred 
 about the time of the suicide in question, it was in quite another 
 connection. That was Edith Callender, doesn't he remember, that 
 was to have married Captain Bradbury, and took to homoeopathy? 
 Of course that queer artist's name was Verrinder, and this must 
 be his mother, or his aunt. But Jeff won't acknowledge his mis- 
 take. 
 
 "No it was Callender, not Verrinder. I noticed partic'larly at 
 the time that it wasn't Verrinder. Besides, it was Captain Brad- 
 ley, not Bradbury." 
 
 "So it was. He was spooney about Lady Johnson. So were 
 others." Dorothea nods, with insight. Jeff doesn't disguise the 
 point. 
 
 "So were others," he admits. And Dorothea says nobody wonders 
 at it, and he needn't look so guilty. Then compromise becomes 
 possible about the names; Jeff gives up Callender, in return for 
 his wife surrendering Bradbury. 
 
 "I thought her rather a sweet old lady," says she, when this is 
 settled. "Only so queer! I couldn't make out what she meant 
 sometimes. What was that she said about 'the poor Queen'? Did 
 you understand?"
 
 438 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 "No I couldn't make that out. Nor what she was saying about 
 the new theatre. What new theatre? There's not been any 
 theatre burned, neither." 
 
 "And about some shocking murder of a Member of Parliament. 
 There was nothing in the newspaper. What name was it she said ? 
 Percy, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes Percy. 7 saw nothing in the paper!" 
 
 It was little wonder they were puzzled. For the "poor Queen" 
 was Queen Caroline, and the New Theatre was Drury Lane, and 
 "Percy" was Spencer Perceval. And they were all things of yester- 
 day to poor old Jane. She had not had time yet to get abreast 
 of the age she found herself suddenly landed in, sixty years after 
 her death for that was what it amounted to. 
 
 We are sorry that Mr. and Mrs. Jerrythought, of Circus Road, 
 St. John's Wood, conversed no further about the new inmate at 
 their neighbour's in Acacia Road. They went on to consider how 
 far Kit Pope, who was playing lawn-tennis, was "desirable." He 
 was desirous, no doubt. Jeff said he really didn't see that it mat- 
 tered what a young man's father was like. And his wife said if 
 they didn't stop "it" now, it wouldn't be any good. Did Jeff hear 
 that? He was calling her Jessie already! However, these young 
 people really don't come into the story. They are perfectly happy 
 just now, and what more can they want? And Jessie wasn't six- 
 teen, so there ! 
 
 Kit Pope's objectionable father was very curious indeed when he 
 heard that a sing'ler old lady Mr. Heath had got from somewhere, 
 who had known No. 40 when she was girl, was coming to see the 
 house. So was Mr. Chappell, but much more temperately. 
 
 "No," said the former to the latter, in answer to a question, 
 "I can't say I've exactly seen the old party myself. But I've had 
 a sort of squintindicular view of her (puttin' it metaphorically) 
 owing to that young jackanapes of a son of mine. He's always 
 flandering round after that little Jessie girl of Jeff's at Circus 
 Road, and she's seen her to talk to. Then of course she tells Kit, 
 and Kit he tells Gwen, and Gwen she tells her mother and your 
 faithful servant, Sir. Prodoocin' the impression of a piece of 
 'oary antiquity relict of a bygone earer. You'll be interested, Mr. 
 Chappell, without bein' enthoosiastic. After knowin' you many 
 years, Mr. Chappell, I am quorlified to say that enthusiasm is not 
 your gag. Can't say I've seen her though, so far! Name of 
 Verrinder." 
 
 "Verrinder? Hum! Feel as if I'd heard the name, too." And 
 Mr. Chappell, who was writing Perpendicular lettering on a large
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 439 
 
 telegraph-tape that took two Angels to carry it, laid down his pencil 
 to think more easily. It didn't seem to help him, for he presently 
 took it up again, with the remark : "Felt as if I'd heard the name." 
 
 "/ was tryin' to think, too," said Mr. Pope. But it was quite 
 three minutes before thought, accompanied only by the ticking of 
 the clock on the chimney-piece, fructified. Then each exclaimed 
 that he had "got it." It was a brain-wave, evidently. 
 
 "Who do you make it out to be?" asked Mr. Pope. 
 
 "Bauerstein's pictures he bought, years ago, at that sale at 
 Newington Butts he was Verrinder I" 
 
 "That's the beggar, Sir ! As large as life. I knew it was him." 
 Which was palpably a lie, taken literally; but was a fa^on-de- 
 parler that passed muster, taken leniently. Mr. Chappeli did not 
 cavil, and his partner continued : "It connects itself with the Bones, 
 to my mind. But as to how, I couldn't say off-hand. No 'urry." 
 Presently he seems to think he has been asked a question, which is 
 not the case, and goes on : "What Bones ? Why, OUT Bones, on the 
 premises. Whose Bones did you think ? We're the only house with 
 any Bones." 
 
 The reason we have interleaved these fragmentary scraps of 
 interviews, is our wish that you should not be blind to the impres- 
 sion Old Jane produced on casual visitors at Charley Street. Dur- 
 ing the first fortnight, when Mrs. Gaisford was still in evidence in 
 nurse's costume, she was obviously an invalid, though not incapaci- 
 tated. When Mrs. Gaisford tore herself away with tears, vowing 
 she would never have such a happy time again, the old lady seemed 
 really on her way to as much health and strength as her eighty- 
 six years could be expected to allow. Doctors and nurse alike 
 thought that the careful systematic routine of the Hospital had 
 had a preservative character, and that her physique was really in 
 better form than if it had had to endure the dangers and exhaus- 
 tions of a normal life. Mrs. Gaisford (whose strained relations 
 with her patient had died a natural death) was perfectly right in 
 her surmise that if the brain recovered she would have nothing 
 the matter with her. She was so well, when the nurse went, that 
 she was much distressed in her mind about what gratuity she 
 should give her, and borrowed a sovereign of Alice (to be repaid 
 by her shadowy relatives), which Mrs. Gaisford accepted with 
 gratitude and promptly brought back to Alice, who gave her a kiss 
 instead. 
 
 Morally, she was sweet-tempered and tractable. She complained 
 much of her inability to use her hands; though in truth their 
 resumption of vitality was far more rapid than could have been
 
 440 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 anticipated. Her general attitude of mind and feeling seemed to be 
 that which sometimes follows on an overwhelming shock ; an equable 
 acquiescence in an existence that had to be completed, accepting 
 slight temporary interests as they accrued, but without anything 
 that could be interpreted as joy or sorrow. The nearest approach 
 to the former was discernible in her intense love for Alice; while 
 the latter had completely permeated the whole atmosphere of her 
 existence even as a fog is uniformity with one incident only, a 
 disc of sun that is one spot in an expanse. Alice was the sun in 
 this case; and, as was natural, she grew very fond of the poor 
 old wreck; and strove always to bear in mind that she must needs 
 think of her, not as ancestral, but as a contemporary. Her old 
 mind, she remembered, was twenty-six, not eighty-six. 
 
 The impression produced on introduction was that of a pretty, 
 very old lady, with very white hair and most picturesque wrinkles, 
 but little fallen away in the lower part of the face. She had a 
 good deal of snow-white eyebrow; none of the sternness of face so 
 often associated with old age the expression either negatively 
 sweet as in sculptured effigies, or more actively breaking into what 
 Charles called a submissive smile. There was something about 
 her that made it most difficult for him to think of her as having 
 been the wife of that odd old Life Student at the Royal Academy. 
 But this very something quite explained why Verrinder had never 
 faltered in his life-long vigil ; why he had thought that any chance, 
 however small, of any slightest revival, was still the best chance 
 left for him on earth. 
 
 The slaves that we are of the matter that encloses us ! Think of 
 that one undetected contusion and all it meant ! 
 
 So long a time passed at Charley Street without any hint of an 
 allusion to the Luttrells and the story about Cousin Becky and the 
 ring, that both Charles and Alice began to feel afraid that it might 
 never revive in the old lady's mind. They did not like to make 
 open attempts to stir up her memory and put her again upon 
 narrating it, for fear that in the attempt to recall it her recollec- 
 tion should become confused. They felt that the more sponta- 
 neously she returned to it, the better the chance of a clear and 
 connected narrative. 
 
 "Much better not fidget her," said Sir Rupert. "If it doesn't 
 occur yet awhile it doesn't the least follow that it won't be as clear 
 when it comes. Give her time. But I don't see why you shouldn't 
 suggest it. Why not take her on a visit to the old house? Ten 
 chances to one it would all come back I"
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 441 
 
 This was asked by Sir Rupert on more than one occasion, and 
 the last time he asked it Alice, who was keeping well in touch 
 with Harley Street by making afternoon-tea there nearly every day, 
 paused with the great medico's second lump of sugar in the tong* 
 to reply: "Because it is so awfully grisly." And she went as far 
 as she dared (for fear of spilling the tea) towards acting a shudder. 
 Peggy did it for her, being free from tea-cups. Then she enlarged 
 upon the grisliness. 
 
 "Just fancy, Dr. Jomson! she's never been in that house since 
 she married, and there's the room her father painted in, and she'll 
 be able to tell which her bedroom was, and where they sat in the 
 evening, and all sorts of things." 
 
 "And why shouldn't she?" 
 
 "Isn't he opaque, Mother Peggy? Well then because I should 
 burst, you stupid man. Can't you see?" 
 
 "Of course Alice would burst. I can quite see that. I should, 
 myself!" It was Peggy who said this. 
 
 "Of course you would, darling," replied her husband, "but I 
 thought Alice was rolled steel plates." 
 
 "So I am, as a general rule. But there are limits even to rolled 
 steel plates." Rupert takes up a brutal attitude. 
 
 "If you do burst, what does it matter ?" says he. On which Alice 
 says then she'll burst. "I'm always ready," she adds, "to sacrifice 
 myself and jump into holes, like Thingummybob !" Marcus Cur- 
 tius, possibly. 
 
 Peggy thought to herself she would really like to come too, if the 
 truth were told, and said so. Curiosity is a powerful incentive. 
 But Alice ruled Peggy out, affectionately. 
 
 "Don't you see, darling, the fewer there are, the better for the 
 chances ! / think only me and Mr. Charley " 
 
 "Very well, dear; only you and Mr. Charley." 
 
 "You'll see he'll think so too." For Alice had no sooner ex- 
 cluded Peggy than she felt sorry for her, and wasn't sure. So she 
 built in a moral support. But Lady Johnson's mind had wandered 
 from the point, and she was thinking to herself: "If Alice would 
 only drop 'Mr. Charley' there might be a chance !" For the use of 
 this prefix to her brother's name was a constant affirmation and 
 register of the way in which Alice thought of herself : she was still 
 the little girl with the beer-jug, and he was her saviour from a 
 hideous might-have-been that ran alongside of her as she lived. 
 As long as she had this idea and was scheming other schemes for 
 Charles's happiness, and as long as he was nursing his belief in 
 his own nullity, and watching for a human perfection, who was to
 
 442 'ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 claim Alice on his merits why, there simply was no chance! If 
 she would only once call him Charley without the 'Mr' ! 
 
 But there was consolation too in the assurance with which Alice 
 said, "He's sure to look in for me, and you'll see if he doesn't say 
 exactly the same as I do"; and also in Charles's voice, when he 
 came an hour later, saying in the passage below : "Miss Kavanagh 
 here, Handsworth? Is your Aunt Alice-for-short here, Juicy?" 
 the first form of the question making a parade of unconcern, the 
 second containing an audible caress. 
 
 "Yes, Uncle Charley, and she wants you directly. How you 
 scratch ! It's settled you're to take old Mrs. Verrinder to-morrow at 
 three-thirty to your Studio. To see your pictures and to see all 
 over the house. And she's not to be flustered for fear she shouldn't 
 teil about her Cousin Becky's first ball." 
 
 Charles, as he went upstairs partly towed by Miss Lucy the pre- 
 dominant, thought to himself: "A hundred and thirty years 
 ago!"
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 OLD JANE'S VISIT TO HER HOME OF SEVENTY YEARS AGO. A PEEP INTO 
 THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. WHO THE GHOST WAS, UNDER THE LIT- 
 TLE DANCING FIGURE. HOW LAVINIA SAT IN THE CHAIR AGAIN 
 
 As Miss Lucy had said it, it was no use contesting the point. 
 When Charles arrived in the drawing-room, he found that that 
 dictatrix was correct in the main; only, she had herself fixed the 
 date, which had not been spoken of. The final decision was 
 sometime next week. Peggy would come and drive Alice and Mrs. 
 Verriiider down, and go on herself. Oh no ! she wouldn't come in ! 
 Now she thought of it she saw Alice was right. But Juicy might 
 go she wasn't like a grown-up person. And she was sharp, and 
 would do to recollect everything. Juicy pocketed the affront to her 
 dignity in consideration of the concession that accompanied it. 
 
 And thus it was settled, after the lapse of a long lifetime, that 
 
 Katharine Verrinder, nee , should re-enter the house she 
 
 passed her youth in the house she left, more than sixty years ago, 
 a headstrong young girl, probably madly in love with her equally 
 infatuated companion. 
 
 Charles and Alice discussed, on their way back to Charley Street 
 that evening, whether it would be best to tell her that the house 
 had been identified by her husband, when at work in the Painting- 
 School with Charles, or simply to take her to see his pictures, and 
 leave her to find it out. If she did not, they could tell after. So 
 they decided on the latter. When they told her of the projected 
 expedition, she showed no surprise, taking it equably as she did all 
 things now. There was a little stress laid on her readiness to go, 
 but both her hearers imputed it to a desire to seem courteously 
 anxious to see Charles's pictures. 
 
 "You know, I daresay," she said, "that my dear husband was a 
 painter. So is my father." 
 
 She knew, or had known that her father was long dead, with the 
 rest of her story. But she was not able to maintain her grasp of 
 the facts, with the exception of the one that absorbed and super* 
 seded all others, her husband's death. That was never absent. 
 
 "I used always to be in Studios once. Where did you say yours 
 was, Mr. Heath \" 
 
 443
 
 444 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "In X Street, not very far from Soho Square." 
 
 "Oh, but I know! I ought to know for that was where my 
 father lived. At number seven. What is your number?" 
 
 "Number forty." 
 
 "Quite up the street. But we might go to look at the outside of 
 my father's house. He is dead you know ?" She had remembered 
 that she knew he was dead, but not who had told her. "Perhaps 
 they would let us just look in the new people. I should so like 
 my dear Cynthia to see over it. My darling Cynthia !" Image 
 to yourself Alice sitting at the feet of an old lady whom you at 
 once call a dear old lady, whose almost transparent hand smooths 
 over the mouse-coloured hair that has a touch of chestnut, and 
 then caresses the faintly marked cheek below. We want you to get 
 rid, as far as possible, of the idea of a patient in a hospital ward. 
 You may add a mental portrait of Charles, as this narrative has 
 made you think of him, with eyes of much contentment resting on 
 Alice through a pair of double-lensed spectacles a line through 
 the middle. Make him square and strong-built, and of an age you 
 might guess to be forty. Don't put too much gray in his brown 
 beard. Give him a meerschaum pipe. You may chance on a good 
 group, true enough to nature. We know we describe badly; and 
 shall think we have not succeeded at all in our description if it has 
 not produced an impression of something strange about the three 
 something that does not belong to a very pretty young woman, a 
 normal grandmother, and a good-looking husband in spectacles 
 fifteen years her senior, only that doesn't matter. The oddity of 
 it all, nevertheless, should hardly be within guessing range; for 
 (we ask you) could it have been guessed? 
 
 Alice kissed old Kate's hand, to cheer her up. "They'll show us 
 the house if we tell them," she says, and adds: "If they're not 
 Christians, at least they're human." But obviously it isn't 
 fair to condemn these hypothetical people unheard, and they 
 lapse. 
 
 "I daresay, dear Cynthia (I know you're Alice you know, but 
 I like to call you Cynthia) I daresay it will all seem very strange 
 to go back there now my father's dead." 
 
 "Very strange it must." 
 
 "I wonder if they've altered the place, the new people. If they 
 have, I don't think I shall like it. You see, I've been there nearly 
 all my life." 
 
 "I should think, Mrs. Verrinder," Charles says, "that what will 
 strike you most will be the way the whole neighbourhood has been 
 built up."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 445 
 
 "Ah, yes ! I daresay they've built all over those pretty Padding- 
 ton fields where we used to walk John and I. I shouldn't 
 wonder." 
 
 Alice said to Charles afterwards: "When she talks like that it's 
 you and me that want to cry. She goes on quite quietly." And 
 Charles said: "She only feels here provisionally, I suppose!" To 
 which Alice replied : "Something of that sort, and it's not to last." 
 
 When the carriage called with Lady Johnson and her eldest 
 daughter in it, to drive Alice and that odd old Mrs. Verrinder to 
 No. 40 X Street, the old lady walked downstairs quite by her- 
 self; and we suspect (for we have only surmise to guide us about 
 the working of old Kate's mind) that she only accepted assistance 
 into the carriage in order not to hurt Lucy's feelings, who offered 
 it. This young person conceived of herself as in charge of the 
 expedition, and responsible for the log-book. If she had been 
 scheming to write a History of My Own Times and leave out noth- 
 ing, she could not have been more attentive and watchful. 
 
 She gave the old lady a good deal of information about the build- 
 ings and places they passed, which might well have puzzled a 
 clearer mind, assigning to Regents Park and the Church in Lang- 
 ham Place dates anterior to the Stuarts ; whereas, they had no exist- 
 ence, or very little, till Old Jane's had practically ceased. Presently 
 the latter closed her eyes, perhaps quite bewildered, and did not 
 open them till the carriage stopped at No. 40. Then she looked out 
 and said : "I hope they will let us in." Alice said : "But this is Mr. 
 Charley's Studio this is number forty. We'll go to your old house 
 after. Or shall we go now? Stop, Hutchins! We'll go on to 
 number seven and come here after." For Alice continued a little 
 mixed in her mind about how much was known of the relations be- 
 tween No. 40 and the Verrinders. 
 
 "But this is our old house!" said Mrs. Verrinder, quite collect- 
 edly. "I know it by the corner, and those things there." She 
 pointed at the extinguishers on either side of the entrance. "You 
 know once there were no street-lamps, before we were born, and 
 the running footmen used those to put their torches out." Alice 
 hesitated. Peggy and Miss Lucy looked at one another. None was 
 so quick to solve the mystery as the old lady herself. 
 
 "I see, darling Cynthia," she said, "they've changed the numbers. 
 It's the very same kouse. Now how strange that does seem!" It 
 did. 
 
 Lady Johnson drove away to her Institution: have we ever 
 mentioned it ? It was a home for the Children of Drunken Parents,
 
 446 AUCE-FOE-SHOET 
 
 and had been in the newspapers several times for interfering with 
 the liberty of the subject. But the subjects' parents disappointed 
 their backers by always coming to the scratch filthily drunk. 
 Peggy was driven off, thinking of the Drunken Parent who had 
 been carried out half-dead between those extinguishers, so many 
 years ago now; and how, had Eupert only chanced (even then) 
 to come across the old lady who had just passed in, there might 
 still have been a measure of life left for her and her husband, who 
 would not then have needed to play fast and loose with chloroform. 
 Presently she got to the Institution, and forgot it all in her delight 
 at a new male refugee of four and a half, who was being washed 
 for the first time in his life, and making statements about which 
 of the attendants and visitors he could foight. "What very nice 
 chunky children inebriates do contrive to have sometimes!" she 
 said. 
 
 And Katharine Verrinder stood on the threshold of the house 
 she left near seventy years ago! There was something so creepy 
 in the reality of the place, the actuality of the Old Jane who had 
 come out as Young Kate, that Alice felt quite sick and dizzy as 
 she thought of it. She must talk and ask questions for relief. 
 Which was the dining-room in Kate's time? This on the right. 
 But the big room along the passage was really the finest room in 
 the house shouldn't we go in and see it? Alice said yes but 
 hadn't we better do that when Mr. Charley had given us a cup of 
 tea upstairs in the Studio? Yes suppose he did and then we 
 could come down after. 
 
 Mrs. Verrinder did not seem much impressed with Charles's 
 pictures, possibly not so much because they were not good pictures, 
 as because they were not of any school she had been familiar with 
 in her youth. She constantly lost sight of what she would per- 
 ceive at once after a moment's thought, simply because it was not 
 humanly possibly to be always on the watch for contingencies 
 evolved by a negative, for that was what the blank in her life pre- 
 sented to her. It was not like keeping a term of imprisonment in 
 mind. That would have been a tangible fact, however monotonous 
 and however difficult to assign its duration. She had stopped 
 suddenly and begun again like a clock, and the pause was mere 
 vacuum. So when she said to Charles that his work was a little 
 like young Mr. Haydon's, she spoke as taking it for granted that 
 Mr. Haydon might still be at work in the next street, for anything 
 that appeared to the contrary. When Charles said: "Benjamin 
 Robert Haydon ?" as a question, she replied : "I think his name is 
 Benjamin." They allowed things of this sort to pass, as much as
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 447 
 
 possible; there was no object in constantly reminding her of the 
 terms she had to live on. 
 
 The interest revived seemed to act more as a stimulant to vitality 
 than as a source of pain, and this was a great relief to Alice. She 
 soon saw that anything like a break-down on the old lady's part 
 was not to be apprehended, and even did not hesitate to suggest an 
 inspection of the rooms upstairs. Charles said they were full of 
 work-people, doing stained glass. This rather excited her curiosity, 
 and the ascent was made. Some young men who were painting 
 quarries in one upper room were rather astonished when a pictur- 
 esque old white-headed person looked in and said: "This is my 
 bedroom." 
 
 She told, fragmentarily, how the Luttrell family to whom the 
 house had belonged at the time it was built had squandered, gam- 
 bled away, or sold, all their property; until at last what was left 
 of it, chiefly this house and some farms in Yorkshire, was the sole 
 property of the only survivor of the family, by name Miss Rebecca 
 Luttrell, who had let the house to her father. "We were very 
 intimate with her, John and me," she said, "and she tried to make 
 it up with my father. But, ah, dear me ! how obstinate he was !" 
 "She," of course, was Cynthia's "cousin Becky." 
 
 They were coming slowly down from the attics, and passing the 
 room the Miss Prynnes had slept in, when Mrs. Verrinder stopped 
 and said: "We used always to call this room Aunt Esther's room. 
 She was Mrs. Greville Kaimes, whose husband was killed in a duel. 
 It made a great talk but I told you all this before 2" she stopped 
 suddenly. "Only I can't recollect when." 
 
 "It was at the Hospital, dear Kate. When you were in such pain 
 with your head. No wonder you don't recollect !" 
 
 "I remember I remember, darling Cynthia." She went slowly 
 down the stairs, saying at intervals, "I remember. Yes, in the 
 'Ospital." For she always said "'Ospital," as we daresay you have 
 noticed many old ladies do. 
 
 When they got back to the Studio, she sat down to rest, but 
 seemed marvellously little fatigued marvellously to Alice and 
 Charles, for they could not help imagining that the long abey- 
 ance or semi-extinction of the system must have involved decay. 
 It was an assumption ; all the medical authorities took the opposite 
 view, and inclined to the belief that if she was not already stronger 
 than she would have been in a normal life, she would ultimately 
 become so. But, of course, there was nothing in itself extraordi- 
 nary in an old woman of eighty-six walking upstairs, and return- 
 ing, and talking all the while.
 
 448 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 "My head aches a little, but not to hurt," she said when they 
 had settled down. "Yes, that's right, put a cushion behind my 
 head." She sat in the armchair that has appeared once or twice 
 in this story, with her eyes closed, seeming to like talking. 
 
 "What was it made me speak about the duel ?" 
 
 "You thought I was Cynthia Luttrell, dear, you know!" Alice 
 as she said this felt terribly responsible lest she should break the 
 thread of memory. "Then you began to tell me how much the real 
 Cynthia's cousin Becky had talked, and the strange story she 
 had told." 
 
 "The real Cynthia's cousin? And all the while you are ?" 
 
 She paused with her delicate old hand pressed across her eyes, to 
 shut out the world and let her think. Alice said: "And all the 
 while I was Alice Kavanagh. I'll close this shutter; then it won't 
 glare." She did so; while the old lady murmured: "Alice Kava- 
 nagh Alice Kavanagh I can't make it out now." Alice, remem- 
 bering that she had once before got into confusion with her name, 
 tried to turn her from it. 
 
 "And all the while / was Alice Kavanagh. But you said you 
 would tell about Cousin Becky another time." 
 
 "So I did, dear Cynthia. Only it's all very odd! But never 
 mind! Come and sit down here and touch me, and I'll tell it all 
 now as I recollect it. Dear me, how clear it does all come back !" 
 
 We must caution you that the story as she told it was not con- 
 secutive like the following. But it would be purposeless to record 
 pauses and breaks that you can imagine, perhaps better than we 
 can tell them. 
 
 "Old Becky ! Now isn't it strange to think, dear, that my father 
 painted her portrait in this very room, and I sat here, just a mere 
 girl wanting really to go away to John Verrinder, who was at 
 work in the big room downstairs. We called it the gallery. Mr. 
 Haydon wanted to put in a skylight, and paint a picture exactly the 
 size of the wall. . . . And they made me mimic you doing your 
 hair, to amuse them. You know what I mean, darling; I mean 
 mimic the real Cynthia ah, yes! dead and gone long now, poor 
 child! perhaps. . . . 
 
 "I remember it all quite clearly, like yesterday. Something set 
 Becky off telling about her great-uncle's queer will. I hope I shall 
 remember this part all right. But it's difficult! I think though 
 it was something like this: 
 
 "Old Sir Cramer left the Vixencroft property it was only a 
 small farm or two in Yorkshire, and a lot of moorland, to his 
 wife for life; and afterwards to any female descendant of his that
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 449 
 
 was in possession of a certain family diamond after his widow's 
 death. If it was not in possession of a female descendant, either 
 legitimate or illegitimate, that didn't matter, it was to go to the 
 School, at Blaydon, where he was educated. . . . 
 
 "You may fancy, dear, how all the females of the family longed 
 to get possession of that diamond, because though Vixencroft was 
 small, still it was landed property, and meant a safe income of 
 some two hundred a year not bad, you know ! When the old man 
 was on his deathbed, the son, the Sir Cramer who was your 
 cousin Becky's uncle, persuaded him to have the diamond placed 
 in a ring with a lot of other stones; and he himself arranged the 
 order of the stones. He told his father if he did not do this, 
 there would be a dispute about the identity of the diamond. Of 
 course, he was right. But where he was such a cunning fox was 
 that he arranged the stones so that the initials made his wife's 
 name. . . . 
 
 "The old man had absolute faith in his son, and as he felt him- 
 self failing, shifted all matters more and more into his hands. 
 He left all the property that was not entailed to his widow uncon- 
 ditionally. But (so Becky thought) he must have had some un- 
 easiness about whether some previous woman wasn't really his 
 wife, who might have walked in and made some legal trouble. 
 Anyhow, he seemed to have an idea that he could secure his daugh- 
 ter's inheriting Vixencroft by this expedient about the ring. When 
 his widow died, which was not so very long after he did, she had 
 never given the ring to Esther Kaimes which is what Becky sup- 
 posed he meant her to do and the ring wasn't to be found. You 
 understand that Esther was Sir Cramer's half-sister, and very 
 much younger than he. It was her mother's marriage-lines that 
 might have been flawed, not his." 
 
 Some difficulty in clearing this up caused delay in the story 
 here. To spare the teller, Charles suggested the point should be 
 waived. It wasn't necessary to understand all the motives for a 
 crazy clause in a will. There had been thousands of wills crazier 
 than this. So Old Jane continued, occasionally mimicking the 
 manner of the original teller of the story, perhaps involuntarily. 
 Evidently it was all very vivid to her. 
 
 "Well! Esther Kaimes (she was Greville Kaimes's wife) sus- 
 pected her brother of having appropriated the ring and that it was 
 really the one on his wife's finger. The order of the stones was 
 named to identify it, in the Will. But it did not seem to tally 
 with this ring, which certainly must have been set especially for 
 Lady Luttrell. Its initials made her name, you see!"
 
 450 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "My ring is like that," said Alice, but Charles contrived to hint 
 silence. Miss Lucy sat absorbing the story with almost savago 
 intensity. 
 
 "Oh, that's funny! Well but I must be fatiguing you . . . 
 Well then ! I'll go on. Lady Luttrell never would show the whole 
 ring together, and there was some hitch about one of the initials. 
 She always managed to baffle attempts to count the stones fairly. 
 But Esther felt sure it was the ring, because of the splendid dia- 
 mond, and that her brother, whom she hated, had really stolen it in 
 his father's lifetime. Becky supposed that her aunt, who was very 
 vain, had persuaded him to let her wear it or perhaps he thought 
 it really was safest so, as no one could possibly suspect when it 
 was shown so publicly. Anyhow (so Becky thought), Esther 
 Kaimes must have made up her mind to attack her sister-in-law 
 about it the first time they were together with a lot of people. 
 
 "That was the bit of the story that excited me and John so. 
 Because old Becky was an eye-witness and now it's over seventy 
 years ago! Just fancy! One almost shudders to think of it." A 
 thought passed through Alice's mind equivalent to: If this old 
 lady is shuddering to think of it (being herself, so to speak, sixty 
 years ago) what must / be now, nearly twice as far on from the 
 event? It was not an idea that could be formulated, and it dis- 
 solved. Old Jane went on after a moment's pause. 
 
 "It was like this. Becky was a girl of sixteen and was to come out 
 at a grand ball at the Cramer Luttrells', at our old house, you know, 
 
 in X Street. ... To be sure, darling Cynthia, I had quite 
 
 forgotten this house, of course. Ah, dear ! . . . Well ! Becky was 
 to come out and she danced all the evening, minuets and things; 
 not this horrid new waltzing there was nothing then like it ! And 
 there was a young gentleman she danced a great deal with, and he 
 told her on the stairs he should dream about her for weeks, and she 
 never saw him again! Do you know I almost cried, with her sit- 
 ting there as single as you are yourself, my dear, and looking like 
 an old marquise! . . . John had to keep her to the point, or I 
 believe she would have gone on talking till now about that young 
 man she told us who he was, and I've forgotten a nephew of 
 Sir Eichard Steele's, I think. . . . 
 
 "Where was I? Oh, your cousin Becky! Well, it was near the 
 end of the ball, and she could see daylight coming through the 
 little skylight in the ceiling, when Esther Kaimes she called her 
 'Mistress Esther Kaimes'; wasn't it funny? suddenly cried out: 
 'A wager a wager! His Lordship wagers a hundred guineas that 
 no one in this room hath a ring showing ten sorts of stone, one
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 451 
 
 several stone to each setting.' And then Becky saw Lady Lut- 
 trell, her aunt, close her hand tightly, and thrust it in the bosom 
 of her dress. But it was Lord Ferrars of Toft, a great man at 
 the Court, who had laid the wager, and every lady in the room had 
 to show her ring it could not be avoided. Becky said she saw Sir 
 Cramer scowling at his sister he had an evil face, and was a man 
 of ungovernable temper an evil man who had killed many an 
 opponent in duels; for he was one of the best swordsmen of his 
 time. But for all his anger, the counting of the jewels on each 
 lady's finger went on, till it came to his wife. Then he himself 
 drew her ring off, and held it up, saying to Lord Ferrars : 'See you, 
 my Lord ! I will not allow this ring out of my possession, even to 
 your Lordship. But I will count over the stones, that you shall 
 see !' And he counted round them, clearly showing thirteen stones, 
 and three occurred twice, so that the ring really had ten stones. 
 But (and, my dear, I am trying to give old Becky's own words the 
 best I can no ! it doesn't hurt my head) Lord Ferrars, before lie 
 would pay over his hundred pounds, would have these stones named, 
 so he should know that each one was truly a precious stone and 
 no counterfeit. And there was one which stood for an 7 in the 
 name, and my Lord would have it this was but a bit of ivory and 
 no precious stone at all !" 
 
 "If I can only keep my head !" thought Alice to herself. There 
 was the very ring on her finger! How doubt it? But the trouble 
 was, to keep speculation in abeyance and secure the whole story. 
 A false step a wrong word might spoil it all. Still, the old 
 lady had warmed to the narrative, and weak as her voice was, she 
 showed no immediate signs of collapse. She went on, giving the 
 impression that she was mimicking, cleverly, but in a weak voice, 
 the speech and accent of the original narrator. 
 
 "Then Mistress Kaimes laughed out loud before them all : 'Your 
 Lordship is right!' she cried out so that all could hear, 'and none 
 should know it better than I, for that ring is my mother's, and 
 none of Phyllis's; for all my brother has set the stones so that it 
 shall seem hers alone.' Then she told out the whole story as she 
 guessed it, shrewdly enough; she was a voluble wench, and full of 
 malice against her brother. He let her finish, and then said : 'This 
 is a fine tale for the small hours of the morning ! I will be account- 
 able for all that relates to my father's property and his devisings to 
 whoever has a right to call me in question, but in the right time 
 and place. I know well how to answer any man who does so, who 
 has no such right.' But his Lordship cried out: 'Peace ! peace! let's 
 have no bloodshed over a light wager, to amuse a lady.' But he
 
 452 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 did not catch that a family feud was in it, and thought only of 
 the ring. 'Let me but look at it in my own hands,' says he, 'and 
 if the two emeralds, or two sapphires, are of two shades, they 
 shall count as separate stones, and Mistress Kaimes shall have 
 the hundred.' Then Sir Cramer, keeping close to hand, be sure! 
 let him handle the ring. But just in that moment there came a 
 great riot from the card-room above where Mr. Greville Kaimes, 
 Esther's husband, was at quadrille with others, and play had run 
 high; and then angry altercation on the stairs. Sir Cramer would 
 snatch back the ring, but his Lordship held to it, and by a chance 
 each relinquished it to the other, at the same moment, and it fell. 
 Becky was close and saw all that happened." 
 
 This had been a long spell of narrative, with only trifling inter- 
 ruptions omitted, and Alice begged the speaker to rest. "I want 
 to get it all told," said she. "But give me some tea." After a few 
 sips, she resumed. 
 
 "Your cousin remembered it all so clearly how she saw Lady 
 Luttrell standing just under the little figure dancing on the wall in 
 the middle of the room, and how when the ring fell, she saw Mrs. 
 Kaimes step quickly to the place and stoop, and then say: 'I 
 thought it was that!' and make believe she had mistaken a mark on 
 the wall. But Becky was certain she had picked tip the ring, and 
 when none could find it elsewhere, she told her aunt, Lady Lut- 
 trell, she thought so for a surety. 
 
 " 'But, oh,' said old Becky and, my dears, I can't tell you how 
 strange it was to sit there and hear that old, old lady talking about 
 it as if it was all yesterday just think of it seventy years ago ! 
 'But, oh !' she said, 'I was frightened and dumb, as you may guess, 
 with terror when I heard the shouting and the oaths upon the 
 stairs, and the anger of the gentlemen in their drink, and then a 
 hush for a moment with a sound of steel in it for swords were 
 drawn, even in the house itself/ 
 
 "But no blood was shed then, for when that sound came, Sir 
 Cramer, who was by the door, shouted aloud : 'Let no one leave this 
 room. That ring is on my Lady's finger again before any one 
 leaves this room.' And then he threw open the door, and as he went 
 out I heard the clash grow louder, and the door close upon it, and 
 then it stopped and there was only Sir Cramer's voice saying: 
 'Put them up, gentlemen, put them up! If you will meet, the 
 Park is near enough to hand.' Why we heard was that the other 
 door was still open, and through it my Aunt Esther slipped out, 
 bearing, I had little doubt, the ring." 
 
 Keep well in mind that all this was delivered by Old Jane as a
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 453 
 
 verbatim report of the narrator's words. Her hearers could dis- 
 tinguish this clearly; so marked was the old lady's dramatic power 
 she was literally playing the part of old Becky. 
 
 "Then back comes Sir Cramer, fuming mightily, for he was 
 none the calmer for this encounter in the passage. 'They would 
 not stand me down,' says he to his Lordship. 'I hava sent them to 
 make a finish in the Park,' and Oh! my dears! how my blood ran 
 cold, me a young girl ! Then my aunt must speak a minute with 
 Sir Cramer and then she points to where Aunt Esther had gone 
 out. For, my dears, I had spoken a word in her ear. And off goes 
 Sir Cramer after her, like mad. 
 
 "'There will be bloodshed over this, Lady Luttrell," says his 
 Lordship. And then all the guests hurried off, and there was call- 
 ing for carriages in great confusion. But for me, I ran for my 
 room and held my ears in my pillow, to hear no more, or as little 
 as might be." 
 
 Old Jane stopped short, and so entirely had her mimetic power 
 (subdued, of course, by feebleness, but entirely true to art) carried 
 her hearers with her, that it almost seemed to them as though they 
 really heard the narrative of long ago pause and vanish into the 
 past. It is useless for us to try to make this part of our tale seem 
 probable, for nothing analogous to it comes into common life. But 
 reason from like to like. Picture to yourself the best actor you 
 know, retelling a tale of his grandfather's, heard in his child- 
 hood; and then throw in the fact that all that Old Jane told she 
 felt she had heard almost yesterday, and you may be ready to admit 
 that we may have reported this entirely exceptional narrative with- 
 out exaggeration. 
 
 Alice and Charles were not a little alarmed about their old 
 charge. She was shaking a good deal from the excitement; and 
 considering her fragile appearance, and all the circumstances of 
 the case, we must admit it was rather terrifying. She had not 
 talked so much, all told, since her revival. 
 
 "Let me alone," she said, almost inaudibly, "I shall come all to 
 rights if I lie quiet." Charles recollected something opportunely. 
 "There's a bottle of the dear old Governor's precious old port," 
 said he, "in the bottom of the cupboard here been here for ages !" 
 Out it came and was uncorked in a twinkling. The old lady did 
 not protest against it at all. "Oh, no ! I like port," said she. And 
 Charles and Alice and Lucy sat quietly by while the magic of 
 the nectar worked. Presently Old Jane drew a long breath, and 
 epoke. 
 
 "Yes! I'm glad of that. Now I shall be able to go and see the
 
 454 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 old ballroom, where it all happened. Only think what a time ago 
 it must be, by now !" 
 
 As they went down, a vision and an echo passed through Alice's 
 mind. A vision of the dazzling crowd in turmoil and confusion on 
 the stairs of tie-wigs and long-skirted coats magnificent with 
 gold and silver lace of long-lappeted waistcoats of jewelled hilts 
 of real rapiers, no mere court swords, but deadly implements of 
 death of knee-breeches, coloured silk stockings, shoes resplendent 
 with buckles faces flushed with drink! An echo of loud accusa- 
 tion, of licentious speech and furious oath, of strong lungs over- 
 bearing the voice of the peacemaker, scarcely heard in the chaotic 
 din; and then when they reached the ballroom, now Herr Bauer- 
 stein's picture gallery, another vision of the still more dazzling 
 throng of dancers of tall toupees and powder and patches of 
 flashing diamonds and painted fans of wide-spread skirts and 
 high-heeled shoes. Another echo; of women's voices and laughter; 
 of wit and repartee not altogether unstimulatecl by drink, of the 
 music of Bach and Kameau. It was all gone now, and Herr Bauer- 
 stein was having a row with a picture-frame maker. 
 
 "I shall not pay you one penny. It was a fine old Italian frame, 
 
 and it is ruined. Before I pay you one penny I will see you . 
 
 Ah, I beg your pardon, Mr. Heath, but it is trying to have a fine 
 old frame ruined with a bad gold." 
 
 The old lady was looking wistf ully round at the room. "Oh dear !" 
 said she, "they have altered it so. All the figures have gone off 
 the walls, and the ceiling is all changed. But the chimney is the 
 same, with the wreaths on it. And the fireplace and I remember 
 the two doors, with the rounds over the top. And where John 
 Verrinder used to work to get the best of the light." 
 
 Alice noticed how, when she spoke of her husband at this date, 
 she always called him John Verrinder. It was the way she had 
 thought and spoken of him as her father's assistant. She took no 
 notice of the numerous pictures, and crossed over to the place 
 where Terpsichore had been. 
 
 "There was a little dancing figure up there," she said, 
 "and it was here old Becky said she saw her aunt pick up the 
 ring." 
 
 Mr. Bauerstein was interested in this: "I do not know of any 
 ring," he said. "No one has picked up a ring. I should have told 
 Mr. Pope, or Mrs. Corrigan." Charles explained. "This lady, Mrs. 
 Verrinder, lived in the house a good many years ago." This was 
 enough for Mr. Bauerstein to know, he said, and he waved himself 
 out of his intrusion with two fat hands outspread. But he re-
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 455 
 
 mained on, subject to this correction, and observed, interestedly. 
 Old Jane continued: 
 
 "And then she went out at that door." She turned round with 
 a revival on her of her recollection of old Becky's telling. <f You 
 know, we almost felt, John and I, that we could see it. She showed 
 us, against the folded screen, just how she saw Mrs. Kaimes stoop 
 and pick it up where it had rolled against the wall. It would have 
 been just here." It was then that Charles suddenly remembered 
 the person that he fancied he saw in that very place, who stooped 
 down to pick up his spectacles for him, and then vanished myste- 
 riously. It was so odd, that he had to make up his mind, provi- 
 sionally, that he didn't really recollect it, as a safeguard against 
 ghost-concession. It was long enough ago for that. But it got 
 still worse when Old Jane continued: "Miss Luttrell said her aunt 
 had an immense powdered toupee, like they used to wear at dress- 
 balls, and she saw it bob as she stooped, and she was afraid it would 
 fall forward. She showed us exactly. And it was just here the 
 little dancing figure was on the wall." 
 
 Charles felt quite uncomfortable as the old lady rose up from a 
 half -indication of the way old Becky had shown them exactly. But 
 give him time! He would find correct attitudes of mind enough, 
 if he only had time. As for his suddenly recollecting a misgiving 
 about that woman's hair, or hat, coming off, didn't that show 
 now how fanciful one was, and how little one could trust one's 
 etcetera ? 
 
 Alice, please observe, had the vaguest knowledge, gathered child- 
 wise, of this incident, which was talked of at the time, but not 
 fostered and encouraged later. It was sixteen years ago, and she 
 was a babe and suckling. 
 
 Mr. Bauerstein spoke to Charles under his breath, and asked him 
 if Mrs. Verrinder was the mother of the gentleman whose pictures 
 he bought. No ! she was his widow. Of course he wouldn't talk 
 about him to her. Of course not, but there was a picture with a 
 name on the back he had just heard Mrs. Verrinder mention. It 
 was in behind here, and he would get it out. 
 
 Alice explained to Old Jane, who seemed pleased. But she also 
 seemed embarrassed by whatever forced home to her mind that 
 Alice was not Cynthia Luttrell. She wanted her to be as much 
 Cynthia as possible not to be disfranchised. Still it would be 
 interesting to see if there was really any likeness. Her father 
 painted Cynthia three times. She wondered which it was. Much 
 the best was the round head and shoulders in a square frame. Oh, 
 dear! how strange it all was!
 
 456 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 Herr Bauerstein emerged from a contest with canvases, bearing 
 what was manifestly the round Cynthia in the square frame. He 
 held it out it was not very large at arm's length. He looked up 
 at Alice. It was, he said in German, not unlike the Fraulein. 
 It was not ; in fact, it was quite like enough to warrant Old Jane's 
 first confusion of identity not an astonishing likeness a sort 
 of family likeness. 
 
 The old lady herself was pleased that this should be so : she stood 
 justified in her own eyes. But what troubled her greatly was that 
 the picture had got so black. Young Mr. Mulready always told 
 John Verrinder her father's pictures would get black if he used 
 so much Megilp. But, oh dear! this was terrible in such a short 
 time! She had forgotten again but they did not remind her. 
 And at this moment Lady Johnson appeared, having called for 
 them in the carriage, and been hunting for them upstairs for hours. 
 Old Jane was beginning to give in; so it was just as well! There 
 was no room for Charles in the carriage. So he saw them off and 
 went back into the house. 
 
 He went upstairs to finish a pipe and think it over. And he 
 sat and thought in the dying light of the late afternoon. 
 
 It was all so strange so mercilessly strange, was how he thought 
 of it. The chance that brought him across old Verrinder, in his 
 studentship. The strange renewal of his memory of him almost 
 faded by the slight chance of his brother-in-law's attention being 
 caught by Old Jane, in a passing visit to Dr. Fludyer, at the 
 Asylum. The almost miraculous resuscitation; and last and 
 strangest, this thread one might almost say this cable, so strong 
 was it of tradition and its vivid drama of a hundred and thirty 
 years ago of the days of Watteau and Lancret almost the days 
 when Handel was writing to the order of Queen Anne when Sir 
 Godfrey Kneller was but just dead and Oliver Goldsmith but just 
 born. A pity, was it not, that this message handed down through 
 the ages, all but lost a thousand times, and only recovered by a 
 chance, had no better tale to tell than one of a scoundrel and a 
 thief, a betrayal of a father's trust, a brutal riot of drunken prof- 
 ligates and fools. "It was very Queen Anne," thought Charles, as 
 he sat and smoked in the twilight. "I suppose Jeff will be delighted 
 with his -protegee" 
 
 That brought back the memory of himself and Jeff hard at work 
 on the preservation of Terpsichore, and then naturally on what 
 he chose to think of as all those absurd stories that got hatched 
 up about the old house and its ghosts. He supposed Poggy-Woggy 
 would be triumphant over this coincidence about the woman with
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 457 
 
 the white head who got out of the room without their hearing. 
 Because, of course, it was clear enough that was only an halluci- 
 nation. It only lasted a few seconds; and, mind you, he had 
 dropped his spectacles. And wasn't it just about that time 
 that ? 
 
 And then he heaved a sigh, and gave up shaping the thought that 
 an abnormal excitement of mind, caused by the intrusion of 
 Lavinia Straker into his life, had made him not quite responsible 
 for what he did see and didn't see. He thought fit to forget that 
 Lavinia had not really done so. She accrued very soon after that, 
 certainly! But Charles wasn't playing fair in making her 
 responsible. 
 
 The image of Lavinia came and sat in the chair in the half- 
 light made his heart beat and his eyesight dim, for a moment. 
 Oh, what a fool he had been, in that infatuated past ! 
 
 Yet, if it were all to do again, would he act otherwise ? Surely ! 
 and that too even if he knew the thing he had now learned, in vain ; 
 that if a marriage of dissonant minds is to last, it must be in a 
 world where no strong temptation shall cross its path, and snap 
 the flimsy bond. His old chivalry came in, and forged excuses for 
 the image sitting in the chair. What right had he to make her 
 his yoke-fellow with so little warrant that both were prepared to 
 travel the same road at the same rate? . . . 
 
 And then, were they not happy very happy for a term? And 
 was she not his boy's mother? And now! He thought of how 
 there was, in some place of burial he should never see, a stone that 
 held her name, not his, and made no record of the life they shared. 
 And he held his mind resolutely closed, in his chivalry, against 
 all thought or speculation on what her other life had been. All 
 the blame of that he laid to the score of others; whom we are at 
 liberty to think may have been no worse than herself. 
 
 A sort of stupid idea crossed his mind of removing that chair 
 that brought her memory back into the other room; but he felt its 
 cowardice, and brushed it away with the tears he could not deny 
 the existence of. Besides, where would Alice sit next time she 
 came? The moment the image of Alice sat in the chair, the sun 
 shone again in Charles's heart, and the flowers bloomed, and it was 
 filled again with the singing of the birds. The eclipse had passed. 
 It was time to be off, and Alice would be at home. How Peggy 
 would have said, "You fool!" 
 
 But it did not occur to Charles that there was anything foolish 
 about his attitude. Alice was the best thing in the world, of 
 course; but as to what it would be to have to give her up why!
 
 458 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 sufficient for the day was the evil thereof! And was he not due 
 at his own table at seven-thirty, and Alice the same ? 
 
 As he was hurrying away he was stopped by Mr. Bauerstein to 
 tell him that the portrait of Phyllis Cartwright had been carefully 
 repaired and varnished. But there had been a mishap that fool 
 Braschi, the restorer, had cleaned one stone out of the ring before 
 he found out that it had been painted over the varnish, after the 
 picture had been finished some years. Mr. Bauerstein was very 
 serious and concerned about it. 
 
 "Can't be helped, I suppose!" said Charles, and started for 
 home.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 PSYCHICAL RESEARCH. HOW HERCULES OVERTOOK NESSUS. SIXTY-SIX 
 FOR THREE WICKETS. SHE MUST HAVE BEEN PRETTY ONCE 
 
 WHEN Charles walked up to the door there was Alice ready for 
 dinner, leaning on the parapet of the balcony, on the look-out. 
 Charles was very late. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Charley! Look alive!" 
 
 "How's Mrs. Siddons ? How's Eachel ?" Alice found no difficulty 
 in understanding that this was a compliment to old Jane's dra- 
 matic faculty. "She's gone to bed," she replied. "She won't 
 be any the worse." 
 
 "I hope not!" Charles is fishing for his latchkey with one foot 
 on the doorstep. Alice is so full of some topic she can't wait. 
 
 "Isn't this strange about the woman ?" 
 
 "It's uncommon strange about the ring. But which woman ?" 
 
 "/ had forgotten her! Mother Peg recollected it all in the car- 
 riage. The woman you and Mr. Jerrythought saw." 
 
 "I'm coming up." And Charles came up, and devoted himself to 
 pouring cold water over that woman and over Psychical Research 
 generally, except in so far as it threw doubts upon its own con- 
 clusions. In that aspect it took a respectable place among the 
 exact sciences. As for the ring, it got ignored for the moment. 
 
 However, he had relented to a certain extent by tobacco time, and 
 was prepared to admit that though no one of the No. 40 ghosts was 
 worthy of credence taken separately, the whole of them taken to- 
 gether deserved careful consideration with a view to their rejection. 
 He called this dealing with cumulative evidence. Alice treated his 
 Method disrespectfully. 
 
 "Now you're going on like the Legal Mind, Mr. Charley, and 
 talking a lot of nonsense you don't believa" The Legal Mind 
 was brother Robin, whom perhaps you recollect. He was gaining 
 laurels at the Bar. 
 
 "It's only my intense love of truth, dear Alice-for-short. It's so 
 strong I can't afford to run the risk of being mistaken. I prefer 
 to suspend judgment. So the old lady wasn't knocked up f ' 
 
 "She was very quiet all the way in the carriage. And when we 
 
 459
 
 460 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 got home I thought she would be just as well in bed. I'll go up 
 and see if she ate the boiled fowl." 
 
 When Alice came back, she was able to report that she had 
 done so; but had told Priscilla she didn't want any more and 
 would go to sleep. We record these trivial facts because we credit 
 you with being glad to know that Mrs. Verrinder was being prop- 
 erly attended to, and was comfortably asleep upstairs while Alice 
 and Charles were talking in the drawing-room. 
 
 "Now give me a cigarette," said Alice. "How many ghosts have 
 there been, all told, Mr. Charley?" 
 
 "One, your own little ghost, my dear. I mean the lidy with the 
 spots. You recollect her?" 
 
 "I'm not sure whether it's her I recollect, or being told of her 
 after. But oh yes! surely I recollect her. And my poor 
 mother!" Alice always flinches at this recollection and Charles 
 is sorry he has revived it. He goes on rapidly to his second ghost. 
 
 "Then you had another one. The red man with the long knife 
 on the stairs." 
 
 "I remember him plainly. I was quite ill with terror. He 
 wasn't exactly on the stairs, but in the passage nearer the area 
 door." 
 
 "Then there was the woman ghost Mrs. Jeff saw twice upstairs. 
 She pooh-poohs it now; but all I know is she wanted to take away 
 poor dear Jeff's irreproachable character about her, and then there 
 was the woman that got out that I saw. That I have no doubt 
 was an hallucination, because I saw her myself." 
 
 "Then whenever a disbelieving Thomas sees a ghost it's an 
 hallucination ?" 
 
 "Generally speaking, yes!" Charles is so extremely happy just 
 now that it is difficult to make out if he is in earnest. You see, 
 he has got Alice all to himself. Most evenings, there would be 
 Pierre or the old lady; but Pierre has been at a cricket-match, and 
 no doubt gone home with a friend to dinner ; and Old Jane is dream- 
 ing, perhaps, of the old days in the old house; having a surrep- 
 titious time maybe with John Verrinder, where he used to paint 
 to get the light. 
 
 "Was that all?" Alice asks. 
 
 "Unless you count an absurd fancy of Jeffs about a picture of 
 a man with a sword, that's all !" 
 
 "Well! that's one for you two for me two for Mrs. Jeff and 
 half a one for Mr. Jeff. Not a ghost say, a phenomenon. Five 
 and a half!" 
 
 "Well?"
 
 ALICE-F021-SHOKT 461 
 
 "Well! what more do you want?" 
 
 "I want the other half, to make up six." 
 
 "There now, Mr. Charley, that's just like you! You never can 
 be in earnest, for two minutes together." 
 
 "I'll be in earnest then, dear ! I don't think we've got quite all 
 the phenomena. There was a woman sitting in a chair and laugh- 
 ing at the Studio it was Pierre saw it." 
 
 "I never heard of that." 
 
 "You were at Miss Fortescue's at that particular time. I recol- 
 lect quite well." 
 
 "Tell me about it. Was nobody else in the room ?" 
 
 "Oh yes! There was besides myself Bauerstein, a friend of 
 his, and and Pierre's mother." Alice's face goes grave. She 
 throws away quite half the cigarette, and falls into her attitude 
 of concentration; her chin in her hands and her elbows on her 
 knees. She is seated on a very low chair at Charles's feet, which 
 he has deposited on a very high one. 
 
 "Of course Pierre was the merest baby. Was he frightened ?" 
 
 "He said he wasn't. He didn't seem so. I saw him looking, 
 looking at something; and afterwards he said it was this figure 
 sitting with her arms folded in the chair, and laughing at his 
 mother." 
 
 "What was she doing?" 
 
 "Talking to Mr. Bauerstein's friend, by the window." A cloud 
 has fallen on Charles. But they have spoken together often enough 
 about "her" for Alice to know that it is not caused only by Mrs. 
 Charles Heath's appearance in the conversation. Alice looks puz- 
 zled only for a few seconds. Then she sees it all. "Oh! Mr. 
 Charley," she says, "I wonder you didn't murder him!" 
 
 "I did, very nearly," said he. 
 
 "Mother Peg knows nothing about that " 
 
 "I never told her a word of it. Don't you tell her, Alice-for- 
 short darling, and I'll tell you. . . . Yes, dear; but I don't want 
 her to know, because she always thinks it was her fault we were 
 married; thinks it would have gone off, but for her." 
 
 "Very well, I won't tell. You tell me." Alice has quite for- 
 gotten the ghosts, and listens intently with tightly closed lips. 
 
 "I traced them to Spezzia, and caught him on the stairs of the 
 Hotel. They are funny stairs, that play you tricks, and you always 
 turn up in the wrong place, do what you will ! He managed to get 
 out at the back, while I came out at the front, goodness knows 
 how! However, I chased him out in the street and caught 
 him "
 
 462 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I half murdered him." 
 
 "Oh ! I'm so glad." Alice draws a great hreath of relief. 
 
 "Not quite, that time! And t'other time only three-quarters or 
 seven-eights like Mr. Lammle's friends." Charles has taken his 
 feet off the very high chair, and left Alice on the very low one. 
 He is walking about the room. Alice naturally wants to know 
 what "t'other time" was. Charles says is she quite sure she won't 
 mention a word of this to Peg. Alice says : "Honour bright !" 
 
 "Well ! he didn't half like the thrashing he'd had, and wanted a 
 duel with swords, like in The Corsican Brothers. Of course, I 
 said nothing would please me better." 
 
 "You ? Oh ! Mr. Charley ! you never used a sword in your life." 
 
 "Exactly. So I went to a great professor of Scherma, as the 
 Italians absurdly call fencing but then they are foreigners " 
 
 "Yes yes ! go on." 
 
 " and asked him how much he could teach me in a fortnight, 
 
 I never having handled a sword in my life. He said, through an 
 interpreter, who spoke English fluently: 'No usefulness. Not for 
 you.' And then added: 'I vite you coat?' He gave me a foil to 
 show my paces with, and put some chalk on the end of his own. 
 In a few seconds he had put a white spot exactly on every button, 
 >f my waistcoat, beginning at the top one and going down !" 
 
 "Good gracious me!" 
 
 <r 5Tes, he had. Then he told me all he could recommend was that 
 I should point my sword straight at my adversary and keep quiet. 
 I did so, and the excellent man was in such a hurry to murder 
 me, in addition to his other benefactions, that he rushed right on 
 to my abominable spike, and very nearly hurt himself seriously. 
 He was in hospital six weeks, I believe." 
 
 "And she nursed him, I hope?" 
 
 "My dearest little Alice-for-short, you think every woman as good 
 as yourself. No ! she didn't wait for him." 
 
 "Good God!" 
 
 "It's quite true! But, my dear little girl, I tell you she was 
 dead. This was some one else who came instead." Charles has 
 stopped walking about the room, and is standing by Alice, who has 
 got up off the very low chair during the narrative of the duel. 
 
 "And all this while, you poor dear Mr. Charley, you never told 
 anybody!" 
 
 "Why should I? Peg would have thought it was her fault I 
 know. And as for you, dear chick, I think you were out, but that's 
 as much as one could say."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 463 
 
 Alice's eyes are flashing, and she is fairly trembling with excite- 
 ment. "Oh ! it was too bad too bad !" she cries. "I can't help it. 
 She was horrible!" 
 
 "Oh! no gently, darling, gently!" 
 
 "Yes! she destroyed your life for you, and set you all adrift! 
 And let you keep her odious old mother from starvation you know 
 she did! And never so much as tried to see Pierre again. She 
 was an unnatural Beast!" 
 
 "No, no darling gently, gently ! Not so bad as that !" 
 
 "Don't care what you say, Mr. Charley!" says Alice, relieved 
 and calming down, "that's what she was. And now you'll never 
 get married again Mother Peg says so." Charles evades the 
 question. 
 
 "I'm much more interested about a little girl I know and her 
 offers than I am or ever shall be about myself." 
 
 "No Mr. Charley no ! It's no use your talking like that. If s 
 got nothing whatever to do with my having no offers worth con- 
 sidering. If it was the Emperor of China " 
 
 "Who is married at present, I believe." 
 
 "If it was the Emperor of China and he undertook to divorce 
 them all and become a Christian, I wouldn't! Not until I saw 
 you quite comfortably and happily settled with a really nice wife. 
 I wouldn't! I wouldn't! I wouldn't! so there!" 
 
 Perhaps nothing could have been more forcibly illustrative of 
 the false gamut in which the duet of these two was being played 
 than the little incident which followed. About the time of the 
 introduction of the Emperor of China into the conversation, Alice 
 and Charles were standing near enough to one another for her to 
 accentuate her declaration and enforce it by holding to the two 
 lappets of his coat-collar, which she had just brushed some tobacco- 
 ash off, for tidiness. Her doing this reacted somehow on the dra- 
 matic ensemble. It was a species of little ritual by the way, 
 performed to attest a solemn asseveration. Charles did not seem 
 to attach much weight either to the ritual or the asseveration. He 
 seemed to be thinking wistfully of something else, afar off, as he 
 smoothed over the soft mouse-coloured hair with a tinge of chest- 
 nut. For him, it still lay on the brow of the little girl with the 
 broken jug. It was that fact that made it seem natural and con- 
 secutive that Alice should put both her arms quite round his neck 
 and kiss his cheek. She was so sorry for him in his loneliness. 
 
 If it did occur to him (not that we believe it did) to say to 
 Alice : "Then, dear love, if I can secure you here, alive and continu- 
 ous, by not attaching to myself some odious eligible somebody else.
 
 464 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 then I won't I won't I won't. So there!" If this did occur to 
 him he brushed it away in favour of another thought. "If I am 
 really acting as an influence over this dear child, and the happiness 
 of her life, ought I not forthwith to marry Miss Everitt Collinson?" 
 This was the last selection of the council in Harley Street ; she was 
 even less popular with Charles than Lady Anstruther Paston- 
 Forbes had been. 
 
 We are convinced that there was one thought that never entered 
 into his mind the thought that what his heart called his old 
 wasted, thwarted life could ever be linked with this young new 
 one all the more because he prized and valued Alice almost above 
 everything else in the world. Yes! almost more than Peggy! It 
 seems to you and to us that this ought to have suggested an im- 
 proved way of looking at the whole matter, but it didn't. It is 
 strange but true that any utilisation of Alice's aifection for himself 
 as a stepping-stone to an almost inconceivable happiness, a rein- 
 statement of his old broken life by a love sweeter than any he had 
 ever known, would have seemed to him a disloyalty towards her 
 youth and inexperience. "Oh dear!" (we can fancy many a lady 
 saying) "if only men would mind their own affairs, and let us look 
 after ours!" 
 
 However, Charles was not without excuse for what would have 
 been mere officious altruism in others. He regarded Alice as a 
 charge entrusted to him by Fate. He had all the duties of a parent 
 towards her, and shrank (so to speak) from the appropriation of a 
 fund placed in his hands to his own purposes. He might have 
 thought (only we have no evidence that he even went that far) that 
 it would have been quite another matter if he had never made hay 
 of his own life. It was all his own fault. 
 
 It is almost needless to dwell on the fact that every manifesta- 
 tion of Alice's affection for him only emphasised the character his 
 mind had automatically given it. He did not say to himself that 
 the very freedom with which her arms went round his neck the 
 absolute unreserve with which her soft lips kissed his cheek fur- 
 nished a sufficient proof that her love for him was not "that sort" ; 
 and that she was, in effect, a daughter. He did not say it, but the 
 facts that might have made him speak passed speech by, and 
 settled in his soul in silence. 
 
 We are dwelling (to your disgust, we doubt not) on these points 
 because we really want to take you into our confidence about 
 Charles and Alice, and what they thought and felt. Never you 
 mind how we come to know these things! We answer for their 
 accuracy. Be content with that!
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 465 
 
 Charles rather laid stress upon his treatment of Alice as a very 
 little girl, and when she had kissed him as above narrated, merely 
 said: "Now the other side to make it even." By the time the bal- 
 ance was struck, Charles was beaming again. Alice had kissed the 
 cloud away. A sense of dismissal of the recent conversation 
 ensued. Charles glanced back for a resumption point, and had 
 to go a long way. 
 
 "Let's see, Miss Kavanagh! What was it you interrupted my 
 saying just now? Oh, about the ring " 
 
 "Just now ! Three hours ago ! But it is strange the strangest 
 thing of the whole turn out." 
 
 "It's all clear so far as how the diamond was worked in with 
 the other stones. Stick out your little pud." Alice complies. 
 There is the ring. There are the stones. And, as interpreted with 
 the help of that stray cabman, they certainly spell "dearest 
 Phyllis." 
 
 "Why," asked Alice, "did he go in for such a long string of 
 stones ? Dear would have been enough in all conscience !" Charles 
 shook his head with gravity. "It would have looked as if it had 
 been done after marriage, and referred to milliner's bills." He 
 took Alice's fingers in his, and pondered over the ring. For him, 
 it was on the little hand he had led her home by, to the extensive 
 basement with cellarage. 
 
 "Now, Alice-for-short, we can consider. So far, we're clear! 
 Except on the supposition of an undesigned coincidence. Of 
 course, it is possible, though not probable, that this ring is a ring 
 some one accidentally dropped in that celebrated beer-jug some 
 one who came in to look at the premises." 
 
 "Not so very improbable, compared to some of the expedients of 
 incredulity at bay." 
 
 "I beg your pardon I beg your pardon! It wasn't me. Well 
 now! how did this here ring get into that there beer-jug? that's 
 the point." 
 
 "I think I see. Mrs. Kaimes was frightened when the enraged 
 brother came after her, and dropped it in the beer. I suppose they 
 had beer at parties in those days. Then it got overlooked and was 
 left in the jug. Then the jug got used for common, and was 
 stood down by the side of the cask." 
 
 "Probability itself! And then when the Luttrell family cleared 
 out, their beer-cask and draught-jug were passed on as a sort of 
 tenant's fixtures." 
 
 "No, no, Mr. Charley, dear ! didn't you tell me ? only very likely 
 I've got the story all wrong."
 
 466 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 "Didn't I tell you what?" 
 
 "Didn't you tell me that it was supposed that the sand that was 
 taken out of where the bones were buried had been shovelled in 
 on the top of the beer-jug and that was how it got hidden till my 
 poor " 
 
 "Father and mother \" 
 
 "Yes found it? And surely this ring never could have been 
 living in that beer-jug for very long undetected?" Whereupon 
 Charles remarks that the plot is thickening, and he must 
 fill his pipe to think that over. Assisted by a few whiffs, he re- 
 sumes : 
 
 "You mean the jug must have been covered in when the bones 
 were buried ?" 
 
 "And that the ring cannot have been long in the jug. Or it 
 would have been found." 
 
 "So, if Mrs. Esther Kaimes put the ring in the beer that evening, 
 the bones must have been interred then or shortly after." 
 
 "It seems to fix the date of the bones, doesn't it ?" 
 
 "Well perhaps ! But if so I should say it threw a doubt on the 
 date when the ring was put in the jug. There's the boy!" So 
 there is, and in a few seconds he rushes upstairs and bursts into the 
 room shouting. "Not out! sixty-six for three wickets!" 
 
 When cricket comes in at the door, rational intercourse flies out 
 of the window. And if you are wise, you say it is time to go to 
 bed. Charles said so, and Alice and Pierre took the broad hint 
 and went. Charles himself had another pipe. 
 
 He smoked his pipe out, turned off the gas, lit his bedroom 
 candle, and followed. When he came to his boy's bedroom door he 
 opened it gently and looked in. He need not have been so particu- 
 lar. The cricketer was already in a deep and motionless sleep. 
 He looked at him for a few moments, not fearing that any candle- 
 light would disturb such a depth of slumber a depth that an after- 
 noon of powerful off-driving, etc., etc., deserves and reaches 
 and thought to himself that a cricketer of this age, awake, sug- 
 gests the man he is going to be; but put him to bed, and forth- 
 with he suggests the baby he was! The arm that had not gone 
 quite to bed, and still hung outside, was as sound asleep as the 
 rest; and Charles remembered his old happiness in an early day, 
 when he looked at that same hand once as it rested on its mother's 
 bosom one day when they were going out to a party, and baby 
 was produced at his request, and consented to be took, but refused 
 to wake on any terms. "Poor Lav," said Charles to himself. And 
 he would have gone to bed sad, only as it chanced he met Alice
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 467 
 
 in a sort of blue tea-gown thing in the passage, coming from the 
 old lady's room. "Sh-sh-sh-sh-sh !" said she, very sotto-voce, "just 
 look in at her ! She's like an effigy on a tomb." 
 
 So she was. "She must have been a pretty girl once," 
 said Alice. "I should think she must," said he. "Good-night, 
 dear!"
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 HOW MR. SCOTT HAD WRITTEN A NOVEL. MORE MEMORY OF OLD JANETS. 
 CHELSEA WATERWORKS IN HYDE PARK! MORE INGREDIENTS FOR A 
 SUPERNATURAL PIE 
 
 OLD JANE paid the penalty of her high-strung condition when 
 she told the story. She was below par for several days, and seemed 
 to like to be quiet, and to read, in an absent way, anything she 
 had read in her youth. She asked for the poems of Mr. Walter 
 Scott, which she had been very fond of. But she was much sur- 
 prised and interested to hear that Mr. Scott had made a great suc- 
 cess as a novelist, only a year or so after her accident. 
 
 "I have missed so many things," said she, with a gentle sweet- 
 ness that was quite characteristic. Then as if the thought had 
 crossed her mind that she need lose no more, she continued: "But 
 you are always writing, darling Cynthia, and it isn't letters. Do 
 tell me !" Then Alice told her, to amuse her, what she was writing 
 now was a story, and she was to have a hundreds pounds for it if 
 the publisher didn't change his mind when he read it. 
 
 "Well, that is nice, dear! Fancy being able to earn a whole 
 hundred pounds !" 
 
 "Ah, but that's nothing to Mr. Charley! Do you know he's to 
 have a penny a word for the story he's writing now? But then 
 it's got to be exactly twelve thousand words." This was the case, 
 and Charles had written an absurd letter to his publisher to know if 
 the word finis was to be included. Would he write by return, he 
 said; because it all depended on that what plot he chose? Alice 
 didn't tell the old lady this ; it was too complex. 
 
 "You must read them both to me, darling Cynthia, won't you? 
 But I have such a lot to read. I should like to read that novel of 
 Mr. Scott's you told me of." This did not mean Waverley, nor 
 any particular novel. All she realised was that Mr. Walter Scott, 
 the poet, had written "a Novel" and had a great success. She 
 was glad to hear that he had been made a baronet. Was he still 
 living ? but, ah, yes ! she had forgotten. 
 
 Alice promised to get a copy of "Scott's Novel" with a print not 
 
 463
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 469 
 
 too small for Mrs. Verrinder to read. There was more than one 
 edition, she said. She spoke to Charles about it, as she thought 
 Waverley would be dull for her; Charles recommended the Heart 
 of Midlothian. The old lady tried to read it, but she had over- 
 estimated her powers of fixing her attention on anything new, and 
 gave it up. She fell back on the Vicar of Wakefield and the Bible. 
 Practically, she could only read what she had read. Alice tried her 
 with Dickens and Thackeray, but she could make nothing of them. 
 
 She was perfectly sweet-tempered and contented. When left 
 alone, as of course she was for hours at a time, she very rarely 
 rang the hand-bell that stood beside her for Priscilla the maid, who 
 was always at hand. She appeared to read and re-read the Gospels 
 and the Vicar of Wakefield. Whenever Alice found her reading 
 the former, she would look over her shoulder to find where she was 
 reading. It was almost always the story of the Resurrection. She 
 once accounted for this to Alice: "You see, my darling," she said, 
 "it may be really true, and not only like Going to Church." There 
 was every reason to suppose that the main thought current in her 
 mind was: Should she meet her husband again, or not? She 
 had evidently had a dose of Sunday Religion in her youth, and did 
 not find it a tower of strength. She fell back on the best transla- 
 tion she could get of the original story. It was the Psychical 
 Research of a stranded and shipwrecked soul. 
 
 She took very kindly to Lady Johnson, whom she called a 
 delightful person. Peggy used often to come and sit with her; 
 but she was afraid to say a word of her wishes about Charles 
 and Alice, lest it should pass on to them, and only serve to make 
 them uncomfortable, without bringing her wishes nearer their 
 fulfilment. Besides, Rupert entreated her on no account to breathe 
 a hint of "anything." So she held her tongue. 
 
 But there was no embargo on conversation about No. 40. As 
 Peggy had been quite outside the audience of the cousin Becky 
 story, she could talk about the old house without seeming to con- 
 nect them together. One day she referred to the Phyllis Cart- 
 wright portrait, which had come from the cleaners. Now you 
 must bear in mind that by common consent the whole of the mys- 
 terious occurrences at the house had been kept back from the old 
 lady, for fear of any portion of them acting as suggestion, and 
 qualifying her recollections, which were probably far from ex- 
 hausted. Charles was especially anxious nothing should confuse 
 or bewilder her. Left alone, she would remember more. 
 
 So, when Peggy spoke to her about the portrait and how the 
 cleaner had muddled one of the stones in the ring through not
 
 470 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 understanding that it had been painted over the first varnish, she 
 was careful not to allude to the discovery in the cellar, or the 
 candidates for Psychical Research. The portrait was merely an 
 interesting portrait, so far as she was supposed to be informed* 
 It was the portrait of one Phyllis Cartwright, but what should she 
 know of Phyllis Cartwright? She merely mentioned the name as 
 the one she had heard Charley call it by. The old lady repeated 
 it after her, two or three times. 
 
 "That must be Lady Luttrell's portrait my dear Alice's cousin, 
 Rebecca Luttrell's aunt by marriage. Her name yes! her name 
 was Cartwright." 
 
 "Not Alice's, dear Mrs. Verrinder. You mean the Cynthia she 
 reminds you of." The thin colourless hands, that looked almost as 
 if they might vanish at any moment, made a sort of despairing 
 movement. "I am always making that mistake," said their owner, 
 "but I know, Lady Johnson, that you forgive me. Of course I 
 meant dear Cynthia Luttrell." She spoke in a wistful, absent way, 
 not as expressing doubt of what she said, but with a kind of 
 reflection in her voice of the distance and dimness of the person 
 she spoke of. 
 
 "It is so difficult to think," she went on, "that my real Cynthia 
 is gone. She must be dead or she would have come, or written." 
 
 It had been found possible to give the old mind the idea of the 
 actual lapse of time; but not of the complete detachment it had 
 effected, between herself and all her old associations. On this 
 occasion she did not dwell on the original Cynthia; she went back 
 to the portrait, speaking slowly and reflectively. 
 
 "I wonder which stone it is! Not the diamond, I hope?" 
 
 "No! At least, I don't think there was a diamond." Peggy 
 was getting a little alarmed lest she should make a false step. 
 If the ring was invisible before it was cleaned, how should she 
 know what stone had been taken out ? Yet, of course, all the while, 
 she did know: it was the jacinth. 
 
 "There must have been a diamond, dear Lady Johnson, the dia- 
 mond, yon know !" 
 
 "Very likely I'm wrong you see I haven't seen it myself. 
 Charley told me." The old lady was not critical over this: her 
 mind was fructifying though. 
 
 "Of course!" she said, after a short silence, in which Peggy 
 helped, "Lady Luttrell would be sure to have the ring painted on 
 with the diamond hidden, and only the letters of Phyllis visible. 
 Because, dear Lady Johnson, don't you see that her object was 
 to prove the ring was her own, so she had it painted on a picture
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 471 
 
 that was done of her before she married." Old Jane was wonder- 
 fully sharp and bright this morning. How Peggy did wish, if she 
 was just going to tell something interesting, that some one else 
 had been there to help in recollecting it ! 
 
 "Can you recollect the picture yourself, Mrs. Verrinder ?" 
 
 "I daresay I shall when I see it. Only there were so many 
 pictures ! In my father's house, I mean. I wonder how this came 
 to be there? I should have thought old Becky would have taken 
 away all her pictures." 
 
 "Had she any place to hang them in?" 
 
 "No that's true! She lived with a relation, who hated her 
 family, but forgave her. Of course; she left the pictures in my 
 father's charge." This seemed not to matter old pictures do slop 
 about the world in a vague way, till some sesthomenous person 
 detects quality in them, and has them restored; and then some 
 other denounces his Vandalism, and between the two the pictures 
 get into expensive frames behind plate glass and have Vokins or 
 Agnew bracketed after them at sales. Let Old Jane go on 
 talking : 
 
 "It was wonderful she remembered it all so clearly. What I 
 told you and my dear Cynthia, you know ?" 
 
 "No, not me. You told Alice and Charley, and my girl Lucy." 
 
 "Yes a nice little thing ! Isn't she here ?" She is. But she is 
 having an Argument with Pierre two rooms off. Peggy discerns 
 help in recollection, and summons her. 
 
 <r Yes my child!" says the old lady. "Kiss me! Of course you 
 were there, and heard all about old Becky and the ball, and the 
 duel Lucy is armed at all points for interrogation and record, 
 and immediately vaults on to the back of an interviewer's Pegasus. 
 
 "Not the duel," says she, shaking her head firmly. "You didn't 
 tell us about it. You only said there was a duel." The old lady's 
 eyes rest with pleasure on the earnest face of the new one the 
 very new one bracing itself up to take notes. There is seventy 
 years between them ! And the notes are to be abomt what was seen 
 and heard by another very new one, in days that have become His- 
 tory and can be researched in. Oh, so long ago! 
 
 "Didn't I tell about the duel? But I told you how old Becky 
 heard the men quarrelling on the stairs?" Oh yes, Lucy testifies, 
 and how Sir Cramer went out, and came back, and then went off in 
 a rage after his sister. "Well ! my dear those two men that quar- 
 relled went away and fought in the Park in Hyde Park with, 
 swords. And one was killed ! It is so dreadful, dear Lady Johnson, 
 to think that that wickedness goes on, even now ! They told me there
 
 472 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 was a man shot in a duel at Nine Elms, only the other day !" She 
 paused, seeming to try to remember something. "Yes ! I remember 
 
 now. It was Lord ,* who ran Neville Kaimes through the 
 
 body. And old Becky said the story went that this Lord was in 
 love with Mistress Kaimes, as she called her but, dear child, I 
 oughtn't to tell you all this wickedness." Lucy alleges that she 
 is familiar with every enormity man is capable of, and her mother 
 says at any rate she knows the commandments. The old lady con- 
 tinues: "Well! he and Esther Kaimes had broken one of them 
 so they said ! And after the duel both of them vanished. In fact, 
 it was believed that when she slipped away with the ring, she 
 followed the duellists to the Park, and went straight away to 
 Paris with her husband's murderer. Old Becky said she was bad 
 -enough for anything." 
 
 "I wonder where they fought in Hyde Park?" This is Lucy, 
 who is projecting a personally conducted tour to the spot, if it can 
 be identified. 
 
 "Old Becky told us. It was on the banks of what she called the 
 New Serpentine. But I think her memory was confused with old 
 age. Because she said it was just beyond where the Chelsea Water- 
 works used to be." 
 
 "Are you sure the name was Lord ?" asked Peggy. The 
 
 old lady was quite sure she had it right. Peggy, however, felt 
 equally sure there must be some mistake. She suspected the orig- 
 inal old narrator of having made one. Her mind was evidently 
 wandering, on some subjects. Fancy the Chelsea Waterworks in 
 Hyde Park ! Besides, Peggy had a recollection about Lord - 
 which made the story most improbable. She would talk to Charles 
 about it. 
 
 "Did they always wear swords, all of them, in those days?" asks 
 Lucy. "What did they do when they danced?" 
 
 "I can't say, my dear child. I can only tell the tale as old 
 Becky told it to us John and me. Ah, dear! I can almost shut 
 my eyes now, and fancy I hear her telling it seems only like the 
 other day." But the interviewer is not happy about those swords. 
 
 "Perhaps they left them outside, like umbrellas," says she. 
 
 "Perhaps they did, my dear. But Sir Cramer must have had his 
 on. Because I remember Miss Rebecca saying he touched it with 
 liis finger when he spoke to Lord Ferrars about his father's will. 
 Of course the others may have found theirs in the lobby when they 
 came down." 
 
 At this point Peggy thought Mrs. Verrinder was beginning to 
 * A well-known name at the time. About 1730-40.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 473 
 
 feel tired. So she collected Lucy and carried her off, still not 
 quite contented about the swords. It was the effect on a young 
 mind of being compelled to think of a past age as an actuality. 
 She would have accepted any amount of rapiers on the stage as 
 readily as tie-wigs and hoops, when there was courtliness going on, 
 and repartee. But when it came to talking about people who had 
 been seen by an old friend of the live person you were talking to 
 why really ! Lucy would go home, and read Esmond and The Four 
 Georges. And her mother would recollect to ask Charles about a 
 
 story she had read of the death of Lord which seemed to 
 
 her to quarrel with that of his elopement with Mrs. Kaimes. Also, 
 she asked herself, why should a man run away to Paris merely be- 
 cause he had killed another in a duel? In those days it was all 
 right. He had only to marry the widow. But perhaps he thought 
 it would be better taste to do that in Paris. She would talk to 
 Charles. 
 
 She got the opportunity shortly. A few days after this, Alice 
 went into the country to help a friend to look at a house her hus- 
 band was in treaty for. So Charles was lonesome, and appealed 
 to Peggy to rescue him as much as possible. He didn't want to 
 leave the old lady quite alone. It really was extraordinary what 
 a hold she had unconsciously established on him and Alice. So 
 he wouldn't come away from Charley Street in the evening. But 
 Peggy would come and see the restored picture at No. 40 wouldn't 
 she? And then he would come to Harley Street to tea. Only if 
 he stayed on to dinner he must go away directly after. 
 
 "So you shall, Charley dear!" said Peggy after they had looked 
 at the picture together. "He shall go home to his adopted grand- 
 mamma, he shall! I don't at all wonder at you, dear old boy. I 
 should, if I were you. There's something so very sweet about her 
 white hair. And those sad eyes that seem to have given it all up. 
 And those transparent hands one sees the veins in. I really could 
 have cried like any little girl when she held out that almost atmos- 
 pheric wedding-finger to show me how slack the ring had gone. 
 And then she said, quite with a quiet smile it was I that wanted 
 to cry 'It was not like that when John Peggy pulls up 
 
 short with her lips very tightly shut, for some reason. 
 
 "I know !" said Charles, "I can assure you she puts me and Alice 
 to it sometimes. Alice has to run away to cry." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "Oh no! I'm a male he it's another pair of shoes. But it is 
 trying, now and again. The evening before last, for instance, 
 she was very quiet. Then Alice went to her and kissed her and
 
 4-74 ALICE-EOR-SHORT 
 
 said what was it? And what do you suppose the poor old lady was 
 thinking about? Why, pancakes! of all things in the world. 
 John was so fond of pancakes and she was so afraid that all that 
 time he never got any, with no one to see to him. He never took 
 any care of himself! But she was quite quiet, the way she said 
 it musically quiet you know her way?" 
 
 "I know. I don't the least wonder at you, Charley dear !" 
 
 "Then she went on, 'I should like to know if he ever bought him- 
 self a new hat. One of the last things I recollect was when he 
 went out to buy some strawberries because old Miss Rebecca was 
 coming, and I said to him he really must get himself a new hat.' 
 And I thought to myself," said Charles, "this would account for 
 the poor old chap's extraordinary hat. I recollect some of the 
 students at the Schools making game of it, and trying it on. It 
 belonged to the date well! say of Napoleon at Elba." Charles 
 recalled the occasion when he met Verrinder on the rail, and the 
 dismal attempt to make a polished coat-sleeve renew the nap of 
 that strangest of headdresses. 
 
 "Have you adopted her altogether, Charley darling?" 
 
 "Well me and Alice we shouldn't like to part with her, you 
 know !" 
 
 "You are so funny you and your adopted daughter and your 
 adopted grandmother!" If Peggy had any hope in saying this 
 that Charles would recoil from Alice's daughtership, she was going 
 to be disappointed. 
 
 "Yes my adopted daughter Alice-f or-short !" Image to your- 
 self that he is sitting at Peggy's feet, she being in Miss Straker's 
 old chair and ruffling his head for him, just as of old. There is no 
 sort of change between this brother and sister. What they were 
 once, that they are now. Charles continues: "Dear little Alice- 
 f or-short! Recollect her coming in here and having no cake, 
 because of the man with the red knife, on the stairs?" 
 
 "Sir Cramer Luttrell, I suppose! Oh yes it seems only yes- 
 terday. What a dear little maid she was!" 
 
 "And what a dear little maid she is still! I almost wish she 
 was a dear little matron." And when he says this, does he say it 
 rather artificially? Peggy feels annoyed at the way she com- 
 mitted herself to "adopted daughter." It just comes to block her 
 pouncing on Charles with, "You fool! why not make her one?" 
 Charles's enormous unconsciousness of the possibility of such a 
 suggestion is irritating. To have him reposing there with his ears 
 so temptingly within reach of boxing, and showing on his face the 
 glow Alice lights in his heart, is very irritating to Peggy. But
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 475 
 
 she remembers Eupert's injunction, and shows self-restraint. Only, 
 the years are going by the precious years! However, Charles can 
 dwell on Alice-for-short, and blow rings out of his pipe, and yet 
 talk of something else. 
 
 "But I say, Poggy-Woggy Sir Cramer Luttrell! Now I'll lay 
 any wager you've worked Old Jane's tale of old Becky up with 
 all the celebrated ghosts and bedevilments of this mansion, and 
 made a regular Supernatural Pie." 
 
 "It doesn't want any working up, Charley darling! The pie is 
 already made. Perhaps I oughtn't to say that though! There's 
 a little uppercrust wanting yet." And then Peggy recapitulated 
 carefully all particulars of what she and Juicy had heard from 
 Mrs. Verrinder. 
 
 "It couldn't be Lord ," said Charles, "because his body 
 
 was identified in the dead-house on the Simplon not so many years 
 ago. I saw him, you know ! just a sort of frozen mummy. He had 
 been twenty years in the Morgue when I saw him. He had just 
 been identified." 
 
 "And how long had he been in the ice or snow?" 
 
 "It could only be guessed by the date of his clothes. Mind 
 you ! there was nothing to identify him by only a purse with a 
 good lot of money in the pocket. A fine-looking man in an English 
 George the Second dress not a travelling dress, strangely enough. 
 He had probably gone up the moraine of the glacier, in company 
 with others and had slipped and fallen in a crevasse and never 
 been found. He may have been there a century any time !" 
 
 "How was he found in the end?" 
 
 "One of the great dogs that had been missed for some days 
 came back excited, and said (or as good as said) that he had found 
 something worth coming for. He led the frates to a nasty place, 
 where sure enough was a block of ice some extra sun had struck 
 on, and melted a corner away. And there were four human fingers 
 with rings sticking out." 
 
 Peggy's attention is arrested by the dog. It was such a darling. 
 She would have liked to be there to kiss it. Charles remarks that 
 she would have found it large and sloppy. Peggy, a little dis- 
 couraged by the sloppiness, goes back to the text. 
 
 "But how did they find out he was Lord in the end ?" 
 
 "Well! he had got to be one of three or four missed travellers 
 recorded on the books at the monastery. The question was which 
 he was to be. The only one that answered at all had evidently 
 given a false name I haven't details, you know only vague 
 recollection "
 
 476 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 "I understand. Go on!" 
 
 "Then I think it was like this. There was a careful drawing of 
 him showing his teeth. It was done by a Dutchman a very care- 
 ful drawing. What put the family making the comparison I don't 
 know. But a photograph was sent out, and it was decided beyond 
 a doubt that the teeth of the skeleton were the teeth of the draw- 
 ing. When I was there they were just going to remove the remains 
 to England." 
 
 "And when was that, and why did you never tell me such an 
 interesting story ?" Charles says it was when he was abroad for a 
 fortnight seven years ago. Peggy knows well what was afoot at 
 that date, and asks no more questions. 
 
 "But, Charley dear!" she says, "I do not see why Lord 's 
 
 coming to grief on the Alps should interfere with old Becky's 
 story. Why shouldn't they both him and this scandalous Esther 
 Kaimes have been lost on the Alps, and she not found?" 
 
 "No go, Poggy-Woggy! She would be on the record as missing, 
 at the monastery. It isn't as if they had gone on by the diligence. 
 They wouldn't do that and desert the diligence to go Alpineering 
 alone. No, no ! she never was there." 
 
 "Perhaps she stayed in Paris with somebody else. She was quite 
 equal! However, just you wait till Alice is back from Mrs. Gais- 
 ford's, and see if she and I don't put a finishing-touch on the 
 Supernatural Pie. Why! just look at the ring! There it is on 
 the picture. Alice's very own ring to the life. Only, why need that 
 fool clean away the jacinth? However, it's on the original still! 
 Now come to tea and then go back to Granny !" 
 
 Alice's friend was Mrs. Gaisford the Hospital nurse. Her 
 husband had renewed his efforts for the degree, and had myste- 
 riously passed. He was buying the house for a private enterprise 
 of his own, and expected an inexhaustible supply of opulent 
 lunatics.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 THE PIE CREEPS ON. HOW ALICE SAW MRS. KAIMES AGAIN AT NO. 4O. 
 HOW CHARLES AND ALICE WENT TO SEE THE TOWER. SO DID OLD 
 JANE AND HER HUSBAND ONCE. OF EXPERIMENTS WITH A WEDDING- 
 RING. AN EMBARRASSMENT, AND A DECEPTION. STILL, OLD JANE 
 GOES TO SLEEP HAPPY 
 
 MRS. VERRINDER added little or nothing to her version of old 
 Becky's story. As time went on her recollection of the narrative 
 became less vivid, and more diffuse. It might have been expected 
 that, as it died away, she would cease to confuse between Alice and 
 the shadowy Cynthia Luttrell. But the contrary was the case; if 
 anything the confusion increased. No doubt this was partly owing 
 to the accidental likeness between Alice and the portrait of 
 Cynthia, which Charles purchased of Mr. Bauerstein, and hung 
 beside the portrait of her Aunt Phyllis in his drawing-room at 
 Acacia Road. There was also an element of added confusion in 
 Old Jane's memory of the Alice Kavanagh who was some sort of 
 pensionnaire or dependent of old Miss Luttrell. Neither Alice 
 nor Charles doubted that this person had been mentioned by old 
 Becky in that interview of sixty years ago. But they did think 
 that probably Old Jane had mixed her first hearing of Alice's 
 name with one perhaps nearly resembling it. This was much more 
 likely, surely, than that there should have been another Alice 
 Kavanagh in the connection. Old Jane herself assented to this, 
 saying very likely she was mistaken. This possible previous Alice 
 Kavanagh had no interest for her in fact only came in acci- 
 dentally. 
 
 As for the tales of the disinterred bones and the frequent ghosts 
 at No. 40, they were told to Old Jane as soon as it appeared that 
 she was not likely to add to her reminiscences. But she seemed 
 to have been educated in a school of incredulity; phases of this, 
 and its reverse, pass over Society from time to time. When Old 
 Jane was a girl the stage of provisional receptivity we now live 
 in was undreamed of. It was not then thought necessary to self- 
 respect to preface a final rejection of superstitious fancies with 
 any parade at all of our readiness to give them a fair hearing. 
 Rontgen Rays and Radium, Gramophones and Wireless Teleg- 
 
 477
 
 478 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 raphy, have produced the cautious sparring which belongs to the 
 second round of a Fight. Incredulity has had all the bounce 
 knocked out of it. 
 
 Old Jane came quite fresh from another age; and, when con- 
 fronted with Psychical Research, was able to enjoy a good ghost- 
 story to-day for its own sake, with a well-defined intention to dis- 
 believe in it altogether to-morrow. Her readiness to enjoy and 
 forget it was quite conclusive against taking her into council in 
 the collation and classification of the various items that had to be 
 woven into a consecutive story. 
 
 Alice and Peggy, therefore, laid their heads together undis- 
 turbed. They made up their minds about all the facts except how 
 the ring came in the beer-jug. It looked as if that must remain 
 a mystery for all time. But, for the rest, it was clear that the 
 ghost Charles had seen was Esther Kaimes re-acting her share of 
 the terrible evening of the ball and the duel; that probably she 
 was also the lidy with the spots; and that her remains were those 
 found in the cellar. If this last was so, the suggestion was very 
 strong that the hideous red man with the knife was her murderer, 
 and that an organised attempt had been made by the unresting 
 spirits of the murdered sister and her guilty brother to throw a 
 light on their own misdeeds. Peggy revived the story of Alice's 
 father's deam (that he deamed he deamed) as a contribution to 
 this conclusion. If you have forgotten all about this, see page 111. 
 But the theory that this dream was an impression on the dreamer's 
 mind of an attempt to show what had happened on the same spot, 
 involved the investigators in the difficult question of how the mur- 
 derer and his victim came there. At what hour of the day or 
 night? If Sir Cramer pursued his sister into this basement room 
 (as Alice supposed), then where were the servants? Even if they 
 were unable to prevent the murder, or dared not interpose, their 
 presence would have ensured a disclosure in the end. Besides, 
 adopting the only means of accounting for the ring in the jug, 
 namely, that Mrs. Kaimes to avoid detection dropped it in as a 
 temporary place of concealment, it surely could not have remained 
 in the jug undetected. It must either have been noticed, or washed 
 out unnoticed. And supposing that Sir Cramer had overtaken his 
 sister, and had been convinced either by searching her or by her 
 manner that she had no longer got it concealed, is it likely that he 
 would stab her, and cancel by her death the only possible testimony 
 to its whereabouts? But Peggy in her own mind rejected that 
 jug altogether thought it a pious fiction of Alice's mother on 
 Ler deathbed. Of course the woman had found the ring! But
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 479 
 
 was it in the jug? Might not she and her husband have disin- 
 terred enough of the buried body to find the hands and remove the 
 rings; then covered it up carefully, and concealed their own handi- 
 work ? But, of course, she could not propound this theory to Alice ; 
 it would be too atrocious a burden of criminality to heap on her 
 parents' memory. Still, it recommended itself to her. Had not 
 the fingers been found ringless, while a gorgeous array of pearls 
 still hung about what had been a throat? But then! surely the 
 murderer would not bury the ring he had been seeking! Yes, he 
 might; fancy the horror of a conscience-stricken man face to face 
 with his own deed, when the storm of brutal fury that caused it 
 had subsided! 
 
 However, speculation, though amusing, was of little avail; and 
 there was no apparent chance of anything further coming to light. 
 Charles and Peggy and Alice now and again made excursions 
 among possibilities, without getting any forwarder. 
 
 The currents of Life ran in their usual channels. Peggy 
 wished two of them, instead of running side by side a pace apart, 
 to run in the same. If she took her spade and just made a start 
 for them would it not be possible to conduct them into it, and rely 
 on the joint torrent running peacefully on till it should be due 
 in the eternal sea? Oh, how her fingers did itch to grasp that 
 gpade ! But her husband always dissuaded her, and the Peggy who 
 of yore wanted to make all the he-rivulets and she-rivulets run in 
 opposite watersheds, underwent genuine exasperation at the placid- 
 ity with which her brother's life seemed to flow, and the musical 
 ripple of Alice's alongside of it just within reach! It was 
 maddening ! 
 
 Peggy was not at all sure she was grateful to Mrs. Verrinder for 
 rising (so to speak) from the tomb to help in the constitution of a 
 home where such a state of things was possible. She could not say 
 to herself that she wished the old lady was still under that awful 
 dome. But she did wish some asylum (with a small initial) could 
 have been found for her other than her brother's fireside; where 
 (so it seemed to Peggy) the beautiful old silver-haired image 
 tended to foster and encourage the fiction of the adopted daughter. 
 If Charles could adopt a grandmother, why not a daughter? 
 Moreover, although the mixing up of the improper idea of "pro- 
 priety" with either Charles or Alice, or bringing it into question, 
 was obviously absurd; still, if Old Jane had not been there, you 
 
 know perfectly well But at this point Lady Johnson's mind 
 
 always dismissed the subject, and we may do so too. We know 
 perfectly well !
 
 480 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Peggy and her husband always spoke of it as "the Unsatis- 
 factory State of Things"; and it became a definite entity with a 
 title, like the Bill of Rights or the Protestant Succession or the 
 Statute of Limitations. "Any improvement in the Unsatisfactory 
 State of Things?" was Rupert's way of asking whether any step 
 had been made towards the resolution of what Peggy thought 
 quite as good, or as bad, as a discord. And his wife would reply 
 that there was not a sign of any, unless, indeed, her patience was 
 getting exhausted, when she would prefer "Worse than ever! Oh 
 dear how trying they are!" 
 
 Her mother took up a very well-defined position in fact, as Lucy 
 phrased it, Grandmamma took it up and harped upon it. It was 
 one of energetic silence, to which attention was frequently called 
 by the speechless one. "I shall say nothing!" thus ran the com- 
 munication "Your brother Charley knows I shall say nothing, and 
 I say it. I said nothing before, and I shall say nothing now. 
 Charley knows what came of it before, and this time he will find 
 out too late, as he did then, that he had better have listened to me. 
 But I do not wish my opinion to be quoted, and I must beg that it 
 may not be. Charley and Alice must just go their own way. And 
 as for old Mrs. Verrinder, I am far from saying she is not a very 
 ladylike person. But there are limits! However, as long as 
 
 Charles and Alice are satisfied " And the speaker entered on 
 
 a career of saying, actively and continuously, nothing. 
 
 This old lady had taken very strongly to her grandson we think 
 we mentioned this when Charles and Alice passed those two days at 
 her house at Wimbledon, after the smallpox. We need say no more 
 now to make it understood that when Pierre is not at Acacia Road 
 impaling butterflies in a smell of camphor, cutting himself with new 
 tools and not stopping hammering directly, or explaining difficult 
 technical points in cricket to Mrs. Verrinder, he is either at school 
 or at Oak Villa at Wimbledon, dictating new concessions from his 
 Grandmother. 
 
 From whichever cause, he was not at home with his father and 
 his adopted aunt (who should strictly have been his adopted cousin 
 but never mind!) one day in the September following the April 
 in which Old Jane was operated on. All the world was out of town 
 except a few stragglers, who seemed to have had no reason for 
 coming back, unless it were to establish a grievance against those 
 who remained away for taking a longer holiday than themselves. 
 They could have the double satisfaction of writing, "Oh, how I 
 envy you those delicious sea breezes !" and as many other seaside 
 things as they could think of, and at the same time thoroughly
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 481 
 
 enjoying the delights of an empty town a delicious vacancy of 
 swirling dry leaves in unpopulous squares and streets, of dis- 
 passionate business transactions that you and the other party can 
 take your time over because there is no one else waiting, of oppor- 
 tunities of dancing to piano-organs in what would have been "the 
 Traffic" two months ago, of undisguised tendresses with the Bread, 
 or the Milk, or the Wash, over the Airey-palins. But even the 
 joy of those who stop in town is as nothing to that of those who 
 return, exuberant after sea-bathes and prawns, to the fag-end of 
 your paradise, and find they have got the Metropolis all to them- 
 selves; and now they can really get a little work done and not be 
 bothered. 
 
 Charles and Alice belonged to the latter class. After actually 
 taking the old lady successfully to Littlehampton, and bringing 
 her safely back, they settled down to work. Alice wrote all the 
 morning rather in the old lady's room than otherwise, that she 
 might listen to the scratching of the pen. Charles departed to the 
 Studio, where he adhered religiously to a fiction that he was a 
 painter, and frequently had a good clean-up for a start to-morrow. 
 But he was really all the time "jotting down" short stories at a 
 penny a word; and at this particular time gratifying his sense of 
 absurdity by writing a monosyllabic story, with a view to writing 
 a polysyllabic one later. "You'll see," said he to Alice, "the next 
 volume of this series will be considered too thick." He foresaw 
 a time when literature would be paid by letters and spaces, the 
 latter counting double, so as to ensure the maximum of ideas 
 per line. Or, perhaps, he said, words will be paid for by the gross, 
 at a special tariff for each word for instance, him at threepence 
 a gross ; her at a shilling; love at eighteenpence ; and regular good 
 plummy words, such as forever, evermore, Sin, and so forth, at five 
 shillings to half-a-sovereign. 
 
 It was then at the very beginning of this September afternoon 
 ten minutes past twelve, in fact that Alice made her appearance 
 at No. 40, in pursuance of an arrangement made at breakfast to 
 take Charles down the river in a boat, and see the Tower. A glori- 
 ous excursion! And Old Jane would be quite safe, because Mrs. 
 Gaisford was coming to sit with her for an hour or so at tea 
 time, and stop on. So you needn't be uneasy about her. 
 
 At the door Alice chanced on Mr. Pope, coming to the Office 
 from the lower regions. He wished her good-morning rather 
 absently, and remarked that we didn't see much of you, Miss 
 Kavanagh, in these parts nowadays. Alice replied that that must 
 be because Mr. Pope was always in his room hard at work when she
 
 482 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 came, as sne was there nearly every day. The fact is, Mr. Pope 
 had made his remark on the very common assumption that it 
 doesn't matter what you say, as long as you say nothing else. 
 Even so, when we've got to catch the 'bus we remark that it's a 
 beautiful day, when it's really a beastly day; or vice-versa. Mr. 
 Pope was roused by Alice's reply to a sense of his own inaccuracy, 
 and implied an admission of it. 
 
 "I have got my 'ands pretty full, Miss Kavanagh, and that's 
 the truth. You'd say so if you was to see the amazin* variety of 
 Martyrs' heads we've knocked off and burned in this last month. 
 Large West Window in memory of St. Peter Martyr. Parties he 
 burned himself, turn and turn about with medallions of opposition 
 martyrdoms. Pretty idear! Mr. Chappell he's attended to his 
 side, me to mine." 
 
 "I don't understand! Did St. Peter ever burn anybody?" Mr. 
 Pope smiled benignly. "Not he! Knew better than to 'any such 
 thing. This was a medievally disposed party Inquisitor I believe 
 'Oly Office ! You go to the National Gallery there's a picter of 
 him bein' stuck through the gizzard in a pleasant champagne coun- 
 try. Would you perhaps care to see some of the 'eads? Got 'em 
 on a bench downstairs." 
 
 Alice was rather early, and was not only amused at the idea of 
 a window commemorating impartially the reciprocal murders of 
 the Holy Catholic Church and its various Dissenters; but, owing 
 to recently revived interest in "the No. 40 ghosts," felt well-dis^ 
 posed towards a journey into the basement, where she had not 
 been for a very long time. Even though it would be painful to 
 her to be reminded of her parents' tragedy, she would bear that, 
 in order to revive the recollection of the lidy with the spots and the 
 red man with the knife. She did not specially relish either, for 
 its own sake ; but her curiosity had been aroused by the recent con- 
 versations. So she accepted Mr. Pope's suggestion, and followed 
 him through the swing-door of her youth. Oh, how well she re- 
 membered the dreadful feeling with which, when she came back from 
 School, or fetching the beer, she would push it two inches back and 
 call out, "Mother !" And how that worthy lady would set it quite 
 open and say immediately, "Now! don't keep me standin' here!" 
 before she had time to pull her small self together for a start. 
 
 She did not wish Mr. Pope, though, to suspect her of any other 
 motive than a desire for Martyrs. So she was careful not to look 
 back or about her on the way down to the workshop. 
 
 The heads of the Martyrs were impartially mixed up on the 
 leading-up bench, and Mr. Pope picked them up one by one to show
 
 'ALICE-FOE-SHORT 483 
 
 against the light. "'Eads of Kidley and Latimer" thus ran his 
 commentary. "Interestin' countenance! 'Ead of an Albigence. 
 All belongin' to my side. 'Ead of Joan of Arc Mr. Chappell's 
 department. / call it appealin' to the Gallery. St. George, sim'lar 
 remark! St. Lawrence St. Barbara. All Mr. Chappell's Butti- 
 fant! Where's that superb bit of ruby you cut for the flames in 
 No. 7 Latimer ?" 
 
 "Sorry to say, Mr. Pope, it's been broke in two, and we shall 
 have to jine it up with a string-lead." 
 
 Mr. Pope turned quite red with vexation. "Now Mr. Buttif ant, 
 what's the meaning of this?" said he. 
 
 "You must ask Mrs. Corrigan that, Sir," replied Buttifant, with 
 a suspicion of satisfaction in his manner. "It ain't my fault if 
 she's allowed down here. I've spoke my mind free enough !" Some 
 explanation followed, touching on the water-supply. Mrs. Cor- 
 rigan had to be allowed the run of the basement, in this connec- 
 tion. If you let her come in here to draw water, how could you 
 prevent her meddling, when as like as not it was six in the morn- 
 ing ? Of course she just went smashing round, like an earthquake, 
 with nobody to prevent her. Thus Buttifant. 
 
 "What does she say herself ?" said Mr. Pope. Alice looked round, 
 fully expecting to see Mrs. Corrigan, about whom she had a strong 
 impression that she had followed Mr. Pope and herself down- 
 stairs. This impression, which she could not assign its origin to, 
 was so strong that (although she regarded herself as quite outside 
 the discussion) she could not help commenting on the absence of 
 the expected image of Mrs. C. prefacing a guilty person's defence 
 with obeisances, and not impressing the jury favourably. "Well, 
 but she was here only just this minute. She came down behind 
 us." Mr. Pope hadn't seen her. But she must have been there, 
 clearly. "Some of you young jokers just stir your stumps and find 
 her," says Mr. Buttifant to the apprentice world generally. But 
 Mrs. Corrigan is not in the basement now, whatever she was two 
 minutes since, and the young jokers report accordingly. One of 
 them seems to have something on his mind, not necessarily a joke, 
 to communicate, and Alice says "What ?" to him, to encourage him. 
 Pope also adds, "Speak up, young Deaf and Dumb Asylum," 
 which seems to Alice a severe treatment of mere respectful 
 hesitation before seniors. It causes the hesitation to vanish, 
 however. 
 
 "There was a lady come down. Not Mrs. Corrigan. A lady ! 
 Behind behind behind" this hesitation is produced by the obvi- 
 ous rudeness of calling Alice "you" to her face. Ultimately
 
 484 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 "Behind Madam" is decided on. Perhaps the speaker has a friend 
 or brother in a draper's shop. 
 
 "Behind me!" says Alice, looking round uncomfortably. "Like 
 what? What was she like?" 
 
 "Couldn't say, Miss! But she was a lady " 
 
 "She must have been like something. Was she like me ?" 
 
 Two of the jokers seem to have noticed the lady, and the one who 
 has spoken refers to the other. After consultation, to Alice's sur- 
 prise, both nod assent. Mr. Pope is impatient. "Don't you believe 
 either of 'em, Miss Kavanagh. They're only guessin'. Couple of 
 everlastin' young humbugs!" 
 
 But it is in the nature of that strange animal, the uneducated 
 Englishman, to be hopelessly incapable of direct narrative, under 
 circumstances of peaceful interchange of ideas. He requires the 
 stimulus of a grievance, or the desire to prove a friend a liar, before 
 his tongue will unloose itself. No sooner has Mr. Pope put the 
 matter on a disagreeable footing, than the young humbugs find 
 their voices. The speaking one, a freckled boy with a red head, 
 to whom contention appears congenial, extends an indignant palm 
 (with his case on it, presumably) towards Buttifant, as the inter- 
 mediary through whom a sense of wrong undeserved may be con- 
 veyed, even from a drummer-boy to a Field-Marshal. 
 
 "It ain't only me!" he cries, indignantly. "You ask young 
 James ! He seen her as well as I did. He's here to ask ! You 
 ask him. He won't tell you no lies. Spots of hink on her face and 
 a piller of wool on her head." 
 
 "I see the ink." 
 
 "Ah, and you see the wool." 
 
 "It warn't wool. More like scruffy hair !" 
 
 "You see it though, whatever you call it !" 
 
 "Oh yes I see it, plain enough!" 
 
 "Wot did I tell you ? Young James he see it and I see it. And 
 you can tell the guv'nor I see it." The freckled boy retires into 
 private life to caress his grievance, and pushes things about irrita- 
 bly. Buttifant doesn't see his way to anything further, and 
 devotes himself to the Martyrs. Mr. Pope says it's queer, and 
 you can't account for things a view which, carried far enough, 
 would undermine Physical Science. Alice thinks she won't stop 
 any longer because she believes Mr. Heath may be waiting for her. 
 Whether Mrs. Corrigan got blown up or not we really cannot say. 
 
 "My dearest child, how white you look!" said Charles as Alice 
 came in. He was just finishing the twelfth thousand of the mono- 
 syllables, and fancying the polysyllables would be a lot easier.
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 485 
 
 "So would you, Mr. Charley dear, if you were me ! Just fancy ! 
 The lidy with the spots came downstairs behind me ?" 
 
 "Down what stairs ? Did you see her ?" Thus Charles, and Alice 
 tells the tale. When she has done, Charles says that as she came 
 in she quite reminded him of herself when she was frightened by 
 the red man with the knife, and wouldn't have any cake. When 
 she was a small kid. Alice can recollect, perfectly. 
 
 Charles and Alice's voyage down the river (after lunch at Cre- 
 moncini's; for which we have given them time) and visit to the 
 Tower, was an ideal experience. Escapades of this sort are 
 always delightful; but when you have a little extra ghost to talk 
 about, what can you want more? They certainly wanted nothing 
 more. There was no drawback unless it was that in one corner of 
 Charles's mind was a recollection of the same excursion with 
 another companion fifteen years before. The doubt whether it was 
 pleasant or painful was worse than the certainty of the latter 
 would have been. It seemed cruel, all the same, to brush it out 
 of his mind, and let the present supersede it so completely. His 
 old vice of self-examination was at work. Alice couldn't con- 
 tribute consciously to the brushing out, but she was the uncon- 
 scious cause of it in the end. For an intrusive thought (which 
 seemed brutal to "poor Lavinia") of how different it would seem to 
 Alice's husband, under like circumstances, drove Lavinia and her 
 languid interests out of her widower's mind, and substituted an 
 image that he tried not to think a discomfort. 
 
 Alice's husband! There! of course Charles wasn't blind! 
 Of course he knew quite well it was going to be a wrench, when it 
 came. How could it be otherwise ? Alice-f or-short ! just think of 
 it, after all these years! But then, consider the child's own wel- 
 fare ! It had to be seen to, of course, that this vague husband-in-a- 
 mist should turn out resplendent, flawless, chivalrous, distin- 
 guished a man among men. Dear us ! If the women we love 
 could wed the only men we would be glad to give them up to, what 
 very perfect husbands they would have! 
 
 If the slightest suspicion of the absurdity of the way he classed 
 Alice crossed Charles's mind as he watched a beautiful young 
 woman (who was Alice) looking down the river from near the fore- 
 end of the boat, it was only for the moment ; he did not see her face, 
 and the individuality was less forcible. She might have been any 
 other well-finished girl of five-and-twenty. And Peggy might have 
 been pairing off her lonely brother with her every bit as much as 
 if she had been Miss Everitt Collinson. But when Alice returned
 
 486 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 to where Charles was sitting smoking, and brought back her ani- 
 mated face with the clear blue eyes, the mouse-coloured hair 
 touched with chestnut, a little wind-blown on the forehead, the row 
 of unimpeached pearls between the lips that nobody ever kissed 
 apparently (if that slight defacement round the corner was where 
 people always kissed you) ; when in short she came back her very 
 own self why, clearly then she was Alice-for-short, and not a real 
 person that could be met in Society and mustn't on any account 
 go out without gloves. And Alice-for-short she was going to 
 remain, as far as Charles could have any jurisdiction. Because, 
 according to him, when Alice was standing gazing over the boat's 
 prow at a pernicious tug-boat that was snorting down the river, one 
 abreast, and belching out solid black like a cuttle-fish, an old 
 chap was enjoying a pipe a few yards off, and picturing to himself 
 a glorified home that was to be Alice's, and what a satisfaction it 
 would be to the old chap to talk over Alice's happiness with his 
 sister, and what a resource it would be to him to have "Alice's" to 
 go to when he felt lonely, and smoke a pipe with her paragon of a 
 husband ! Certainly. 
 
 A consciousness of Peggy, inside Charles's mind, seized upon 
 this point, and asked him point-blank, "Why did you say 'Cer- 
 tainly 5 ? Couldn't you be glad to smoke a pipe with that admirable- 
 Mr. Alice without ratification ?" His mind wriggled uneasily, and 
 evaded th? question. It had the effrontery to begin thinking of 
 his first wife ; to caress, as it were, his widowerhood, and confirm his 
 position. He was an old chap, clearly. However, here was Alice 
 back again talking about the little extra ghost. 
 
 "He was an odious boy, with freckles and a bullet head a kind 
 of boy that always tells lies " 
 
 "Boys of that sort can't see ghosts." 
 
 "Of course they can't! It stands to reason. But the other boy 
 was a dear little black-eyed chap. He was speaking the truth, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 "But if boy number one always tells lies, and swears to the same 
 ghost as boy number two, who always tells truth, the two tales 
 neutralise one another to a nicety, and there warn't any ghost at 
 all ! This teaches us the absurdity of believing in the supernatural, 
 and the advisability of distrusting our own judgment, and putting 
 faith in everybody else's " 
 
 "Now you're talking nonsense, Mr. Charley. Only I like you 
 when you talk nonsense. Do be serious though, just for a minute!'* 
 
 But the sun was sparkling on the water, and the tide was at 
 the full, and determined to enjoy itself thoroughly until it was
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 487 
 
 obliged to go out, like a Cabinet whose days are numbered. And 
 the boat was being turned astarn, and going too far, and then 
 going on ahead easy, and going too far the other way, and refusing 
 to hear reason and lie up alongside at the suggestion of a little 
 bell amidships. And we were being exhorted to concentrate our 
 mind on getting out tickets ready. So Charles and Alice put off 
 the minute they were to be serious in, and got ashore packed tight 
 between backs in front and fronts behind, and at last escaped along 
 Great Tower Street, and were soon enjoying decapitation with 
 Lady Jane Grey, and the advantages of the rack with Guy Fawkes. 
 Whereupon Charles's mind went back to the day when he and Jeff 
 went to seek out Verrinder, and encountered a very poor read- 
 ing of the great conspirator, whose mask had to be held on by 
 Catesby. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Charley!" said Alice, who was examining Guy's sig- 
 nature before and after torture, "/ don't see anything to laugh 
 at." Charles explained the smile his recollection had provoked; of 
 course his doing so recalled Verrinder. Alice went off at a 
 tangent. 
 
 <f l hope Mrs. Gaisford's wrong," said she, suddenly. 
 
 "Wrong about what ?" 
 
 "About the old lady. She thinks she might slip off at any 
 moment, quite suddenly." 
 
 "She's very old. Any little thing might do it a slight cold 
 an attack of bronchitis." 
 
 "Mrs. Gaisford thinks she might die simply of old age, with 
 hardly any warning." 
 
 "I suppose she might," said Charles, "I suppose she might.'* 
 But the thought of losing Old Jane (you may think it strange to 
 say but we do not, altogether) had made them both so sad that it 
 needed a particularly hideous dungeon, with inscriptions on the 
 wall written by those who had languished there for years, while 
 the sun shone overhead, to make them forget it and feel cheerful 
 again. 
 
 At the end of expeditions of this sort people get silent and 
 thoughtful, and even go to sleep in the cab home. Neither Charles 
 nor Alice did this, but both were very contemplative, in different 
 ways. 
 
 Charles was thinking to himself how more than strange it was that 
 that Verrinder, whom he had seen first before the dawn of Alice- 
 for-short, was even then a heartbroken watcher for the return of the 
 mysterious thing called Life to a brain which never opened to 
 receive it; that the woman he waited for in vain through all those
 
 488 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 years was, even now, expecting them at home; and what a very 
 funny thing it was that Guy Fawkes, of all people in the world, 
 should have taken his mind back to Verrinder, during a pleasure' 
 excursion with a little girl, who at that time when he first saw him, 
 was bringing home the beer from publics round the corner. There 
 was no end to the rumness of things, clearly. 
 
 Alice was wondering to herself what would happen if Old Jane 
 were to go out suddenly, like the gas all over the house the other 
 day, when Pierre, in the course of scientific research, turned it 
 off at the main. The question had a twofold meaning for her. 
 One way it meant: How much will you and Mr. Charley miss 
 the dear old silver hair and patient musical voice? the other, how 
 will her death affect your residence at Mr. Charley's ? Alice could 
 answer the first question, both for herself and Charles. The second 
 was more troublesome. It did not connect itself with Mrs. 
 Grundy in the least. It was entirely a matter of Charles's com- 
 fort ; never was unselfishness more absolute or less egotistic. There 
 was no trace in it of the spirit of aggressive self-sacrifice which 
 runs a debtor and creditor account with God, and usually makes 
 false entries on both sides. It was simply resolvable into sub- 
 inquiries, such as: "If I stop on, will it come in the way of Mr. 
 Charley's marrying, and being really happy?" or, "If I go away, 
 will Mr. Charley be properly attended to, and not be put off with 
 underdone loin-of-mutton much too fat, and watery potatoes?" 
 Then came a twinge of doubt that had never crossed her mind 
 before: "After all, my stopping on and making the place com- 
 fortable may be bad for Mr. Charley, even if Old Jane is there." 
 Conceivably, Miss Everitt Collinson, or some equivalent benefit, 
 might come to pass more readily if she, Alice, were out of the way. 
 
 All this while, mind you, she was quite aware that there was a 
 mauvais quart d'heure in store for her when her final surrender of 
 all rights in Mr. Charley should come, and he should be carried 
 away by Miss Everitt Collinson, or Miss or Mrs. Somebody-Some- 
 thing, anyhow! Did it much matter who it would be all one to 
 Alice? Her mind raised a slight involuntary protest against the 
 exclusion of the possibility that she might keep some of Charles, 
 for all he found a real wife elsewhere. But it gave up the point 
 after a perfunctory effort. There ! it wouldn't be the same thing, 
 and it was no use pretending. If Mr. Charley had a Mrs. Charley, 
 when would Alice get a ride alone with him in a Hansom ? Nobody 
 really enjoys riding bodkin. And think how long ago it wns that 
 Alice had her first ride in a Hansom with Mr. Charley. Oh not 
 If Mxs. Charley was in the Hansom, she would wish them as pleas'
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 489 
 
 ant a ride as hers was now but, as for bodkin, not if she 
 knew it! 
 
 Perhaps we are all wrong in our interpretation of little girls, or 
 women, but we certainly believe that most of them would have felt 
 exactly as Alice did. The only difference we can surmise between 
 what she felt now, and what she felt when as a mere baby she tried 
 to put a spoke in the wheel of Charles's foolish wedding, is that 
 then she said, "Oh, Mr. Charley, don't go away from us" Whereas 
 now, she might have said, "from me." But we don't vouch for it, 
 because we don't know. 
 
 Whatever Alice would have thought, under circumstances 
 which had not arisen so far, her thoughts in this present Hansom 
 had to come to a close. For the delightful ride which ended the 
 delightful excursion did so on its own account; and Charles and 
 Alice were on the doorstep at Acacia Road, saying well ! they had 
 had a delicious time! 
 
 Priscilla the handmaid was on the watch, and just in time to 
 make the door-bolt overshoot Charles's latchkey; a thing he said 
 always tried his temper. But they were very late, and she and 
 cook had wanted Mrs. Verrinder and Mrs. Gaisford to have dinner 
 and not wait. They preferred waiting, and Mrs. Verrinder was 
 asleep in the drawing-room. They looked in at her. 
 
 "She really is wonderfully pretty," said Alice to Mrs. Gaisford, 
 "but we must look alive for dinner, Mr. Charley. It's awfully 
 late!" Whereupon Mrs. Gaisford said: "Don't hurry on my 
 account I shall catch my train," in a tone which clearly meant 
 do hurry ! I shall lose my train. 
 
 So, when the coffee-stage arrived, it was natural that Mrs. Gais- 
 ford should pull out her watch and apparently see written on its 
 face that it would take her three-quarters of an hour to get to 
 Victoria and the train was nine-forty. Alice went away with her 
 to find her things. They had only time for three words. 
 
 "I expect it will be as I said," said Mrs. Gaisford, through a 
 safety-pin she was holding in her mouth : "She'll go on a bit longer 
 perhaps but one day she'll go out like the flame of a candle. 
 You needn't be uneasy about her !" Alice thought this very incon- 
 sequent, but it was just like Mrs. Gaisford. She was always like 
 that. "All the same she may live to be a hundred. She was talk- 
 ing very funnily about you I must run! It's the last train 
 to-night, and it won't do to miss it. Good-bye!" and off went 
 Mrs. Gaisford. After raising Alice's curiosity she left it unsatis- 
 fied. "Never mind," said Alice to herself, and went back to finish 
 her coffee in the drawing-room. She could hear the old musical
 
 490 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 voice talking on to Charles as she opened the door. It interrupted 
 itself: 
 
 "Is that my darling Cynthia? I was just saying to your hus- 
 band, my dear, that John and I went to the Tower. We had to get 
 tickets. And we saw all the things you've seen to-day. Only we 
 didn't go in this queer boat thing you've been down the river in. 
 Fancy steam engines on board a boat! Why doesn't it sink! 
 They're all made of iron, and it must be such a weight !" 
 
 The only effect produced by the old lady's misdescription of 
 Charles, was that Alice looked up at him in an amused interroga- 
 tive way, and he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. If they had 
 been a pending couple, not quite ripe but very touchy and sensitive, 
 it might have been embarrassing. They let it pass unnoticed, and 
 Old Jane continued: 
 
 "I suppose it's right, making all these railways and things. But 
 there were none when I was with John none in London, I'm sure. 
 It's all very strange ! We did very well without them then. When 
 John and I went off to Scotland we ran away, you know, to get 
 married we went in the stage-coach. We went a deal faster than 
 these trains, as you call them." She disbelieved altogether in the 
 speed of railways, treating speed as a kind of abstract idea a 
 thing timetables and mileage had no bearing on. "I was a wilful 
 girl, and I suppose we did what was wrong. But my father turned 
 against John, and then ah, dear!" it was always when she spoke 
 of her father's quarrel with her husband that her voice showed 
 most distress. Alice tried to get her mind off him. 
 
 "But you did go to the Tower, like us ?" 
 
 "Oh yes! and then we took a little boat, and a man rowed us 
 down the river, and we saw a great West Indiaman going into 
 the docks. It was a beautiful sunshiny day, only it came on a 
 ehower, and wetted us through. But we didn't mind, John and I !" 
 
 "We didn't go in a little boat," said Alice. "Another time we 
 must. This time we shouldn't have had time enough." 
 
 "We had plenty of time all day! We went off early in the 
 morning, with sandwiches. Some with mustard and some with- 
 out for me, because I didn't like mustard. And we lived all day 
 long on them and penny buns and ginger-beer. And when we got 
 home past twelve at night there was nothing to eat, because a 
 cat had been in the larder. But we didn't mind, John and I !" 
 
 Her thoughts were back in the days of youth and strength and 
 confidence. When she was first resuscitated, those days had seemed 
 like yesterday. As she slowly absorbed the facts (that is, if she really 
 did absorb them) the long years that had elapsed began to tell; and
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 491 
 
 though statements in figures could have had little meaning for her,. 
 and she was still far short of grasping them, she understood the 
 position better than even Charles or Alice had expected. Some- 
 thing of a need of apology for her slowness seemed to be hanging 
 in her mind now, nevertheless. 
 
 "You know, darling Cynthia," she went on, "and I know I ought 
 to know, how very very long ago it is. But it is so hard to think it. 
 If I let myself forget, it grows to be the other day that we bought 
 my new Irish poplin and John wanted it made without flounces. 
 And it was how many years ago, my dear you say ?" 
 
 "More than fifty !" said Alice. And Charles, who had been very 
 silent, repeated her words. Something seemed to have made him 
 very grave and dreamy. 
 
 "More than fifty more than fifty." Old Jane repeated it 
 several times. "But, oh, how little use words are! It seems as if 
 it could not be! Why, it really really scarcely seems a day 
 since my dear John pulled the bell too hard in our little sitting- 
 room at Stoke Newington and the rope came down and knocked 
 my wedding-present off the mantelshelf and broke it. It was a little 
 Dresden China shepherdess old Miss Luttrell gave me we called 
 it my wedding-present because it was the only one we had it and 
 the little shepherd in a three-cornered hat, playing on a pipe. We 
 called it John's wedding-present, John mended up the shepherd- 
 ess with glue. Only the other day!" Alice had drawn her chair 
 close to the old lady, and put her arm on the cushion the old 
 silvered head lay back on, with the eyes half-closed. She stroked 
 the white locks responsively, but would not trust herself to speech. 
 Old Jane talked on quietly ; there was no audible pang in her voice. 
 It was a quiet musical ripple. 
 
 "There was a tumbler knocked down too, with John's grog in 
 it I had just made it, only Elizabeth hadn't brought the sugar." 
 She seemed to be looking at her hand, spreading and closing the 
 delicate finger-tips. "I can almost hear my husband's voice now, 
 saying, 'Don't cut your pretty hand, dear love,' because I stooped 
 to pick up the glass. And then Elizabeth came in, and I said 
 bring another glass and the sugar-basin." 
 
 She kept on looking at her hand, and moving the slack wedding- 
 ring up and down on the finger. In a moment she resumed : 
 
 "And do you know, darling \ (I am old now and it doesn't mat- 
 ter !) I thought to myself what a pretty hand it was. And I said 
 I really did, dear ! I said, 'Yes, Sir ! see what a pretty hand I have 
 given you ! And much you deserve it !' But you know, darling: 
 Cynthia, that was my joke. For I loved John dearly 1 I used to
 
 492 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 call him John Anderson, my Jo! It was a song there was then 
 about 'your locks are like the snow' I should like John to see 
 mine, now 'John Anderson, my Jo !' " She still dwelt on her hand, 
 and taking Alice's in her other one, placed the two left hands side 
 by side, comparing them. 
 
 "Yes, dear Cynthia, you may find it hard to believe, but my pretty 
 hand then was like your pretty hand now ! And now look at 
 mine !" Alice wanted to say how pretty it was still. But the words 
 stuck in her throat. Charles did nothing to reinforce her; rather 
 the contrary! 
 
 "Oh, my darling, what is it ? See now that is stupid me ! Just 
 think that I should set you off crying with all this melancholy 
 talk !" But Alice collected her self-possession, the more easily that, 
 tears having been publicly spoken of, she could now produce a 
 pocket-handkerchief without disguise. When it had retired to its 
 lair again, she kissed Old Jane, affectionately, but did not feel 
 loquacious. 
 
 "You are really so much younger than me, dear, that's why!" 
 said Old Jane. She seemed to mean that youth could not look 
 death in the face as old age can or something to that effect. Also, 
 she seemed to imply that the strange thing, on the face of it, was 
 Alice's youth, not her own age. Every one is normal in his own 
 eyes. Alice felt she must try to say something, if only to convince 
 herself of her own self-control. She pulled off her own ring 
 the celebrated ghost's ring, as Lucy called it. 
 
 "You ought to have a guard-ring," she said, "to keep yours on. 
 Like this." And she slipped it on Old Jane's finger, outside the 
 gold ring. But Old Jane said it was just as sloppy, and one would 
 have to be made. You see, they were talking so unlike people in 
 books ! 
 
 "Now, Cynthia darling just to please me, see! You try my 
 ring on your finger." Alice took the gold ring, and was about to 
 put it on her wedding-finger, when the old lady interposed. "No 
 no!" said she, "that will never do! Most unlucky! Mr. Charley 
 must put it on that hand. You must only put it on the right." 
 Alice thought this was some funny old-world superstition she did 
 not know, and slipped the ring on her right hand. 
 
 "Of course," added Old Jane, "I should have liked it on the 
 other hand. Because it would have looked just like mine that day ! 
 But " 
 
 Alice, with the most perfect simplicity and unconsciousness, 
 withdrew the ring from her right finger and held it out to Charles. 
 Old Jane interposed again.
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 493 
 
 "No no ! That's unlucky too." 
 
 "Nonsense unlucky! Stick it on, Mr. Charley, and have done 
 with it!" Thus Alice, and out goes her wedding-finger proper 
 towards Charles. He has been very grave and quiet for some time. 
 Now he speaks. 
 
 "I think, darling girl, that perhaps perhaps you don't quite 
 understand what Mrs. Verrinder meant." He comes and sits on 
 the other side of Mrs. Verrinder, and speaks to her by her name, 
 gently and affectionately. 
 
 "Dear Kate, I am afraid you have got a false idea about me and 
 Alice. I am not going to marry Alice, and Alice is not going to 
 marry me " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley dear, WHAT a silly old goose you are !" Alice has 
 flushed scarlet, and her pulse has gone up very much up ! "Dear 
 Kate ! she never thought any such nonsense. Do tell her, Mr. 
 Charley!" 
 
 "You tell her, Alice!" This was mean. You see, the fact is 
 Charles had not the dimmest idea what he was going to say. Alice 
 might try her hand. 
 
 "You don't understand, dear Kate. It's not like that. Mr. 
 
 Charley and I are Mr. Charley is well! it's quite different " 
 
 And Alice doesn't feel that she's scoring. Charles's delicacy is in 
 terror lest any form of disclaimer should be interpreted into some- 
 thing dreadful, and feels he must clear the position. 
 
 "Alice was a baby when I knew her first " 
 
 "And picked me out of the filthy street and the area full of 
 cats and my bedroom near the water coming in, and took me home 
 to Mother Peg, and saved me! Yes my dear my dear you 
 did!" Alice is getting excited, but excitement may not be good for 
 Old Jane, and she sees her way out easiest by turning all to a joke. 
 She remembers Charles's letter Sister Alethea read, and the stolen 
 turkeys, and winds up: "And instead of that, suppose I was to go 
 and marry you ! Poor Mr. Charley !" 
 
 Charles is just going to avail himself of the proffered exit 
 through laughter, when he is stopped by the tears he sees running 
 down Old Jane's cheek. During the attempted explanation she has 
 been looking, puzzled, from one speaker to the other. Now she 
 herself speaks. 
 
 "Oh no ! oh no ! it isn't true. You are only joking with me. 
 But do not do not ! Oh, do tell me truly are you not, you two 
 are you not to be married to be made man and wife ?" She keeps 
 looking from one to the other. The position she has placed them 
 in is a convolution of embarrassments.
 
 494 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 Alice, confronted for the first time with the problem of her own 
 relations with Charles, which from childhood she has always taken 
 for granted, thinks first and foremost of his difficult position, and 
 how she shall best extricate him from it. She thinks of saying: 
 "I love Mr. Charley so dearly that I certainly wouldn't marry him 
 on any account. He must marry somebody he's passionately 
 attached to, etcetera." But what an idea ! Fancy trusting Mr. 
 Charley with an admission of that sort! He'd order a ring at 
 once, if it was Alice-for-short, even if he was head-over-ears in 
 love with two or three duchesses. Then she thinks how would it be 
 to say, "I hate Mr. Charley so that nothing would induce me," and 
 turn it off as a joke. But she is not certain the joke would avert 
 the further discussion of the point, and besides ! the silver hair, 
 the beseeching look, the trembling hands still holding hers and 
 Charles's how could a joke be thought of, much less spoken ? She 
 is sorely puzzled what to say. But she is always full of intrepidity 
 and resource, is Alice ! An idea crosses her mind. She knows Old 
 Jane's hearing is not equal to a sotto-voce, and she speaks across 
 her quickly, under her breath. 
 
 "Can't you think of anything to say?" 
 
 "No! whatever I think of seems wrong." 
 
 "Then do as I tell you, Mr. Charley, and ask no questions. Pre- 
 tend we're engaged, for her sake!" 
 
 "For her sake ?" Alice nods. She stoops over the old wrinkled 
 face, and kisses it affectionately. 
 
 "Dear Kate ! don't cry I will tell you. We mean to be married, 
 one day me and Mr. Charley when we're in the humour. And 
 we'll tell you all about it when we know ourselves. There !" 
 
 An expression of perfectly seraphic rapture illuminates the old 
 face. "Oh, my darlings," she says, "I was right. I was right. And 
 it will be?" 
 
 "Oh yes one day ! But we are very happy as we are." 
 
 "And you will be happier yet as John and I were." 
 
 Alice had to admit to herself that her adventure had been a rash 
 one. She had not had time to consider the consequences. It was 
 not only that the old lady was sure to talk, whatever promises of 
 secrecy she might make, but that she herself felt, the moment that 
 Old Jane gave way to her delight at the announcement, that she 
 was not really prepared to play out her part in the drama. She 
 could have simply made her misstatement, and there an end. But, 
 to have to face the constant recurrences that might be expected, 
 and to supply the little inventions that would certainly be called 
 for! How about that? And worse still, how about meeting Mr.
 
 AUCE-FOR-SHORT 495 
 
 Charley to-morrow morning? Just for to-night, and for an expe- 
 dient, it didn't matter what nonsense we talked ! But how about 
 the cold light of day? It would never be possible to keep discreet 
 silence on the subject by mutual consent. That would breed a sub- 
 consciousness-, that would never do. It might even undermine 
 them Alice shuddered to think! And if it was bad for her it 
 would be worse for him. See what she had done! 
 
 At the same time, what was the alternative? Sticking to the 
 truth, and letting the dear old thing break her poor heart over it '{ 
 A pretty choice! No she could rub the unselfishness of the 
 motive into Mr. Charley, and square it all up that way. 
 
 These reflections passed rapidly through Alice's mind, probably 
 in some modified form through Charles's also, as they stood by the 
 old lady, neither liking to withdraw the hand she held; both at a 
 loss what to say next. Presently her own fingers relaxed, and she 
 Temained perfectly motionless with her eyes closed so motionless 
 that Charles thought she had fainted. But she had not. It was 
 only the sudden sleep possible to old age and low vitality. 
 
 "She's all right," said Alice, after examination. "Very little 
 pulse but it's there! She ought to have something. There's 
 some brandy in the cellaret of the sideboard." But before Charles, 
 who went immediately to get it, returned, the old lady opened her 
 eyes and drew a long breath. "I must have dropped asleep for a 
 minute," she said; "I wonder whether I was dreaming or not," 
 and then seemed to become partially unconscious again. 
 
 "Oughtn't we to send for Shaw?" said Charles. Shaw was the 
 local medical resource. But at the sound of his name the old lady 
 roused herself. "No don't send for any doctors for me," she said, 
 not without asperity, "I shall be best in bed." 
 
 She tried to get on her feet, but succeeded so ill that Charles 
 settled the matter by picking her up like a baby she was almost 
 a featherweight and carrying her tenderly to her room. Alice sum- 
 moned Priscilla, and the two of them got her to bed. Then she 
 became wakeful and remembered the events of the evening clearly. 
 So Alice decided on sitting with her till she slept; Charles on a 
 final pipe, and made himself, as Alice requested him to do so, 
 scarce. 
 
 "My darling," said Old Jane when she was comfortably settled, 
 and Priscilla had waned, "I can't tell you how happy you have 
 made me. I've been thinking that it was, and thinking that it 
 wasn't, off and on off and on ! And then when I heard your cab 
 back, something made me fancy it was, for certain. Then I sup- 
 pose I said something and you both thought I thought you wero
 
 496 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 going to be married at once. Of course I meant in the end. But 
 now it's all quite right, and I shall sleep and wake quite happy." 
 
 "Do you dream much, dear Kate ?" 
 
 "Yes, a great deal. It's always ine and John. There's one dream 
 I dream over and over again. We are walking about in those pretty 
 
 Paddington fields, and he calls me Miss just as he used to 
 
 do at first. Because that was before. We went there again though. 
 Only this particular dream is always before. And, oh dear! I can 
 smell the May blossom, and hear the singing of the birds. We 
 heard a nightingale, I know. Oh yes! I dream that dream over 
 and over again." Alice felt the lump in her throat, and for reply 
 only stroked the speaker's hand, as it lay on the coverlid. Old 
 Jane went on, speaking more with pleasure than pain with per- 
 fect self-command at any rate. 
 
 "We walked more than six miles, John said. I daresay the fields 
 are not so pretty now. We went all round by Westbourne Green 
 and the Grand Junction Canal, and saw a barge go through the 
 lock, and all the water bubbling up. How we did enjoy it, that 
 day! I shall never enjoy anything again so much. . . ." There 
 came a little pause, giving the idea (to Alice at least) that she 
 had remembered her age, and was reflecting that future enjoyment, 
 if any, must needs be elsewhere. 
 
 "Cynthia darling, do you know what I should really like, instead 
 of going to Heaven when I die because you know, dear, they may 
 want me to go to Heaven, and John might not be there I don't 
 think he believed in anything at all do you know what I should 
 like really if I could have my own way ?" 
 
 "No! what, dear?" 
 
 "Why, I should like to die in my sleep, just in the middle of 
 that dream. Only to have the dream go on. Because the smell of 
 the May in the dream and the singing of the birds and oh, 
 the sunlight ! Now you go to bed, dear. I shall sleep." 
 
 She turned her head again and closed her eyes, but left her hand 
 still on the coverlid. Alice said good-night; kissed her again, and 
 left the room.
 
 CHAPTEE XLVn 
 
 BUT SHE DOES NOT WAKE, THIS TIME. AND SHE DIED UNDER A DELUSION. 
 NOW SUPPOSE IT HAD BEEN TRUE ! HOW CHARLES MET HIS BEAU- 
 PERE IN THE REGENTS PARK. THE WITCHES IN MACBETH. A LET- 
 TER OF MISS STRAKER'S. HOW IT ALICE HERSELF ? 
 
 ALICE herself slept, unmistakably. Only, owing to her general 
 arrangement about being called in the morning, it was very late 
 indeed before she waked. For her system was that Priscilla should 
 remain in abeyance until she rang her bell, and should then appear 
 with hot water. This plan of life had been established with a view 
 to its inevitable corollary; that, however early Alice rang, the hot 
 water should be ready for delivery. In fact it was only the corol- 
 lary in disguise a palatable way of introducing it, to avoid 
 unpleasantness. 
 
 So when she awoke at nearly nine o'clock, she said good gracious 
 how late it was, and pulled the bell violently. Not because she 
 supposed the hot water would come any quicker on that account, 
 but as a foretaste of compensating alacrities to come. Let no rash 
 retainer presume on an exceptional delinquency like this! 
 
 "What is it by downstairs?" said she to Priscilla as she opened 
 the shutters. And Priscilla replied, "Five-and-twenty to, Miss." 
 Nine understood. 
 
 "Oh, well! that's not so bad as I thought. Is Mr. Charles 
 down ?" He had been down an hour, and was writing in the draw- 
 ing-room. Very well then say breakfast in ten minutes, and Alice 
 would be ready by then. And tell cook not to boil the eggs too 
 hard. Yesterday they were not eatable. 
 
 "Am I to wake Mrs. Verrinder, Miss?" 
 
 "Certainly not. Is she sound asleep ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, Miss quite sound!" 
 
 Alice was so preoccupied with the difficult task of getting through 
 ablutions and into garments in ten minutes, that she did not notice, 
 or postponed noticing, that Priscilla's question was unusual. Gen- 
 eral instructions interdicted Mrs. Verrinder ever being waked, at 
 all; in fact Charles and Alice (fortified by Sir Kupert) regarded 
 much sleep as likely to prolong life, and quite invaluable to the 
 
 497
 
 498 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 old lady. It was not until Alice had broken the back of her toilette 
 and was combing out her hair, that her mind went back on the 
 fag-end of her conference with Priscilla, and then detected, retro- 
 spectively, some kind of uncertainty in her last words. Had she 
 gone too far in taking for granted that stupidity would account 
 for anything and everything Priscilla said or did? She stopped 
 combing a moment with a thoughtful face, then hurriedly pulled on 
 slippers and a sort of peignoir or tea-gown, and went out. 
 
 Priscilla and cook (unusual again) were standing at Mrs. Ver- 
 rinder's door conversing in an undertone. They looked frightened 
 and Priscilla said, "Here she is !" as though they had been speak- 
 ing of her. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Verrinder rung?" 
 
 "No Miss !" Alice glanced at the speaker, Cook, Her replying, 
 instead of Priscilla, who stood silent, was contrary to routine 
 an invasion of Priscilla's province, 
 
 "Have you been into the room?" Alice asked. And Cook again 
 replied, "Yes, Miss." Priscilla remained silent. Alice waived 
 explanation, and pushing the door gently open, looked in. Only for 
 two seconds; for almost immediately she closed it, and turning ran 
 quickly downstairs to the drawing-room, where Charles was writ- 
 ing. He turned as she entered and saw something was wrong. 
 "Another ghost, dear ?" he said, jokingly. 
 
 "I want you to come upstairs at once. Come now !" 
 
 "How white the child looks ! 1*11 come, darling." But she looked 
 as if she might fall, and Charles passed his arm round her. "Oh 
 no ! I'm all right," she said. But she leaned on him, too ! 
 
 He paused an instant at the stairfoot, and glanced round in her 
 face. "Old Jane!" he said, interrogatively. She nodded, and they 
 went upstairs. 
 
 On the landing were Cook and Priscilla, as before. Both wera 
 crying, as though the short interim had made things clearer to 
 them. They followed Charles and Alice into the room. 
 
 The old hand that Alice had held the night before still lay where 
 she had left it on the coverlid; but what it had of colour then, was 
 gone. It might have been alabaster. The old face that looked so 
 happy to Alice as she said farewell to her was almost as white as 
 the hair upon the brow. But for that, what Charles and Alice both 
 knew at once was Death might have been sleep. So little had the 
 lips parted, so nearly did the eyelid still close over the glazed eye, 
 that it would have been hard to say wherein what was now left of 
 Old Jane differed from what had been Old Jane in her half- 
 century of living Death in the Asylum. But no one who had seen
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 499 
 
 and noted Death that is really dead, could have doubted for a 
 moment that the end had come. For a short half-year no more ! 
 she had stepped from the tomb into the light; and now the dust 
 would return to Earth as it was, as the Spirit had returned to God 
 who gave it. But neither Alice nor Charles, if thought took 
 shape thus as they stood by the motionless form that had moved 
 and spoken for them so few hours before, could have gone further 
 with the Preacher, and said that all was Vanity. Had not Old 
 Jane, in that brief span of time, wound herself round the hearts 
 of both ? And what was the meaning of it all ? of the thread that 
 was now broken of the memory that would remain? All was not 
 .Vanity, preach whoso might ! So long as Love itself the mystery 
 of all mysteries shall remain unsolved, there is an immeasurable 
 music beyond the octave-stretch forlorn of our fingers, an unfath- 
 omable ocean beyond our little world of pebbles on the shore. 
 
 Alice's nurse-experience had taught her all the minor duties that 
 weigh us down in the presence of Death all the ''things that have 
 to be done." She knew them better than Cook or Priscilla, who 
 went away to provide some necessaries, after a few words of in- 
 struction. Having given these Alice returned to Charles, who 
 after writing a few words for Priscilla to take to Mr. Shaw the 
 medical man, had come back into the room, and stood looking at 
 the seeming-sculptured effigy upon the bed. He placed his arm 
 round her again, as it had been before. She found her voice, in a 
 whisper almost. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Charley dear! To think that she was here with us 
 less than ten hours ago and now 1" 
 
 "And now we don't know what to think." 
 
 "No, nobody does! I was thinking what shall we do about her 
 wedding-ring? It will come off when they move it." 
 
 "Tie something round her finger." 
 
 "No, I won't. I'll put it on my own finger till . . . well! she 
 did last night, you know." 
 
 "All right, darling. I don't object. You can put it back 
 after." 
 
 Alice asked pardon in her heart, as she stooped over the old white 
 face, and kissed the ivory brow. The hair still felt as it would have 
 felt yesterday. She drew the ring from the finger how easily it 
 came off! and placed it on her own hand behind the Ghost's 
 ring. But it brought back the evening before so vividly, that she 
 was fain to hide her sobs on Charles's shoulder. Cook and Prie- 
 cilla wouldn't be back for a minute or two. His arm closed round
 
 500 ALICE-FOR-SIIORT 
 
 her, as his free hand caressed the loose hair that had only been 
 half -combed. 
 
 "Poor little Alice-f or-short !" said he. But it would have puzzled 
 any one to say if it was a father or a lover that spoke. Con- 
 ceivably the latter, seeking reinforcement for a spurious paternity 
 in the name bestowed on Alice's babyhood, preserved through 
 Alice's girlhood. Or possibly, he did not know himself. 
 
 Alice felt happier for her torrent of tears; but though she dried 
 her eyes, she did not dissociate herself from him, but looked up in 
 his face with something on her mind. The clear blue eyes gazed 
 into his through the last of the shower, and the hands Old Jane's 
 were once so like folded themselves on his shoulder as the fingers 
 of the left moved on the third finger of the right over Old Jane's 
 wedding-ring. It was that that kept taking her mind back to the 
 evening before. 
 
 "It does seem such a shame!" said she at last. 
 
 "What seems a shame, darling?" 
 
 "Why! To think that the last thing the very last thing of all 
 when we were together you and she and I was a deception!" 
 
 "What was the deception ?" 
 
 "When we said let's pretend all that. It wasn't you, dear Mr. 
 Charley, I know. It was I did it nobody but me. And she believed 
 it all and never knew it was pretence! I felt so guilty up here 
 when she said how happy it made her." 
 
 Whether it occurred to Charles then that he might say, as an 
 infallible logical sequence, "Then why not make it a reality?" we 
 do not know. But if it did, we feel certain he dismissed it at once. 
 The serene unconsciousness of that aspect of the matter in the blue 
 eyes that looked up again so trustingly at him as their owner 
 pleaded guilty to her duplicity; the evident retention by that 
 duplicity and that only of the foreground of her mind, completely 
 forbade any reference to a selfish aspect of the case on either part. 
 The predominant, indeed the only aspect, for Alice, was that her 
 last intercourse with her old dead friend had been soiled by a decep- 
 tion on her part. Charles could never avail himself of a false con- 
 text of ideas ; he accepted Alice's thought of the matter as the only 
 one possible the only ground on which it could be discussed. 
 
 "What made her happiest was best, wasn't it?" he said. "Don't 
 grieve about that, dearest little Alice. What does it matter ?" 
 
 Alice dried her eyes. "I daresay it's only a fancy," said she, 
 "but one does have fancies! I would sooner everything I said to 
 
 her had been true " Alice was interrupted by the advent of 
 
 the doctor, knockless but with musical boots. Priscilla had left the
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 501 
 
 street-door on the jar. She and Cook were throwing their whole 
 souls into averting slams, outflanking rings, and making under 
 their breath. Cook's attitude appeared to Alice to consist of imper- 
 fectly digested reminiscences of correctitudes elsewhere. An 
 unwarranted Prayer-book that lived normally in a soup-tureen on 
 the dresser was seen by Alice in the Tea-Anhydride on the little 
 wooden table in the kitchen. It was not on service; a mere imple- 
 ment of bereavement. The doctor's verdict was soon given; and 
 then, his function discharged, he went his way. 
 
 If Charles had ever contemplated straining Alice's words to a 
 meaning she had not seen in them, he must have felt glad now that 
 he did not do so. Her detachment from any such meaning was 
 absolute. She would sooner everything she said had been true! 
 And what she had said was that he and she were to be man and 
 wife. But though Charles could not jump at a misinterpretation, 
 to gain an end he had never, so far, dreamed of as possible, he could 
 repeat over her words to himself, as he went in to town to give 
 directions for the funeral. He was to meet Alice at Harley Street, 
 where she would go at once after she had got things settled at the 
 house. But there was no hurry, and he wanted a walk. He walked 
 across Regents Park repeating to himself Alice's words : "She would 
 sooner everything she said had been true !" 
 
 Ah! Now suppose only suppose he had been the young man 
 who crossed this greensward sixteen seventeen years ago, instead 
 of the old man he had elected to think himself now! Or rather, 
 the worn-out, used-up, spoiled, disfranchised man, who could not 
 offer an unsullied love (according to his own romantic notions) to 
 any woman. But suppose it ! Just for once ! Let Imagination 
 loose give her the bit in her teeth! And then, suppose! how if 
 everything that Alice had said had been true? Charles's heart 
 quickened as his blood ran riot in his veins as it mounted to his 
 head. He went dizzy with the idea the dream of a happiness 
 almost too intoxicating to be borne! 
 
 Just conceive it ! If the words could have meant what he knew 
 they could not mean, that she would rather it had been true that 
 they were to be man and wife ! Shut your eyes to think, Charles ! 
 Yes! squeeze your fingers on them if that is any help to think 
 what that would mean for all the days to come that you have left 
 of life ; of the life you have chosen to think of as a dried leaf hang- 
 ing to its stem till the winter shall sweep it away. What would 
 that sweet impossible reality really be? 
 
 Charles's dizziness was so genuine a vertigo, that he actually 
 stopped and dropped on a park seat to collect himself for a moment
 
 502 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 
 
 to unthink his dangerous thoughts. Might not this sort of thing 
 disturb his existing relation with Alice his most precious pos- 
 session, and substitute nothing for it? Absit omen! Shake it off 
 and have done with it ! 
 
 The seat had another occupant; a previous one. Had Charles 
 been in a mood to examine and observe he would not have sat down 
 beside him so easily. He was a Park-waif of the dingiest type 
 possible; all the dingier that each and all of his mouldy garments 
 cried aloud that it had been black and respectable once, and in 
 some mysterious way laid claim to having always been worn by its 
 present owner. Oftenest, the miserable nondescript that hangs 
 about the parks is clothed in a style more eclectic than any known 
 to the Arts in their very latest Periods. His coat may cry aloud 
 that long ago it was an Archdeacon's, and that its present owner 
 is a layman; his trousers that they once adorned a Buck, in the 
 days when they had all their buttons; a Buck six inches longer in 
 the legs. His hat may have been touched by a Groom in the days 
 of its glory, and his boots may have been 'bespokes' for anybody, 
 except himself. Then you probably discern that he never was any 
 good, and are not impressed that he has seen better days, or de- 
 served them. But with Charles's decayed neighbour it was other- 
 wise. Charles decided on the better days at once, and against the 
 deserts immediately after; then followed a misgiving that he had 
 seen the face before, the depraved old face that insisted alike on its 
 claim to belong to the respectable and the criminal classes. It 
 was possible that it might be the Reverend Theophilus Straker, 
 Lavinia's father, sent to the travaux- forces by a French eourt-of- 
 law, twenty years before; convicted since in England of what the 
 newspapers call blackmail, and the French police chantage, mean- 
 ing thereby extortion of money by disgraceful threats; living 
 always, as Charles had well known, even when subsidising the old 
 Frenchwoman, his wife, after her daughter's desertion, on what he 
 could extract by complaints or threats from the one or the other. 
 It was so possible that it was he, that Charles immediately rose 
 to walk away. He thought as he did so that he heard the words, 
 "Stop, Sir !" but he went on without noticing. Then the other began, 
 shouting after him, "Mr. Charles Heath Mr. Charles Heath !" 
 
 It was just the hour of the morning when the Park is at its 
 fullest late enough for complete enjoyment of the autumn morn- 
 ing; too early for absence at lunch. People were passing, and 
 Charles turned back. The old reprobate evidently meant to compel 
 him to stop by attracting the attention of passers-by, and there was 
 no saying what device he might not resort to. Besides, on second
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 503 
 
 thoughts, was it not possible he might know something about 
 Lavinia's last days? It was not in Charles's nature to expel alto- 
 gether from his mind the memory of a past love. The draught had 
 turned to wormwood, but was it not once wine wine from the 
 grapes that had ripened in the sun of his early days ? And had not 
 he and she rejoiced in their sweetness, and dreamed no foretaste of 
 the bitterness in store ? He turned back and sat down again beside 
 his respectable father-in-law. 
 
 "You were in too great a hurry, mon gendre!" Charles knew 
 he would try to be as irritating as possible and resolved not to be 
 irritated. He replied with perfect equanimity. 
 
 "I was not anxious to recognise you, Mr. Straker. But if you 
 have anything to say, I will hear it." 
 
 "You talk easily, mon gendre. You talk as a man talks who has 
 slept all night in a warm bed, warm sheets warm blankets a 
 pillow for the head ! A man who has had hot coffee en famille hot 
 coffee buttered toast! Eugh!" The sound he made through his 
 closed teeth, and a sort of grin-glare, cannot be spelled. It com- 
 bined pity for himself with resentment against Charles. 
 
 "Where do you suppose 7 have slept, Mr. Charles Heath ? When 
 do you suppose I shall break my fast? I will tell you. I evaded 
 the park-keepers last night when they closed lay hid. I slept on 
 the grass what sleep ! I was thawing in the sun like a frozen 
 snake, Sir! when you came by. A man thaws slow on an empty 
 stomach. Oui vraiment! hier j'ai dine par coeur!" Charles 
 remembered that this man had been a preacher (in fact, a very 
 famous one in a puny world) and he could be eloquent in English 
 as well as in French. Probably he was lying. Had he really had 
 no dinner yesterday? 
 
 "I am sorry you have got your deserts, Mr. Straker. But come 
 to the point. How much money are you going to ask me for ?" 
 
 "Enough to pay for the breakfast I have not had yet. A pint 
 of coffee such coffee ! Stale bread rechauffe a 1'eau, and butterine 
 kept over from yesterday kept under the firm's bed, I should say. 
 You had fresh butter this morning, mon gendre?" 
 
 "I believe so I don't remember taking any." In fact, Charles\ 
 morning meal had been a mere form. 
 
 "Madame would remember Madame 1'epouse. Cette fille char* 
 mante que j'ai vu promener, tou jours au bras de Monsieur 
 toujours en carrosse. I saw you and your pretty wife mais comma 
 elle est gentille ! in a Hansom yesterday. Yes, mon gendre !" 
 
 Charles could not tell why it was that his mixing of French and 
 English should make him more irritating; probably he himself
 
 504 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 hardly noted which he was using. But so it was. He had hard 
 work to reply quietly: "That young lady is not my wife." Mr. 
 Straker broke into an offensive laugh. 
 
 "Ho ho ho! M'sieur Charles ! Not your wife? Et puis, de 
 qui est-elle 1'epouse? De quelqu'un qui n'a pas su bien garder te 
 seragli? Monsieur Charles Monsieur Charles d'un honneur si 
 delicat! I say, Mr. Charley, I say-y! Clck!" 
 
 And the foul creature made a clucking sound to express mutual 
 understanding in enjoyment of wickedness. He half-closed one 
 eye over the upper side of a twisted grin, and tapped his nose in 
 furtherance of his position. 
 
 Charles was unable to endure him any longer. He started to 
 his feet scarlet with anger, and seizing the reverend gentleman 
 by the collar, in spite of his strong reluctance to touch it, shook 
 him to and fro until his disreputable old head vibrated on his 
 shoulders. It was not an act of prowess; and Charles often felt 
 ashamed when he thought of it afterwards. But he was irritated 
 beyond all bearing. 
 
 The old miscreant gathered himself together on the grass, where 
 Charles had flung him; and sat muttering curses, not too audibly. 
 A repetition might be feared. 
 
 There were very few people close at hand at the moment two 
 ladies who were frightened and took to their heels some boys 
 who thought it interesting, and were building up hopes of a fight 
 and a park-keeper with a Crimean medal approaching along the 
 walk, leisurely enough. Straker recovered his hat and his legs 
 slowly, and then turning to Charles said: "Vous m'en rendrez 
 compte. I will pay you for this." Charles gave him leave to do 
 his worst. To his surprise the park-keeper who now came up 
 seemed to take the justice of his position for granted, over and 
 beyond the normal deference to the better dressed of two dis- 
 putants, which is inherent in constabularies of all sorts. 
 
 "Do you wish to charge him, Sir?" said he. 
 
 "Does he wish to charge me ?" said Charles. 
 
 "Have you any charge to make ?" said the Crimean hero, address- 
 ing Straker. The latter made no reply, and began to move off. 
 Charles called after him. "You pretended you were starving," he 
 said ; "I don't want you to starve," and gave him a sovereign. The 
 reverend gentleman said, "Damn you!" but took the money and 
 went his way. 
 
 "He was at his usual game, Sir, I suppose?" 
 
 "You know him then ?" 
 
 "He's pretty well known, Sir. I should like your card, Sir, if
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 505 
 
 you've no objection." Charles gave it, and added that Mr. Straker 
 was unhappily a connection of his own, and that he had no com- 
 plaint against him except that he had been offensive and imperti- 
 nent. He had lost his temper and was sorry. The park-keeper said 
 that sort of thing was trying, and then Charles walked on to com- 
 plete his business and recover his equanimity. 
 
 He was just administering to himself a dose of Alice, mentally, 
 to clear the filth out of his mind, when he became aware that he 
 had been overtaken by three boys the same that had witnessed the 
 fracas. The smallest of the three seemed to be the spokesman; 
 he opened his case by saying that he said, Guv'nor ! 
 
 "What do you say, old man?" said Charles. 
 
 "I say, Guv'nor ! The boys has got a letter wot they picked up 
 they picked up they picked up " 
 
 "Where did they pick it up" 
 
 "Orf of the ground. You arsk 'em !" 
 
 "Could you indicate the locality?" Charles's manner, and the 
 beaming good-nature of his face as he looks at the little Arab 
 (who is sucking his cap when not speaking), remind us of the 
 Charles who talked to the little girl with the beer-jug ! 
 
 "Show yer where? Over there. You come along of us. Vie'H 
 show yer !" And the three all point simultaneously like the Witches 
 in Macbeth, to the place where the row was. But the eldest boy, 
 who may be eleven years old, suddenly distinguishes : 
 
 "You young hass! Wot do you want to be walkin' the Guv- 
 'nor all the way back there? Don't you listen to him, Guv'nor!" 
 And then the speaker turns, inconsistently, on the young ass, and 
 asks him why he don't tell the Guv'nor it was where the minister 
 bloke was on the ground ? Charles's old manner grows. 
 
 "Let us avoid recrimination !" he says. "I am to understand, am 
 I not, that the boys picked up this letter where the minister bloke 
 was on the ground?" The Witches in Macbeth nod simultane- 
 ously. 
 
 "Then where are the boys? This is in strict order, and arises 
 naturally from the question before the House." The Witches look 
 at one another, puzzled. Then the First Witch (the young hass) 
 is illuminated. 
 
 "Them two!" he says, and indicates his companions as if they 
 were on a distant promontory. 
 
 "Is there any objection to the production of this correspondence ?" 
 The tone of the colloquy is parliamentary, but the conduct of the 
 Second and Third Witch is not. For, instead of saying that it is 
 not at present consistent with the public service to do so, they at
 
 506 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 once produce two folded sheets, one apiece. - Charles wonders what 
 would happen if the Home Secretary, for instance, were to pro- 
 duce a document from the interior of his trousers, unbuttoning 
 his waistcoat to get at it, as the Third Witch did ! 
 
 "Thruppince !" All the three Witches say this at once, like a 
 well-trained Opera-chorus. Charles gives them a penny apiece, 
 and takes the papers. The three walk away, conversing about 
 investments. 
 
 Charles saw that the letter or letters had probably fallen out 
 of his amiable father-in-law's hat, and ought to be returned to him 
 if an opportunity ever occurred. He thought most likely none 
 ever would, and was content that it should be so. But as he was 
 putting them away in his pocket, his eye was caught by the writ- 
 ing. It was his late wife's. Possibly you would have been too 
 scrupulous to look at them. Charles was not, under the circum- 
 stances and we confess that we should have done exactly as he 
 did. He found the beginning and read on, as follows : 
 
 "Mon pere You do not deserve it, but I will send it it is the 
 urgent wish of la bonne Maman. Elle raffole de son aimable mari ! 
 Pour moi, je ne m'engoue pas autant de mon pere. But take the 
 money I hope it may keep you out of gaol for a time. 
 
 "As I told you, the letter came. I felt sure. Ce jeune homme 
 est le vrai dindon de la farce. Sa famille est bien riche il n'a pas 
 besoin de 1'argent. Pour les Beaux Arts, ce sont son dada II n'en 
 gagnera jamais rien! But I shall not ask him for any more just 
 yet je vais tondre le brebis je ne veux pas 1'ecorcher. 
 
 "You see you could not catch me! Vous aurez beau-faire de 
 chercher trouver notre petit chez-nous. Let it alone you will 
 never have another penny from me if you find us out. 
 
 "Votre fille pas trop devouee, 
 
 L." 
 
 Charles opened the second letter without refolding the first, and 
 read : 
 
 "Mon pere I shall not come myself to bring you the cash but 
 Maurice will meet you, and I write this note for him to take. 
 
 "Would you believe it? Ce pauvre Charles he saw me in the 
 Park after I ran away from you j'ai peur qu'il m'a reconnu. I 
 have told him I was at Exeter Hall at the time I do not wish him 
 to know about my respectable parent and yet I should have no 
 etory to tell without bringing you in. At present he is lulled to
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 507 
 
 sleep, n dort a poings fermes. Mais je ne veux pas 1'eveiller. 
 And, therefore, mon ami, be content not to see your dutiful daugh- 
 ter for the present. Or else fix another meeting-place, farther from 
 Monsieur Charles's daily round. He says he often walks that way. 
 Tell Maurice somewhere else. Ampthill Square? He won't go-' 
 over that way. 
 
 L. 
 
 "Ce bon Charles va me raccommander ! But first, he must hear 
 me sing. Cela s'entend." 
 
 Charles angrily crumpled up both letters, and walked briskly on. 
 He thought he could account for their long preservation, and 
 reappearance now. The old fox had evidently kept them to ter- 
 rorise his daughter, and Lavinia's frequent intercessions for this 
 father of hers, and donations to him, had been made under appre- 
 hension of their production and perhaps others. Probably he 
 carried them about with him latterly in case he should ever get 
 speech of Charles. He had been sent away from the house more 
 than once. But he could easily have used them to get money, 
 and may have had them in his hands with that view at the time 
 of the rupture. Anyhow, it was certain that he left them on the 
 grass. 
 
 It was in vain that Charles said to himself that, after all, the 
 letters told him no more than he knew already. Why should not 
 Lavinia write so to her father ? He caught rather despairingly at 
 her contemptuous way of mentioning him, as evidence that at that 
 time she was forming no scheme of entangling him, whatever she 
 did later. But something in the postscript that he could not define 
 came in the way, and this attempt to whitewash Lavinia failed. 
 Besides, the whitewash was not white. It might obscure a dingy 
 stain, but it was of a grimy tint itself. There was, however, an 
 element in the letters for the force of which perhaps Charles did 
 not make full allowance may not have been actively conscious 
 of namely, the half English, half French. It reminded him that 
 the repulsive object he had just got rid of so summarily was bone 
 of the bone, flesh of the flesh, of this woman. And she was Pierre's 
 mother! The admixture of tongues by both did not of necessity 
 imply like character in the two, but the dose of it from both so 
 near together had the effect of a nightmare. 
 
 Poor Charles! He was so wrenched and twisted, so put on the 
 rack by the whole incident and its cross-fire of thoughts and 
 memories, that he was aJmost glad to remember he had other trou- 
 bles in hand, so sweet by contrast was the thought of the old face
 
 508 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 and silver hair of yesterday; so sweet was it still, even with the 
 pallor of Death upon it, that to go back on it was like awakening 
 from a dreadful dream. And with it came again the pressure of the 
 two soft hands upon hie shoulder, the memory of the clear blue 
 eyes that had looked up into his with so complete a faith that he 
 would understand. There was trouble and grief in all, as there 
 might be in a winter's morning for the escaped prey of an incubus. 
 But, oh, the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the jewels in the 
 snow! Charles tore up the letters into pieces enough for safety, 
 and scattered them to the winds. 
 
 One thing was certain he wouldn't say a word to Peggy about 
 it. Her old self -blame for the marriage would come back, and no 
 end be gained. He might tell Alice. He would like to tell Alice 
 everything only all this would be pain to her. Why tell her what 
 would hurt her? Still, it could be nothing but balm to him that 
 she should see his whole soul; only, thought he, I would not have 
 her look down into a charnel-house. 
 
 This, you see, was exaggeration. Alice would not have looked 
 down into a charnel-house: only into a dwelling the last tenant 
 had made a disgraceful litter in, and run away from. But she 
 would have seen that, though the owner had not made the place 
 tidy for a new tenant, he had dusted every table, polished every 
 pedestal and console, cleaned up every window-ledge and mantel- 
 shelf, that he could place an image of herself on. She would have 
 seen one of a very little girl with a very large bonnet and an apron 
 full of something; and another of the same little girl well washed 
 and dried, and dressed in a little blue frock, throwing her whole 
 small soul into a spasmodic delivery of the memorable tale of the 
 spotted lady. Then many another image, of the growing school- 
 girl, acquiring information at a great rate on every conceivable 
 subject; of the experimental nurse of two or three years ago; and 
 last, but not least, a constant double image of herself as she might 
 have been, and herself as she was the former exceeding the wildest 
 aspirations of the Smallpox Hospital, the latter a deal too beautiful, 
 and not doing proper justice to that awful mark round the corner, 
 where people kissed you. She would have seen all these, and prob- 
 ably would have said : "What a pity I should not come in and clean 
 up all this mess for I love this house so dearly, and it breaks my 
 heart to see it neglected and forsaken." 
 
 Of course she would have said so, and Charles knew it. And 
 that would have been reason enough alone charnel-house apart 
 for Charles not to want his soul seen through by Alice. Why, if she 
 came to know, from an autopsy, how absorbingly he loved her, she
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOKT 509 
 
 would at once fling all her own feelings to the winds and say : "Oh, 
 dear Mr. Charley, how can you be so silly ? Do you really suppose I 
 would ever leave you, if you wanted me to stay? Marry me right 
 off if you like nothing would please me better!" Yes Charles 
 knew that. But would nothing please her better? There was the 
 crux ! Charles couldn't have Alice's happiness tampered with. 
 
 Then there crept into his mind again he could not keep it out ! 
 the same strain that had sent the blood flying to his head before a 
 Hallelujah Chorus breaking into a Pastoral Symphony, and filling 
 his whole soul with its triumphant resonances "How if Alice 
 herself" it always began, and always lost articulate expression in 
 its admission of the possibility of an affirmative answer. "It 
 might even be! Such things have been, and will be again." But 
 if so, how had human reason survived for the after life for the 
 hours of fruition ? Absurd speculation ! Be still, ambitious soul ! 
 Remember what you are, for your own sake and hers. Do not give 
 way to extravagance, and destroy the happiness that is real, for the 
 sake of a dazzling chimaera. 
 
 Charles silenced the importunities of his soul and waked up from 
 his dangerous dream, as he passed through the gate where, years 
 ago, he had seen Lavinia give that intolerable father the slip. 
 "Poor girl !" said he, "perhaps if one only knew " and walked 
 briskly on to his business in a humour of incorrigible forgiveness. 
 
 Perhaps you may not see as plainly as we do that the difficulty 
 between Alice and Charles was an epitome of all man's stumbling 
 blocks that are laid in his path by Selfishness and Altruism. Just 
 as his results work out the same under consistent Selfishness or con- 
 sistent Christianity, so would theirs have done had each had either 
 a miraculous insight into the true well-being of the other, or a 
 blind absorbing greed for that other, regardless of obstacles and 
 forgetful of everything but its object. We prefer the latter mo- 
 tive force in love-affairs, but unfortunately it is only possible to 
 Eomeo and Juliet. Maturity will be thinking about other folks' 
 welfare, with painful results Poor-Laws, populations pauperised, 
 and collectively congested, but with personally empty stomachs. 
 There is much to be said for the Stone Age. What the exact par- 
 allel of the Poor-Law was in the case of Charles and Alice we do 
 not know, but we do see that the chivalric scruples of the former 
 didn't do the latter any good, and made Charles poor indeed.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 NONE SO BLIND AS THOSE WHO CAN'T SEE. PEGGY GIVES ALICE UP. NOT 
 WANT TO MARRY ALICE RUBBISH I A GREAT REVELATION, WHICH IS 
 PREMATURE 
 
 THAT night, Old Jane's last on this earth, Lady Johnson and her 
 husband were recapitulating in their bedroom and dressing-room, 
 as we have known them to do before, relying on the solidity of a 
 Harley Street house to prevent that little monkey Lucy overhead 
 hearing every word they said as they shouted from one room to 
 the other. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know what to say to Nelly." This comes in a 
 puzzled tone from Peggy in the bedroom. Rupert first says he can't 
 hear, and then replies without waiting for a repeat. Why are 
 people always so inconsistent in conversation? 
 
 "Advise her not to ask for advice tell her to marry him without 
 it ! She's done it once before, and may as well do it again." 
 
 "She says he's such a boy!" 
 
 "Does he wipe it off when she kisses him ? It seems to me that's 
 the point !" Each smiles and knows the other does, in spite of the 
 wall between. 
 
 "Yes! your youngest daughter was funny, Dr. Jomson. She 
 wouldn't mally that little boy, because he wiped it off when she 
 kissed him. Did you hear the little boy's perfectly disgusting apol- 
 ogy for his conduct?" 
 
 "Oh yes ! there was something to be said, though. As for Nelly, 
 she wants to marry this one, whether or no only this time, she 
 particularly wants to do it a centre cceur, and because other folk 
 advise it. One she can't; t'other she can try for. But they'll 
 do very well never fear!" 
 
 "I suppose he went to Vevey on purpose. I wish I was half as 
 easy about the other two as I am about them." 
 
 "The Contented Vacillators? Couldn't they be forbidden one 
 another's society ? That would do it." But they couldn't obviously. 
 Peggy reviews other possibilities. 
 
 "I can't bear to think of the old lady dying one gets so very 
 fond of her. But, of course " 
 
 510
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 511 
 
 "Of course, that would make a difference ! I say, Lady Jomson !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Couldn't you persuade the washerwoman not to tie up all my 
 Bhirts with beastly little red threads ? That woman is an incarnate 
 fiend she knows I hate it and does it on purpose etc., etc., etc." 
 
 But the conversation loses interest for us. Why we are con- 
 cerned in anything so inconsecutive is that when Peggy heard 
 next morning, at an unusually early time, an unusually early voice 
 as of Alice on the stairs asking if Lady Johnson was in the back 
 drawing-room, and then Alice came in with a pale face and the 
 news, her first remark was: "Oh dear! and I was talking of her 
 last night!" For it struck Lady Johnson as a cruel and cold- 
 blooded thing to speak conversationally of any one who was near 
 death elsewhere, or dying, however ignorant we might be of the 
 fact. She put by the letter she was writing to her sister Ellen a 
 letter not very likely to deter that still young lady from her new 
 enterprise and sat down beside Alice on the sofa. 
 
 When was it and how was it? Particulars, known to us, are 
 given. Doctor says he can call it heart-failure, for the sake of a 
 name. Really it was just what Anne Gaisford anticipated a 
 natural end of her term of life. Stimulated perhaps by a little 
 excitement just before she went to bed. She burned up a little too 
 much overnight and flickered out in the dull small hours of the 
 morning between one and two, Mr. Shaw thought. 
 
 "You darling child! And you found her! And where has 
 Charley gone?" 
 
 "Gone for Mr. Mould. I don't know what his real name is." 
 
 "And will Charley come on here ?" 
 
 "Yes he was to come straight on." And so keenly did Peggy 
 scan every word Alice said about Charles, that she absolutely 
 noticed the omission of the name with the invariable Mr. and the 
 accepted pronoun Charley, and thought to herself : "Now, how nice 
 it will be if next time she speaks of him, she calls him Charles or 
 Charley!" But she said nothing except "What had the dear old 
 lady been excited about?" and Alice disappointed her in her first 
 sentence. For she looked unhesitatingly straight into Peggy's face, 
 the blue eyes full of tears, and answered : "Poor darling Old Jane ! 
 Do you know, dear Mother Peg, she had absolutely got it into her 
 head that Mr. Charley and I were fiances, lovers, Darby and Joan, 
 don't you know? And were going to be married and she asked us 
 when. And poor Mr. Charley had to tell her we weren't ! Oh ! I 
 was so sorry for him. You know how he hates giving pain. And 
 she cried so ! And then I did what I've felt so sorry for since, be-
 
 512 ALICE-EOK-SHORT 
 
 cause she really cried so we thought she would be hurt you know 
 how frail she looked ?" 
 
 "What did you do ?" 
 
 "I told her a great fib just to make her mind easy. I said Mr* 
 Charley and I were going to be married, some day, if ever we were 
 in the humour, and it made her so happy, and Mr. Charley didn't 
 mind it was only nonsense! But you would have done it your- 
 self, because she cried so." 
 
 "I don't wonder !" Peggy cannot for the life of her resist saying 
 this. When she has said it, for one moment she fancies the cat is 
 out of the bag, and all the fat in the fire ; but how little she under- 
 stands her Ah' ce ! 
 
 "I^o more do I ! I should have been so bitterly disappointed my- 
 self if I had thought any girl / was very fond of and she was 
 
 very fond of me " And Alice breaks down in the middle and 
 
 loses speech in sobs. She recovers, however, and finishes up: "was 
 to marry Mr. Charley and thea I found it was all a mistake !" 
 
 "That's why I didn't wonder, darling! because I am very fond, 
 indeed, of you!" Alice looks puzzled over this doesn't seem to 
 follow the reasoning prefers to finish what she was saying. 
 
 " Because, just think what she would lose!" 
 
 "Oh! Alcey Alcey," cries Peggy, quite out of patience, "do come 
 here, my ducky, and tell your Aunty Lissy she's the biggest little 
 goose of an Aunty ever was." 
 
 "Well, I do not see anything goosey in that! Isn't he better 
 than any other man any man we know, I mean? And just think 
 how uneasy one would be about the poor girl herself why, she 
 might have fancied Mr. Charley was going to marry her}- I 
 simply cannot bear to think of it it would be too dreadful for 
 her." 
 
 "Alice! you're hopeless! I give you up. Tell your Aunty Lissy 
 she's hopeless, Ducky!" But the spoiled youngest of the family is 
 busy, and says so explicitly. She is reading from, a book held 
 upside down, a tale of two mouses and a worm, which she has to 
 make up as she goes. 
 
 "Very well, darling you're biddy and you shan't be disturbed. 
 But your Aunty is quite hopeless, and I give her up." 
 
 Alice says: "I don't see why Fm hopeless!" But she sits on with 
 the puzzled look growing on her face, and buttons and unbuttons 
 the glove she has not taken off. Peggy having given her up, leaves 
 her to think it out, even as the propounder of a conundrum that 
 has made up his mind not to say, "Give it up 2" Alice speaks first 
 in the end:
 
 AUCE-FOK-SHOKT 513 
 
 "I can't see what you mean, unless it's something that you can't 
 possibly mean." 
 
 "Why not?" Observe that both these ladies take what it is for 
 granted ! 
 
 "Well evidently!" 
 
 "Why evidently?" 
 
 "Me and Mr. Charley just fancy !" 
 
 "What is there absurd in that ? It would be very nice." 
 
 "Very nice for me yes! Of course it would prevent any other 
 girl marrying him and taking him away. Besides " 
 
 "Besides what ?" 
 
 "Oh, the whole thing ! But how do you know Mr. Charley would 
 like it? That's the point!" 
 
 "I don't know, but I can't see how there can be any doubt 
 about it." 
 
 "Did you ever ask him?" 
 
 "Never ! But I know Charley." 
 
 "I could ask him myself, of course." Alice doesn't seem pre- 
 pared to do any bashfulness on the subject. She takes the matter 
 quietly enough, as the bather from the shore takes the chill on his 
 feet in the shallows the gasping is to come later the glorious 
 complete immersion last. But her principal feeling is confusion at 
 an unforeseen combination. 
 
 "Of course, I could ask him if he would like it but, of course, 
 he would say yes directly. Tliat would never do !" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because he would be doing it for my sake. You know, Mr. 
 Charley would do anything for my sake. He would hang himself 
 to-morrow if I asked him he's so fond of me, don't you see? I 
 sometimes think he's as fond of me as I am of him." 
 
 "Alice dear! you are without exception one of the most be- 
 wildering little minxes I ever came across. What on earth you 
 expect I can't make out!" 
 
 Alice substitutes a pulling on and off of the glove for buttoning 
 and unbuttoning. If Peggy is not mistaken, there is the faintest 
 ihish in the world on the bewildering minx's cheek. 
 
 "You see, Margaret dearest," an unusual method of address, 
 always implying seriousness, "it would be very nice that way, and 
 I should love Mr. Charley dearly for it. But it wouldn't, you 
 know, be quite the same thing as if as if " The flush is cer- 
 tainly increasing, and Alice's eyes are much preoccupied over 
 that glove. 
 
 "As if what?"
 
 514 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 "It wouldn't be quite the same thing as if as if he wanted 
 me all for his own sake. I think many other girls would feel the 
 same. Like greediness, you know!" 
 
 Lady Johnson's laugh rings out all through the house, and 
 Charles and Sir Rupert, who have just met on the doorstep, wonder 
 what is making Mother Peggy laugh so. She is laughing at the 
 naivete with which Alice has expressed a universal truth. She 
 kisses her a great deal on both sides, and says: "What a very 
 human minx, after all !" 
 
 "Ven ve two mouses tooked hold of each end of ve wum, and 
 pulled ve wum in halfed, and ve wum kyed because it hurted to be 
 pulled in half and ve mouses didn't kye because they was bad 
 mouses, etc." Thus continues the legend in a sweet stuttered 
 monotone, which has been theoretically reaching the ears of its 
 audience all along. 
 
 Charles walked into the great physician's private sanctum with 
 him. Patients who could not minister to themselves were waiting 
 in the anteroom, but let them wait! Opinions like Sir Rupert 
 Johnson's were things to be waited for. The moment he saw 
 Charles he guessed the news from his face. 
 
 ''When did it happen ?" said he after a few words. Charles gave 
 particulars. "I should like to examine the brain," resumed Sir 
 Rupert. "Would Alice object to a post-mortem ? You see, I regard 
 you and Alice as the old lady's representatives." Charles said it 
 would hardly be possible to refuse it, under the circumstances; 
 after all, it was an ante-mortem that "the case" had owed her short 
 spell of resurrection to. 
 
 "This will upset you and Alice very much." 
 
 "Very much! Alice has been very much upset by it. You see, 
 she had got very fond of the old lady, so had Pierre. . . ." 
 
 "So had you! Always tell truth and shame the Devil, Charley. 
 But I didn't mean only that sort of upset. I meant your house- 
 keeping. We're not going to let you have Alice all to yourself, 
 and so I tell you plainly. While the old lady was there well! it 
 could only have been for a short time. At least, that was my 
 forecast. But now " 
 
 "I see what you mean. Of course, it will be much better for 
 Alice to come back here. For her own sake." 
 
 "Ah! and for yours. (Never mind the patient, he's only the 
 heir to half-a-million and the relatives want to know if he's fit 
 to look after it and I can tell 'em he isn't in five minutes.) And 
 for yours. Where were we? Yes she had better come back here
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 5 1 5 
 
 for your sake. Because look at it this way, dear boy! You're a 
 young man still, and ought to marry again get that boy of yours 
 a mother to look after him. His Granny spoils him, and if Alice 
 remains with you, you'll never marry." 
 
 "Certainly not !" Emphasis itself, on this point. 
 
 "And she won't marry either. I feel it in my bones, and Peg 
 feels it in hers. And we want her back here the house hasn't been 
 the same house, without her ! So make up your mind, old boy, and 
 give Alice up. And Peg will tell her to make up her mind and 
 give you up. There's no way out of it, unless you marry each 
 other !" The physician's shrewd eye turns round on his brother-in- 
 law, with merciless decision, and remains fixing him. Charles 
 wavers, but thoughtfully, not morally. 
 
 "Perhaps you don't want to marry her?" 
 
 "No, Rupert, that's absurd, and you know it! Fancy any man, 
 in his senses, not wanting to marry Alice!" 
 
 "Some people do want to marry other girls, for all that !" 
 
 "They mustn't expect any sympathy from me," says Charles, with 
 a touch of his paradoxical humour. But he puts it aside, and 
 meets earnestness with earnestness. He sees that Rupert has a 
 well-defined purpose in what he says, and that evasion would be 
 shabby. "Look at it this way, Rupert," he says. "If I were to ask 
 Alice to marry me, she would accept me at once " 
 
 "Well what harm would that do you? (Never mind the 
 patient.)" 
 
 "None whatever unless I went out of my senses with happiness ! 
 I am making you my father-confessor! But remember this, 
 Rupert! All her life, almost, Alice has fancied that she owes it to 
 me that she is not a well! God knows what she might or might 
 not have been had I not picked her up and put her in a Hansom and 
 brought her home to the Gardens." (Charles's voice fluctuates 
 towards tenderness as his mind picks up the little blue-eyed mid- 
 get's image and places it in a spectral cab.) "And she hasn't the 
 least idea that she is to me a precious jewel, a diamond that I treas- 
 ure all the more that I found it on a dust-heap. She fancies her- 
 self, the darling girl, deeply indebted to me, when really it is I that 
 am her debtor. She can't possibly know whether or not her feel- 
 ings towards me are or are not such as a girl ought to feel towards 
 a man who is to be her husband. She only knows she is ready to do 
 whatever I ask her. I know all that in a dozen ways. Would it 
 be fair, Rupert, now think of it seriously, to take advantage of 
 the position, and allow her to make an irrevocable step under what 
 I myself believe may be a misapprehension of her own feelings?"
 
 516 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Charles knows he is in earnest, but feels that he sounds like a novel 
 of his grandmother's youth. 
 
 "Don't you be too metaphysical over it, Charley. Let Alice fry 
 her own fish you see to yours. Don't imagine Alice would do her 
 benefactor such an injustice as to marry him out of gratitude; she 
 has your interests far too much at heart for that. Now you know 
 what I think about it. If I didn't consider you were a Mental 
 Case I wouldn't keep the Duke's nephew waiting." 
 
 At this moment Phillimore appeared, and said he believed Miss 
 Kavanagh wanted Mr. Charles, and had been asking for him. 
 "There ! you see Charley !" said his brother-in-law, but Phillimore 
 didn't understand, naturally! 
 
 In due course the whole of Alice's conversation with Peggy, and 
 Charles's with Rupert, were communicated by each of the latter 
 to the other. Due course in this case was in the confidence of the 
 night the next night. And narrative, comment, and necessary 
 qualification went on into the small hours of the morning; and 
 Lucy above wondered what on earth papa and mamma could have 
 got to talk about. 
 
 No wonder, after each had heard the other, that they looked on 
 Charles and Alice as joint constituents of a lighted firework which 
 is now nothing but a red spot in the dark, but means to distinguish 
 itself as soon as it is on the job. They remained quite silent, not 
 giving way to the weak impatience you show when you tip cath- 
 erine-wheels slightly, to start them. It isn't any use; and just 
 as like as not you'll jiggle them on their pin, and they'll get stuck. 
 The same holds good, in principle, of Orchestras and the Drama. 
 No reasonable Conductor or Manager allows himself to be influ- 
 enced by catcalls and noisy stamping. Much better to be quiet, 
 and wait with patience as Rupert and Peggy did. 
 
 They had not to wait long. For on the afternoon of the day on 
 which what had been (or had held) Old Jane was laid in the earth 
 ashes to the ashes of her long dead husband, dust to his dust 
 Peggy was conscious, as she came downstairs to go out shopping 
 with her oldest daughter, and then call on the somebody some- 
 things, of a certain empressement in the behaviour of the street 
 door, or the umbrella-stand, or Charlotte, who had been dusting 
 the latter and answering the former, or Lucy, who had rushed down 
 in front of her, armed eap-d-pie either for Shoolbred's or Society. 
 It was indefinite and unusual, and made her tell Space she won- 
 dered what all that was. Space must have told Charles to answer 
 the question, for what he said as he came up two stairs at a time,
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 517 
 
 to anticipate Peggy, was, "It's us!" He was so radiant that she 
 simply stood at gaze heart and speech stopped to hear what was 
 coming next. For remember, Charles and Alice were back from a 
 funeral, and the speaker's face was out of keeping. 
 
 "I've brought Alice back." That wasn't all, clearly! 
 
 "Yes yes Charley darling! go on go on quick!" 
 
 "Not for good, you know ! I'll let you have her for awhile." But 
 his sister's arms are round his neck, and the tears and laughter 
 of her joy show that no more is needed; the murder is out, and 
 wild excitement and felicitation reign in Harley Street. 
 
 "Yes Mr. Charley and I are going to be married unless I change 
 my mind. I've promised not to marry him if I change my mind." 
 .Thus Alice. 
 
 "We shall have to see about your things." Thus Lucy. 
 
 "S'ant I have tratters off the tate to pull faw myself?" Thus 
 'Alice junior, who, whenever anything in the nature of a celebra- 
 tion is afoot, surrenders herself to an uncurbed passion for 
 crackers, which almost always turn out, so to speak, Dead-Sea 
 crackers. 
 
 But this is all anticipation mere story-spoiling, in fact ! If you 
 wish to know how this result came about, go on to the next chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 THE LITTLE ARCADIANS, AND HOW CHARLES BOUGHT THEM. A FUNERAL 
 IN A FOG, AND HOW ALICE CLEANED THE SHEPHERD. AND WHAT SHE 
 FOUND. HOW CHARLES COULD STAND IT NO LONGER, AND COOK 
 WASN'T CANDID 
 
 WHEN Charles left Sir Rupert, making way for the Duke's 
 nephew (who looked more like a wolf's nephew, for his ears stuck 
 out like bats' wings), he found that Alice did not want, as might 
 have been supposed, to lead him straightway to the Altar of Hymen, 
 but to tell him that she and Lucy were going to Jay's in Regent 
 Street. They would come round to No. 40 after, if Charles was 
 going to be there, in time for lunch; and then they could all go 
 and lunch together somewhere, or come back to Harley Street. 
 Agreed to. And Charles was to be sure to recollect this; to be 
 particularly certain to remember that; and to make a point of not 
 forgetting the other. Agreed to also, and Alice and Lucy took an 
 impatient cab that would hardly stand still for them to get in, and 
 went off to buy details of mourning. Charles took the cab's num- 
 ber carefully, as part of a nonsensical system of fidgeting about 
 Alice whenever she went out of his sight, and walked away to his 
 Studio. 
 
 His brain was rather in a whirl after the events of the last day 
 or two. When he arrived at No. 40 he was not altogether sorry to 
 exchange a few words with Mr. Pope, whom he met coming down- 
 stairs. It tended to settle matters down to recognition of the 
 routine of every day life. He told about the death, speaking of it 
 as a serious loss to himself and Alice. By the merest accident he 
 called her Alice ; deliberation, in speaking to Pope, would certainly 
 have made her Miss Kavanagh. It would have seemed mere prig- 
 gism to correct it. 
 
 "Sort of maternal parent to Mrs. 'Eath?" said the stained-glass 
 maker. He was always allotting Alice to Charles perhaps he had 
 derived a spirit of prophecy from the numerous Isaiahs, Habak- 
 kuks, and Jonahs whom he had delineated, all looking as if they 
 had a low opinion of the future and naturally this mention of her 
 by her Christian name had its effect on him. 
 
 518
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 519 
 
 "There is no Mrs. Heath," said Charles, seeing the mistake. "My 
 wife died some years ago don't you remember?" Poor Mr. Pope 
 looked disconcerted. 
 
 "I'm puttin' my foot in it," said he. "I'm wantin' that leeftenant 
 of mine my son, Kit to keep me on the square. You ask him! 
 He'll tell you his guv'nor spends his time forgettin' himself and 
 commemoratin' other people." 
 
 "How's Kit?" said Charles, to change the subject. 
 
 "Spooney young customer! That's what's the matter with Kit. 
 Otherwise, lawn-tennis, football, swimmin' matches anythin' you 
 like!" 
 
 "Is it Miss Jerrythought ?" 
 
 "That's the young lady, Sir! if you call her a young lady. 
 I don't. I call her a little girl a little girl in her teens, and not 
 too many of 'em. Can't see why their mothers can't let 'em alone, 
 for my part! Me and Mr. J. 'old to the opinion of lookin' the 
 other way when there's any kissin' goin' on, and lettin' 'em alone. 
 Couple of infants in arms, accordin' to me !" 
 
 "A long engagement's the best thing in the world for a boy," said 
 Charles. "I'm on your side and Jeff's. They can wait." 
 
 "So I tell 'em. But what upsets their respective mammas is 
 the way they have of going about looking for furniture for their 
 house. Catalogues all over the place best white wool in super 
 tick mattress combination chest-of-drors and washstand three 
 fifteen. That sort o' game ! No knowin' what'll come next !" 
 
 "Nothing like being beforehand," said Charles. He wanted to 
 go upstairs, but Mr. Pope was full of his subject. 
 
 "You ask Mr. Bauerstein here he comes ! how those two young 
 shavers were going on in the Gallery yesterday." Mr. Bauerstein, 
 appealed to for further explanation, shook with laughter internally, 
 and recalled how that nice little girl had pitched upon a very sweet 
 little pair of Dresden-china figures and made a note of the price. 
 She was sure her Aunt Sarah would give them to her and Chris- 
 topher for a wedding-present, if she asked her, and her mother said 
 thereon: "But you are not engaged. I will not have it." Mr. 
 Bauerstein became inarticulate with laughter. When he recovered, 
 he wiped his eyes and his spectacles and said: "They are valuable 
 figures, but one is broken. I bought them with Mr. Verrinder's 
 pictures. Mr. Heath would remember?" 
 
 Mr. Heath remembered the pictures (but had never seen the 
 china) and also recalled where he had been hearing of Dres- 
 den porcelain. These little figures were Old Jane's wedding- 
 present.
 
 520 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 Charles had no difficulty, when he had told Mr. Bauerstein of 
 the death of Mrs. Verrinder, and that she had mentioned these 
 figures, in negotiating a purchase. He carried the little shepherd 
 and shepherdess, in Court dresses, up into the Studio. And lighted 
 a pipe, and wondered. 
 
 Sixty years ago! old Becky's gift to Old Jane, when she was 
 young Jane when life was new and bright, and the sun shone on 
 Paddington fields. In the days wfcen a Gretna Green elopement 
 from London meant four days' posting, day and night, through 
 pastoral silences that are now resonant with pumping-engines ; 
 under skies then clear that now are tainted with a Cimmerian 
 gloom, or blacked outright, like Hell through villages that have 
 become railway-stations and village-inns that have become Hotels, 
 with lifts. That like was the wedding journey of young Jane and 
 her bridegroom, and the wedding-presents they came back to were 
 this very same little Arcadian pair, and no others. And how 
 strangely they had come back, by a succession of unconnected acci- 
 dents, to a link with their original donor to the old ballroom 
 where she, young Becky, then a girl in her first season, had wit- 
 nessed an infamous scene of the good old days ; the days of Vauxhall 
 and Ranelagh in their glory, of a Court that aped a Harem, of a 
 Press that dared not speak for dread of the Pillory, and a Parlia- 
 ment packed with placemen; the days when no woman could call 
 her soul or body her own in a word, the days of a hundred and 
 thirty years ago. That was the image of those days Charles had 
 in his mind maybe a false one! How he would have liked to 
 follow out the story to its sequel, the cellar-murder! For that 
 the two were connected he did not doubt. But now there were no 
 further data to ground surmises on. The mystery must remain a 
 mystery, for all time. 
 
 If only we could have oblivion, just where we want it! If we 
 could but use the curtain that hides from \is a past our curiosity 
 craves to fathom, to veil the things in our lives that we are crav- 
 ing to forget ! So Charles thought as he watched his smoke-rings 
 melt to nothing, and die. If only that cloud that hid that murder 
 and its story could be lifted, and become instead an impenetrable 
 darkness between him and his own past ! He was not of that sort 
 that consoles itself with the reflection: "At any rate I was not 
 to blame." Rather, he was always seeking to whitewash others at 
 his own expense. He would far sooner have treasured his last 
 weak attempts in his dead wife's favour than have to look at her 
 in the ugly light of those two letters he had torn up and thrown 
 away so gladly. But there was something in the tone of the let-
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 521 
 
 ters that was worse even, than the contemptuous expressions about 
 himself. "Le vrai dindon de la farce," was bad enough even with 
 the forced excuse that she hardly knew him at the time but the 
 semi-jocular, hail-fellow-well-met tone in which she wrote to her 
 criminal old parent had sickened Charles of his task of extenuation. 
 "I'm afraid I can do nothing' for poor Lavinia after that," said he 
 to himself. Only note he still said "Poor Lavinia !" 
 
 By-the-bye (apropos of Lavinia), he was all this time forgetting 
 that dear boy at home, who was just as dear to him as if his mother 
 had been an angel. Of course, the poor child would be coming 
 back from his Granny, and there he would find his "other-wicket 
 granny," as he called Old Jane, lying dead and cold. And the 
 boy had never seen Deatk near. So Charles gave up the intention 
 of beginning a glass-cartoon he had promised Pope, and writing a 
 hurried line of explanation to Alice, which he directed and attached 
 to his door, went back to Acacia Road as fast as a cab could 
 take him. But he wrapped up the Dresden figures and carried them 
 home with him. 
 
 Poor Pierre ! He had arrived and heard the news, with no one 
 but Cook and Priscilla to console him. As far as Charles could 
 make out he must have divided his despair between shedding tears 
 on Cook (who was kind-hearted, though greasy) and listening out- 
 side the death-chamber with no tangible motive, and with his shoes 
 off in case he should make a noise! When he saw his father his 
 sobs made him almost inarticulate, but he managed to convey that 
 he had been looking forward to telling the old lady that on Satur- 
 day he made three sixers. And now she would never know! His 
 faith in her interest in cricket was touching. (It was a holiday, for 
 some reason, and Pierre was engaged to go to a schoolfellow's, 
 where he was to spend the night, and return to school with his 
 friend it was a large public day-school in the morning.) 
 
 Alice would be pretty sure to stop on in Harley Street; so 
 Charles made up his mind to stay at home, and write. He was 
 near the end of his polysyllabic story, and the publisher was cry- 
 ing aloud for it. He must unpack the Arcadians, though. 
 
 Where should he stand them? On the chimney-piece would be 
 best. But first he must wash the male. The female had evidently 
 been the broken one, and Mr. Bauerstein had had her cleaned from 
 glue and properly mended. She looked as good as new. But the 
 male (as well as herself) had been an inkpot, or rather, lived 
 in a champaign-country where each tree had an inkpot at its 
 roots. He had been careless and the ink had got on his Bose-du- 
 Barry silk stockings.
 
 522 ALICE-FOE-SHORT 
 
 There was a piece of paper roughly gummed or pasted under 
 his hollow base. On it was faint writing, nearly vanished. But 
 "For Katey" still remained legible. Oh! how strange it was, with 
 her lying dead upstairs ! 
 
 The writing was so faint that if hot water was used to wash it 
 or to detach the paper, the forest ink might go outright. Charles 
 decided, as the safest course, to stand it in cold water, and let the 
 paper soak off slowly. That would not hurt it, and it could be 
 replaced, if Alice liked. Every arrangement Charles made was 
 subject to this condition. He left that courtly little shepherd 
 sitting on an island in a basin of water, well out of reach of Pris- 
 cilla's trop de zele, for which she was celebrated. Then he sat down 
 seriously to finish his story, and to work in all the longest words 
 he knew. 
 
 A pause for refreshments, and three hours more writing and he 
 was at the end of the twelve thousand words. He acknowledged 
 fatigue, and rang for tea. Just as he was measuring it out 
 scrupulously, came the sound of Alice. So he put in another 
 heaped-up spoonful. Alice's footstep on the stairs, and her voice, 
 in the rooms above, giving instructions to Priscilla, put a new 
 heart in him, in place of the mere workaday heart of the past 
 three hours. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Charley dear, tea ! Have you stirred it ? Only just 
 made very good! I'm not going to stop, you know. I'm going 
 back to Harley Street. I've come for my things." The new heart 
 fell went down below the level of the old one. 
 
 "Must you go, Alice-f or-short \ Does Peggy say you 
 must?" 
 
 Alice longed to say that Peggy would be only too glad to give 
 her up, under certain circumstances. But although she had made 
 claim to be able to speak of those circumstances to Mr. Charley 
 with perfect self-command, she found, face to face with the under- 
 taking, that it was not so easy as it had seemed. The water was 
 up to the bather's waist, and she was gasping. 
 
 "She thinks I had better go back, all things considered." 
 
 "Whatever shall I do without you, my dearest girl ?" Alice then 
 made a completely false step. Perhaps the gasping was uncon- 
 trollable. 
 
 "Of course, if you were ill, dear Mr. Charley, I would corae 
 directly, whatever they said." 
 
 What a mistake! Immediately, whatever Charles's mind had 
 allowed itself of imaginings that Alice's heart might be his out- 
 right, as though he were the young Komeo he had often allotted her
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 523 
 
 to, was swamped in a vision in which Gratitude, Benevolence, even 
 Duty, came on the stage, while poor little Love fluttered away crest- 
 fallen to the flies. 
 
 "I daresay they are right. But I don't know what I shall do 
 without you, Alice-for-short, for all that!" 
 
 "You don't know what you can do till you try, Mr. Charley dear ! 
 Just you try! Anyhow, back I go that's certain." 
 
 And back Alice went sure enough. And so hurt and discon- 
 certed was Charles at being roughly brought face to face with the 
 inevitable full-stop to his daily Alice that he actually forgot the 
 poor little Arcadian shepherd, and left him playing on a reed in 
 his little three-cornered hat, with never a shepherdess to console 
 him, on a shelf in his own bedroom where nobody else would touch 
 him and he would be safe, if anywhere. So, as it chanced, Alice 
 heard nothing about him, that time. 
 
 Charles, when he appeared next morning, went as near being ill- 
 tempered as Priscilla could recollect seeing him. She made mat- 
 ters worse (she was quite without tact) by saying Miss Alice said 
 coffee was to be made for two just the same whether master was 
 alone or not, because good coffee couldn't be made for one, and it 
 could always be finished in the kitchen. This rubbed Alice's 
 absence in, and Charles felt it was undeserved. So, instead of 
 conversing amiably with Priscilla, he told her that would do. This 
 was a hint, and Priscilla took it, and left him to the Daily Tele- 
 graph. He ate a soulless egg and prepared to go. He glanced 
 in at the room where the body lay. The gleam of morning sun 
 that struck across it, as he opened the closed shutter, showed where 
 Alice had placed some flowers about the figure on the bed, when 
 she had come upstairs the day before. The motionless remnant of 
 eighty-six years of nominal life, that had only been actual for less 
 than one-third of its time, was so pale and unsubstantial, such a 
 mere technical record of humanity passed away, that the little 
 China shepherd, could he have seen it and spoken, would have 
 called it porcelain like himself, and never could have dreamed that 
 that was once the bride that owned him, sixty years ago! Look 
 at his shepherdess how little the change! True, she had been 
 broken, and mended ! So had Old Jane, but the mending had come 
 too late. 
 
 Charles uncovered the face, and let his imagination put down 
 the perfect happiness of its serenity to the last impressions on her 
 mind at death, the memories of her old days with her husband; 
 of the happy hours in Paddington fields, that are fields no more; 
 and, not least, the delusion about himself and Alice. Yes 1 Charles
 
 524 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 did wish she had been tinder no delusion when she died. So had 
 Alice wished, but not in exactly the same way. 
 
 Plow about that ring? He drew the coverlid also off the hand. 
 Yes, there was the ring all right. Alice had replaced it yesterday. 
 Charles wondered whether Mr. Mould (whose real name was ignored, 
 though no doubt he had one) was really to be trusted about valua- 
 bles, when no member of the family stood by to see the coffin-lid 
 screwed on. We wonder, too. Let us hope, with Charles, that a 
 strong professional feeling prevents malpractices. But, what do 
 we know? Charles took his last look at the silver hair and old 
 features Alice had grown to love so in so short a time, and wondered 
 where or what the young soul was now, that had slept on earth for 
 sixty years. He closed up the room, gave some directions about 
 the undertaker, who would probably come before he returned, and 
 some others in case Sir Rupert or Dr. Fludyer should come to 
 examine the body, and went away to spend at tke Studio the work- 
 ing hours of the loneliest day he had had for a long time. 
 
 However, he completed a cartoon for Mr. Pope, who was greatly 
 delighted with it. With a singular perversity, Fate had ordained 
 that Charles should develope a capacity for doing respectable work 
 the moment he had another employment he was better fitted for. 
 Had some guardian Angel been purposely blocking his path; and 
 now, having turned him into a better groove, was allowing him a 
 little luxury a pleasant self-justification for his many pictures 
 that clung about him stilL Every day as he looked at the dreary 
 backs of the canvases against the walls, they seemed to him years the 
 locust had eaten and been unable to digest. And every day he 
 wished he could burn them all and see the last of them. 
 
 He did not wish it less at the end of this lonely day than on any 
 other, but he put very little side on in his wishing. For he felt that 
 all life had gone colourless and flat. He had imagined he could 
 really give up Alice, for Alice's own sake; and he was not best 
 pleased with himself for beginning to suspect that he might possi- 
 bly be mistaken. He was honestly (but quite fallaciously) con- 
 vinced that the surrender was necessary and inevitable, and would 
 of course make it. But he was by no means sure he would not cry 
 out on the rack, and destroy all the merit; and, what was more 
 important, all the intended good effect of his self-denial. Yet 
 every throe of disquiet (and each was worse than the last) ended 
 the same way consider Alice! Nobody could say Charles Heath 
 did not make a good fight against an opponent who never attacks 
 without a certainty that there is a traitor in the enemy's camp 
 himself! And he is an opponent who can bide his time who can
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOBT 525 
 
 afford to wait whose entrenchments are secure; whose commis- 
 sariat is Toiiimpeachable, and whose name is Love. 
 
 When Charles had completed his cartoon (a coloured cartoon, 
 because it had little numerals and letters all over it to show what 
 glasses to use) he went away to Harley Street. But he felt that 
 Harley Street had got a little dog's-eared. Are we too meta- 
 phorical ? Our meaning is that Charles was conscious of Some- 
 thing, and conscious of a consciousness of Something on the part 
 of Alice and Peggy and Rupert. And further he was conscious 
 that each and all of them were doing their level best to enable all 
 and each to pretend that there never was a community with so 
 little below the surface. A parade was made of the abnormal 
 usualness of current life. It was an epidemic sensitiveness that 
 always breaks out in families where engagements are brewing, or 
 suspected. Under these circumstances it has always seemed to us 
 that the kith and kin of the>. two principals might be described 
 as their strained relations. Peggy and Eupert talked a good deal 
 into the night, and rather regretted that they should have said 
 anything about it the Something! And Lucy overhead, this 
 time, felt quite sure she knew what papa and mamma were talk- 
 ing about. 
 
 But to-morrow was the funeral. It was an early October day, on 
 which London was turning over in its mind how it would do its 
 first November fog. 
 
 Alice and Charles were to be the only mourners Lucy wanted 
 to come, but her mamma overruled her. She had a cold, cer- 
 tainly, but well ! perhaps there was a mixture of motives. 
 
 Old Verrinder's will had determined that he should be buried 
 at Kensal Green, in the Dissenters' Ground, and that the remains 
 "of his dearly loved wife, when actual Death shall ensue" should 
 be laid "beside my own." Dr. Fludyer had carefully observed all 
 the terms of his will; and, therefore, it was at Kensal Green Gate 
 that the hearse, after a respectful crawl through suburbs in which 
 the middle-class was leading what it called its life, and a cheerful 
 trot (after a pause to collect itself) through what were once the 
 fields its tenant walked in thinking perhaps to herself all the 
 time what a very nice sort of young fellow this young man beside 
 her was, papa's new assistant ! that this hearse, bearing her ashes 
 to his ashes, her dust to his dust, remembered what was due to itself 
 and the occasion and went, under a profound conviction of our 
 common lot, very little quicker over the soft gravel road than if it 
 had contained the chrysalis of a bygone churchwarden. 
 
 London was trying a curious experiment with a great black
 
 526 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 cloud overhead when Alice and Charles followed the coffin to the 
 grave. The fog had risen from the ground and hung above, like 
 a pall. The sparrows, who always seem to know about these things, 
 twittered to one another that it was abnormal, and one appeared 
 to ask suddenly if it wasn't an eclipse. Alice thought they quar- 
 relled about it violently in the dust or the ashes. Then they left, 
 in the hands of a local stonemason, the lettering to follow her 
 husband's name on the headstone : "Katharine Verrinder. Wife of 
 the above. Died September 1876, aged eighty-six." And then were 
 driven off for home. The mourning-coach was cheerful about it; 
 that job was done, anyhow ! 
 
 On the way Charles was silent very silent. But then he had 
 been that five years before, at his father's funeral, when Alice went 
 also, and returned with him and his mother and Peggy in one of the 
 coaches. She remembered that he hardly said a word. This time, 
 however, he did speak in the end, just as they got to Praed Street. 
 "I never told you, Alice dear, about the little shepherd," said he. 
 And then he told her; and she, who had had an uncomfortable 
 impression that she should somehow leave him at his door and be 
 driven home alone to Harley Street in this lugubrious ancient 
 carriage that smelt of the Georges, replied that she must come 
 in then to see that little pair of Utopians, and she supposed, but 
 hesitatingly, that they might send this thing away, and she go 
 home in a hansom. She spoke as though doing so might outrage 
 some funeral propriety unknown to her. 
 
 "I'll risk it!" said Charles. "But it's rather like sending Guild- 
 hall away, or the Lion and Unicorn." 
 
 But it made no difficulties, touching its hat in the person of its 
 head-steward, who may have felt nearer pewter than before. He 
 looked that sort. Charles and Alice drew freer breath as the last 
 obsequy dispersed, and she ran into the house to open the shutters. 
 
 "However those men get any wives, I can't imagine," said she, 
 when she and Priscilla had opened everywhere and let in what 
 light there was. 
 
 "I believe they all marry pew-openers," said Charles, with perfect 
 seriousness. And Alice believed him for a moment ; then her laugh 
 rang out quite happily and naturally. The funeral was over. 
 
 "Oh! here's the little lady! What a pretty little thing! How 
 she must be missing her little shepherd ! Where is he ?" 
 
 "Up in the bedroom. On the top-shelf by the window." 
 
 "Which bedroom yours or mine?" 
 
 "Mine. Beside Julius Caesar above the books. He's stood in a 
 basin."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 52T 
 
 "All right !" and off goes Alice, twice as quick as Charles would 
 have done, and comes back, basin and all. He sits gravely by, 
 looking at her. He is very saddened, or distrait, or something. 
 This won't do ! Alice can't go off in hansoms and leave him like 
 this. She must cheer him up. 
 
 "Take care of the bit of paper, stuck underneath him," says he, 
 but absently, as if he didn't care so very much about the little 
 shepherd. 
 
 "There is no piece of paper. Yes, there is! It's floating in the 
 water. I say, Mr. Charley " 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 "What's the meaning of this written on it ?" 
 
 "It's what Miss Luttrell old Becky, you know stuck on it. 
 Some direction to some one she left it with 'for Katey.' " 
 
 "Yes, I see all that, but this on the other side? How comes my 
 name to be written on it at all?" 
 
 "Hullo, Alice-for-short, darling! What's all that? . . . Let's 
 have a look. . . . Well, I'm blowed!" 
 
 So was Alice. For there, on the side of the paper which for sixty- 
 odd years had stuck under that little shepherd who had passed 
 straight from Verrinder's strange eyrie that looked out on Bedlam 
 to the back slums of Mr. Bauerstein's collection, and only been 
 resuscitated for repair the other day on that inexplicable scrap 
 of paper was written plain and clear for all to read, Alice's own 
 name, "Alicia Kavanagh!" 
 
 If Charles had been by himself when this came to light he would 
 very likely have given up trying to guess the conundrum. But 
 Alice was sharper. She only wanted time to put two and two 
 together. 
 
 "Then there was an Alice Kavanagh. That was what she meant 
 dear Old Jane!" Alice's eyes are full of tears. "Don't you 
 remember, Mr. Charley, how she said there was, and we didn't 
 believe her, and thought it was because she heard my name just 
 after she came to? Only how strange that it should be Alicia, 
 too!" Charles remembered it all, but proceeded to discover that 
 there was nothing very remarkable in the coincidence. He had a 
 disposition towards minimising; had always shown skill in this 
 direction in dealing with the No. 40 ghosts. There might be fifty 
 Alicia Kavanaghs. Why not? 
 
 Said Alice : "Why not indeed ? I'm one myself, and it would be 
 too selfish to expect everybody else not to be! But I must wash 
 this little man's ink off and make him as smart as his little she. 
 I'll do it directly we've had some lunch." And she did so ; getting
 
 528 ALICE-FOR SHORT 
 
 some soap and soda from Priscilla. Charles was almost too pre- 
 occupied to eat anything; and she could see plainly that all Cook's 
 efforts to produce that impossible thing, a chronic lunch to become 
 acute at pleasure, had turned out useless. Alice was sorry, but 
 then she was nearly as bad herself. However, Charles soothed 
 his troubled soul with a pipe, and watching Alice's pretty fingers 
 removing the ink from the soiled Arcadian. 
 
 "Don't pour my coffee not till I've quite finished him," said 
 she. "The ink's in all his frills and folds.'* But she got him quite 
 smart like his little love, and stood them on the chimney-piece 
 together rather far apart certainly. But as they were inflexible 
 and sounded when tapped, what did that matter ? 
 
 The great gloom of London's little experiment, now several 
 hours in operation, had brought chill as well as darkness on St. 
 John's Wood certainly, probably elsewhere. The fire was lighted, 
 and flickered on the faces of Charles and Alice as he puffed at his 
 pipe and she drank her coffee. Both were sad, but each in its own 
 way; Charles's an absorbed sadness, full of thought; Alice's a sad- 
 ness of tears that may have their way and leave the soul in peace. 
 
 "Oh ! Mr. Charley dear, think how long ago ! And they may 
 have placed them on their chimney-piece just as we do now " 
 
 "On ours? But I shall have the chimney-piece all to myself, 
 dearest Alice-for-short ! Alice has run away gone to Harley 
 Street now, instead of Charley Street." 
 
 "Oh! don't please don't! You know I can always come and 
 pay the little China shepherd and shepherdess a visit whenever I 
 like." 
 
 "Yes, dear child ! I know. And you will come often till " 
 
 Something a little queer, surely, in Charles's voice. 
 
 "Till what?" 
 
 "Till after I have made them a wedding-present, dear, to you. 
 And then you will always be able to see them, at home. The 
 time will come, and you shall have them, darling!" 
 
 Charles tried a laugh, and it turned out a miserable failure. 
 Alice got up and went to the window. "I think the fog's clearing," 
 she said. "I ought to be going." A minute or two elapses, as she 
 stands at the window, very tremulous. Then she turns round, not 
 concealing it well at all, and says, as she puts on her cloak : 
 
 "You know how I hate to hear you talk like that yes; about 
 me marrying! I ought to go now, dear Mr. Charley. You're 
 coming this evening, of course?" Alice is going off. The fog is 
 clearing, no doubt, Charles's farewell seems to hang fire. The 
 fact is, that if Alice is tremulous Chaxles is worse. He has put
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 529 
 
 his pipe down, for smoking has become a mere pretence, and each 
 hand alternately grasps the other to keep it still, and betrays its 
 own weakness. 
 
 "Alice! Stop!" He has made no effort to control his voice 
 leaves it to its own devices. So left, it simply announces to Alice 
 what is coming next. She knows what it will mean, though she 
 doesn't know what form it will take. Her heart thumps painfully, 
 uncontrollably, as she closes the door she is just opening, and 
 goes half-way back to Charles. 
 
 "Yes Mr. Charley dear what?" 
 
 "It's no use, darling, I must speak! I simply can't hear to be 
 without you. I simply can't bear it !" 
 
 Alice says never a word. She can't But she knows Charles 
 won't misinterpret her silence, if she does not flinch from the arms 
 that come so naturally round her. After all, a girl can't be ex- 
 pected to speak when nerve-thrills are all through her arms and 
 hands, and making her teeth chatter, as a galvanic battery does 
 when you hold the handles and the proprietor puts it on too much. 
 In Alice's case the current is only perceptible because it is inter- 
 mittent. Soon it will be constant, and then we shall have all the 
 advantage and none of the fuss. 
 
 Charles was able to speak first, and he spoke to Alice's head that 
 was on his shoulder, to Alice's face that he was kissing. And he 
 had the meanness, the unmanliness, to say: "Oh, my darling! how 
 you shake !" Alice had thought of saying it herself of him and to 
 him, only really it was just the critical moment; like the bather of 
 our former metaphor she was half-way-in, and the gasping made 
 speech impossible. This was the moment of the plunge, and the 
 easiest way of taking it was to leave it to the other bather who had 
 hold of her hand. In a very little time both felt that the plunge 
 was taken, and that they were fellow-swimmers in a sunlit ocean 
 of happiness. The last phase of the metaphor had come, and was 
 to last a long time. It has in fact Listed till now it is no breach 
 of confidence to tell you this. However, for the present our busi- 
 ness is to round off this little perturbation of two human souls, and 
 to qualify them to go and tell Rupert and Peggy, as we believe we 
 have already shown them doing. 
 
 They sat on the table to rest. This could be done without preju- 
 dice to the status-quo. Then Charles found the voice of everyday 
 speech, after one or two deep drawn breaths, like the sigh a big 
 dog gives as he settles down to sleep, after gyrating on his axis in 
 search of it: 
 
 "Yes darling love Alice-f or-short ! that's about it I can't
 
 530 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 live without you. I knew I couldn't ever so long ago, and kept 
 on making believe. Only I don't think I ever succeeded in mak- 
 ing myself believe." 
 
 "Poor dear Mr. Charley!" It isn't much to say, but it's some- 
 thing a contribution towards future possibility of speech. 
 
 "Of course, if you had taken kindly to any other fellow " 
 
 "Only I didn't!" A shade of resentful spirit, the original Adam 
 of contradictiousness, helps Alice mightily at this point. She 
 will speak like herself directly. 
 
 " that was really fit for you, darling (which was impossi- 
 ble!), I should have had to give you away to him with the best 
 grace I could. But there was no such person seemingly; only I 
 kept on thinking there might be." 
 
 "And then I should have been Mrs. Harris," says Alice, com- 
 ing up out of Charles's neckcloth, and speaking collectedly. Per- 
 haps you can analyse her remark to the bottom. She did not, her- 
 self; but seemed content with it for all that. Then as she looked 
 at Old Jane's empty chair, on which a ray of strange unexpected 
 sunlight was shining, for the fog had vanished, she broke into a 
 flood of tears and cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 "Oh, Kate Kate ! dear old Kate if only you could have known ! 
 Oh, my dearest, think think how she was sitting crying there, only 
 five days ago, because it wasn't true! Think how happy it would 
 have made her! And then, perhaps, she might have lived a little 
 
 longer and " Alice was conscious of the absurdity of adding 
 
 what her ingrained naivete of character suggested: "And seen 
 the little shepherd and shepherdess again." But the truth is, the 
 absurdity would have been a natural absurdity, and the exclusion 
 of it was an artificial deference to the spirit of the mourning coach. 
 She had seen what was professionally possible done in the morn- 
 ing at the cemetery; and she felt that the mutes, if speech could 
 have been lawfully theirs, would have rebuked her for saying such 
 a thing, and would have looked reproachful, anyhow. She would 
 wait to say it another time, when those august but stuffy creatures 
 should be forgotten. At present the sun had not poured into the 
 room long enough to rinse their memory away. 
 
 "It would have come to the same thing in the end, darling," 
 says Charles, caressing the hand Alice's return to a sane demeanour 
 has left him. He doesn't feel that his remark is very profound ; but 
 it will do. He won't be answerable much for what he says, until 
 he and his fellow-swimmer are a little used to the golden sea they 
 have just plunged into. 
 
 "Everything does that!" says Alice, for whom we may also
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 531 
 
 plead that at present she is an irresponsible imbecile. Some little 
 reminder of the claims of daily life is wanted to rouse these people 
 from the state of collapse they have fallen into. They mustn't sit 
 on that table, moralising, all the rest of the afternoon! 
 
 What came to rouse them was Priscilla, who had an inspiration 
 to take away the coffee. In pursuance of her Method, she charged 
 the drawing-room door like a steam-ram, and entering suddenly, 
 said Ho ! as if she had been addressing a varlet. This was due to 
 finding Master sitting on the table with his arm round Miss Alice. 
 On which, Priscilla retired, saying it was nothing. She seemed 
 ashamed of the weakness of this conclusion, though; for she closed 
 the door with tenderness, and retired stealthily. Her retention of 
 her soul in silence, however, went no farther than the kitchen door. 
 "Now !" said she, triumphantly, "what did I tell you, Cook ?" 
 
 But Cook was turning cataracts of water into her sink, to 
 slooshy it well out after a real good wash-up, and Priscilla had 
 to wait until the drumming sound of an overwrought water-jet on 
 a metal pail had softened down to a steady narrative of its wrongs. 
 Then she repeated her question, and Cook turned round, wiping a 
 great deal of flesh. 
 
 "What did you tell me? Oh, Priscilla, you untruthful girl! 
 What did / tell you?" Now please observe, that neither said what 
 it was. Full particulars were in the expression of Priscilla's face, 
 in which Cook saw, distinctly reflected, an image of Charles and 
 Alice, exactly as we left them, or its equivalent. 
 
 "No, Cook! Now you ain't candid! It was me told you. Ask 
 the Wash ask Pinnocks I can see their boy standin' there at 
 the time their boy himself! etc., etc." 
 
 We are sorry we cannot give enough of this conversation to 
 show at what point Cook and Priscilla recognised the fact that 
 the matters that provoked the discussion had as strong an interest 
 as the question which of them had first pointed them out to the 
 other; that is to say, if they did so recognise it. We confess to 
 doubts on the point. This discussion was still going on when 
 Charles and Alice came downstairs after ringing for Priscilla 
 when the latter was informed that Mr. Charles might come back, 
 but it wasn't certain ; but that anyhow Priscilla was to leave a big 
 can of hot water for him that would hold the heat, and put a 
 towel over it, or it was no use. And then they went off in a 
 cab. And in due course invaded Harley Street tempestuously, with 
 the news, as we have before related.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 HOW CHARLES CLEARED OUT HIS OLD CUPBOARDS. OP LAVINIA STRAKER*S 
 EPITAPH. OP A WEDDING AND ONE OF ITS SEQUELS. OF A REMOVAL, 
 AND A DOCUMENT THAT CAME TO LIFE. HOW THE FATHER OF 
 ALICE'S RED MAN HAD BEEN IN FEAR OF GOD, AND ACKNOWLEDGED 
 ANOTHER OF HIS SONS. HOW ALICE WAS DESCENDED FROM THE 
 VICTIM OF A DEVIL. HEBREWS THIRTEEN 
 
 AND all that happened two years ago. How the time does run 
 away, to be sure! 
 
 Two years ago from now that is, you know, from the now of 
 this particular chapter. How long ago it is from the date of us who 
 write, or you who read does not matter. Quite a little lifetime 
 back from the former date, that of the ink we are now using. An 
 obviously indeterminable figure, from the latter. Perhaps you have 
 picked up a forgotten volume from the wastriff of a bookseller's 
 stall the twopennyworths that would be such bargains if they 
 were wanted at all. Or your attention may have been caught by a 
 wealth of unsold sheets that its publisher has used to pack a pres- 
 ent from a friend in. Throw us away, and read the present ! You 
 can't possibly do anything, by reading this last chapter, except 
 excite a languid curiosity about what has gone before, which will 
 never, in your case, be satisfied. And nothing is more irritating 
 than trying to follow a story on an unfolded sheet. 
 
 When Charles and Alice had a wedding, about three months 
 after we saw them last, it was after much discussion of whether 
 they should take a new house, or remain on at Charley Street. 
 The author this street was called after was really, at heart, anxious 
 to clear out of it, and get some more oblivion of his most unfortu- 
 nate early marriage. But happening, before overt declaration of 
 this feeling, to detect or suspect a strong attachment to the old 
 residence on the part of the authoress he was marrying, he not only 
 concealed it, but affected a reluctance to moving that he did not 
 feel. The reconstitution of all old arrangements that followed was 
 accompanied by many painful incidents in the way of reappear- 
 ance of little old familiar things from cupboards that had never 
 
 532
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 533 
 
 been opened since the day when Lavinia went to see her mother, 
 never went near her, and never came back, for reasons. 
 
 TJnpleasantries of this sort are always unwelcome, although as 
 soon as they become memories they are forgotten with alacrity. 
 The unworn pair of gloves with the little wrap of silver paper round 
 the button; the long bottle with Jean Maria Farina on it, and a 
 little eau-de-cologne in it still; the comb no longer practical, being 
 in two halves, but kept because it was tortoise-shell; all these 
 from a drawer that had mislaid its key, and had to be broken into 
 brought back a thousand other things to Charles that he did not 
 mind facing in solitude, but that he hated when Alice was to hand. 
 On a high-up shelf in a cupboard, under a stack of paper-covered 
 French novels, was quite a cubic foot of soprano songs, most of 
 which Charles could remember Laviuia's rendering of; some of 
 which had been put away unsung, having probably been sent by the 
 authors to induce her to sing them at concerts, with or without 
 remuneration. Most of the others were favourite songs of his, 
 and made it clear to Charles why so often, when latterly he asked 
 for special songs, these favourites were never to be found. As 
 time went on his wife's tastes had always been in revolt against 
 his own. 
 
 It was all very trying, and a good deal of burning Lad to be done. 
 There was the usual "Oh, you're never going to throw that away !" 
 which comes like a millstone round the neck of the Augean scaven- 
 ger every time he thinks he has registered an instalment for the 
 dust-heap. But it was got through in the end, and all Lavinia 
 was swept away except a glass paperweight with perishable annuals 
 blooming inside it. "Let's keep just something, Charley," said 
 Alice about the time when after a severe contest she was dropping 
 the "Mr." "Only just a little Homoeopathic Monument of poor 
 
 Aunt La ! Perhaps, after all !" and as it was so very much 
 
 after all Charles consented to the paperweight. 
 
 But strictly speaking, this paperweight was not the only monu- 
 ment of "poor Aunt La" that came to light just at this time. For 
 Pierre, turning over stray sheets of paper, stopped suddenly on a 
 pencil-sketch of a tombstone, with "What's this, Aunty ' 
 
 "What's what, Pierrot?" said his father. "Let's look!" But 
 Alice had got it first, and was looking at it with grave eyes. 
 
 "Ifs nothing, Charley dearest," said she, and suppressed it. 
 Pierre was conscious that it wasn't exactly nothing, but something 
 that called for silence on his part. He acquiesced the more read- 
 ily as tombstones were grown-up people's concerns, not his. Besides, 
 Alice invented a message to the gardener at the new house, and
 
 534 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 packed Master Pierre off to give it him. Then she reproduced 
 the sketch, and went across to Charles with it, where he was 
 burrowing, half -choked with dust, in forgotten lumber. 
 
 "I thought you said it was only her name on the stone, Charley 
 darling," said she. Charles took the sketch from her, and his eyes 
 too were grave over it. 
 
 "It was only her name, on the old stone," said he. " 'Lavinia 
 Straker,' and just the date of her death. I had this put up instead. 
 Poor Lav!" 
 
 Alice read, thoughtfully, from the drawing : " 'Under this stone 
 lie the mortal remains of Lavinia, sometime the beloved wife of 
 
 Charles Heath of No. 40 Street, Soho, London. Requiescat 
 
 in pace/ " and then remained silent. 
 
 "Anything wrong, pet? I had it done in English ... it wasn't 
 any business of the Vons, after all. . . ." 
 
 '1 wasn't thinking of that, darling. I was think of the 'Requi- 
 escat in pace.' " 
 
 "Well, Alice-for-short?" 
 
 "I thought you didn't believe people requiescatted in pace." 
 There was a perverse paradoxical twinkle in Charles's face as he 
 answered : 
 
 "Of course I don't ! It doesn't mean her. It means me. . . ." 
 
 "You!". 
 
 "Yes, Miss Kavanagh, me! So you needn't be so bounceable. 
 Are you not aware, Madam" Charles goes on with a trace of his 
 own old manner "that, when two consecutive genitives are fol- 
 lowed by a word that demands an antecedent, the latter of the two 
 is referred to. That is my recollection, anyhow. The meaning is 
 obvious ; that I shall be obliged to everybody except your own dear 
 self to say nothing to me about her; and let me have the luxury 
 of forgiving her, if I choose. . . ." 
 
 "It was so like him, altogether," said Alice to Lady Johnson, 
 when she told her of this incident. 
 
 "Oh, yes !" said Peggy, "that was Charley down to the ground." 
 
 Did you ever realise that before Alice's teens set in Mrs. Charles 
 Heath was, for years, Aunt La; a showy woman and a brilliant 
 singer, of whom her husband, "at any rate," was fond ? We are not 
 prepared to say that we do even now, without thinking it over. 
 
 However tedious the job was, it was all got through in the end. 
 And then the whole domicile was repainted and papered with Trel- 
 lis Rose and Honeysuckle and Sunflower (we can give the address 
 of the firm that makes these papers if you want it; but perhaps 
 it is hardly necessary) and Charles and Alice Heath went away to
 
 ALICE-FOB -SHORT 535 
 
 the North and South of Italy, and the North of Egypt, and were 
 away ever so long. And when they came back (via the Atlantic) 
 they were almost offensively robust and beaming. However, they 
 settled down to producing copy and were not disturbed until, more 
 than a year after their marriage, they were intruded on by an 
 excessively ugly, violent, and ill-tempered person, coloured purple, 
 who had never been in the world before, and didn't seem to approve 
 of it. In spite of his nasty temper, and his inability to keep his 
 breakfast down when jolted, he got his own way in everything. 
 And one of his demands a trifle later was that more roomy premises 
 should be provided for him, rather nearer Harley Street, so that 
 his cousin Lucy should be able to take him and have him, and his 
 Granny when she came to Harley Street should be able to call 
 on him by the way, and show him her watch that said ting ! Alice 
 said he said so, anyhow said so frequently! 
 
 "And, oh, Charley darling," she added once; "poor dear Old 
 Jane ! Think how she would have enjoyed this baby !" 
 
 "Do you remember, sweetheart," Charles asked, "that time about 
 three weeks before she died, when you said it was the second week 
 in September?" 
 
 "Yes! and she said, 'It's just about now my baby was to have 
 come !' Oh dear ! I can hear her saying it now. I don't believe she 
 remembered the interval, at that moment, the least." 
 
 "Most likely not! Take care Rupert Daniel has got at the 
 ink." 
 
 "It's his hereditary instinct." Alice referred to Rupert Daniel 
 for confirmation, asking him if it was not his little hereditary 
 instinct then, and saying that if he wanted to black himself all 
 over he should, he should. This was translated, as Rupert Daniel 
 seemed to require it, into one of the dialects in use. But his 
 mother was not as good as her word, and strangled him off the 
 inkstand. 
 
 "What does his hereditary instinct tell him about the house in 
 Avenue Road ?" asked Charles, sitting sideways on his chair to fold 
 his arms over the back, and contemplate his family through his 
 own smoke. 
 
 "He says it's no nearer Harley Street than this, but that there 
 would be lots of room, even if he ever has a little sister. He votes 
 for going there, and says take it on lease from Lady Day. Seven, 
 fourteen, or twenty-one years. Only the landlord must put the 
 house in thorough substantial repair. He'll choose the papers 
 himself and see the painter about the colour of the wood-work 
 where already painted. .Won't you, my pessusickle aoogarpum?"
 
 536 ALICE-FOE-SHOBT 
 
 "What does lie say about the rent ?" asked Charles, who felt the 
 responsibility of the proposed step. He took very kindly to this 
 indirect way of getting Alice's sanction. It had a kind of flavour 
 of consultation of an Oracle. 
 
 "He says his papa is a silly goose for not offering a hundred and 
 twenty only if he was a little older he wouldn't splutter so and 
 his mamma would understand him better. Oh, my sweet my 
 precious treasure do take care! He's got hold of me by the ear- 
 ring and he'll scratch himself. Come and get him off, Charley 
 darling, before he murders himself and me too." 
 
 The Oracle was detached from his prey, and his counsels ac- 
 cepted, presumably. For a few weeks after, in spite of the Charley 
 Street renovations being as good as new, the negotiations were 
 completed for the other house, and Rupert Daniel was arranging 
 the decorations and allotting the rooms; at least, Mrs. Charles 
 Heath said he was. 
 
 And now the event we have to relate will, we hope, justify this 
 little excursion into the happy married life of Charles and Alice; 
 of which, else, we have no reason for discoursing. Whether it 
 threw an indirect light on the activity of the No. 40 ghosts, as 
 was alleged by the party we may speak of as their supporters, you 
 will judge when you are in possession of the facts. 
 
 A Firm, Community, or League that described itself broadly as 
 Removals, but owned the name of Tamwell, and in small confi- 
 dential italics on its card added that it was also Jobs done with 
 Horse and Cart, ~by the day or hour this agency had for two days 
 had possession of both houses; stood with its vans at both doors; 
 covered the pavements in front of each with a mixed mysterious 
 flue of mattings and strange chips, while it deceived its horses with 
 a vain show of empty bags upon their noses; suggesting, but not 
 fulfilling, the idea of oats. Its constituents had bandied instruc- 
 tions across pieces of furniture at critical angles of staircases, 
 reciprocally, and had expressed the lowest opinions of each other's 
 faculties. There was not one of them who, starting in a pure 
 atmosphere, could not have been traced, by the smell of beer he left 
 behind, through the worst intricacies of the Ituri forest. And any 
 two of them, coming upstairs forwards, gave the listener unseen the 
 impression that one cart-horse was coming downstairs backwards. 
 And the hoarseness of them who shall tell? Or their sustained 
 power of conversation without subject-matter? Or their perspi- 
 ration ? 
 
 It was on the second day of their ministry towards the dusk of 
 it that a spirit of jubilation developed itself among them, as
 
 ALICE-FOB-SHORT 537 
 
 the very last van left the doors of Charley Street, pursued by its 
 youngest abettor known as "the Boy" with a forgotten article 
 that never should have seen the light. He was proud of the rescue, 
 and placed it inside a fender on the tail of the van. Which then 
 went round by 'Igh Street, instead of goin' straight, to get a cup 
 of Tea. This took a long time to drink was perhaps hot, and 
 Tamwell had to put it in the saucer and blow it. It was not whole- 
 some Tea, because when Tamwell's components came, quite an 
 hour later, to Avenue Road, they were all (except the Boy) arti- 
 ficially concealing its effects. 
 
 But no effort could disguise a thickness of speech, nor success- 
 fully affect a power of walking straight. And they did not smell 
 of Tea. 
 
 "What is to be done, Charley?" said Alice to her husband, who 
 had come from his last last last look at the old home, turning- over 
 many things in his heart, as you may well believe. 
 
 "What's wrong, darling love?" 
 
 "Why! all these men are as drunk as they can be they can't 
 possibly get the things in to-night!" 
 
 "Can't they? They've got to!" The delinquents were in the 
 basement, chiefly. Charles penetrated below; and found them,, 
 possibly endeavouring to collect themselves, in the front kitchen. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Tamwell, what do you mean by coming here drunk? 
 You're all drunk as drunk as you can be!" 
 
 "No, Shir! Nosh drunk as we can be! Shober as we can be, 
 Mish Heath !" Charles appeared to give this consideration. 
 
 "Perhaps you're right, Mr. Tamwell. At any rate, you're not 
 quite so drunk as you can be. Now, look here, all of you! You 
 may just go to work again, and get the job through. But every 
 single thing you break, every scrap of damage done, if it's only a 
 scratch on the walls, will come off your account. Now you under- 
 stand \" 
 
 At this juncture the Boy, who was sober, struck in: "It's my 
 dad's the best on 'em, Sir! Send him 'ome. Me and Sam and the 
 .Dook (what we call him the Book) can stop on and end up 
 the job. I'll see to 'em." Charles was puzzled about his dad, and 
 the Boy explained : "The best on 'em, in the manner of speaking ; 
 the forradest you might say!" So Sam and the Dook stopped on, 
 in charge of the Boy, who did his work nobly. 
 
 It was towards seven o'clock, and the dispositions of furniture 
 were going on by gaslight, when Peggy and Lucy drove up to the 
 house, and waded upstairs through unallotted furniture breast- 
 high to the back room with the big bay, opening on the Garden.
 
 538 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 
 
 "Now you poor, tired, dirty people, we've come to fetch you. 
 Aunty Lissy, your son has been reproaching you bitterly for your 
 absence. Do get the things in anyhow they'll stand till to-morrow 
 and come home to dinner !" It was Peggy who spoke. But Lucy 
 chimed in. 
 
 "Oh, do look at this poor Aunty Lissy, she's quite worn out 
 and done for. Do come along, Aunty, at once. Never mind the 
 things !" 
 
 "It's not the fatigue, Juicy dear ! It's those men being so abom- 
 inably drunk. The Boy's worth the whole lot put together. Bring 
 it in here! No not upstairs, Priscilla in here." This was the 
 very last piece of furniture. It was the old table that we have so 
 often mentioned Alice's poor mother's wedding-present that had 
 stood so long in Charles's room. Alice thought of it as "the table 
 I accepted Charley on." 
 
 "You'll have the legs off, I tell yer! Turn her over! Now, 
 down your end under the gairce down, your, end! Keep your 
 eye on the bookcase you'll jam the bookcase keep her off keep 
 her off, Sam, yer darned fool! . . . There! wot did I tell yer, both 
 on yer? A tidy job you've made of it, and then you'll say / done 
 itP Thus, volubly, the capable Boy. 
 
 Sam was on the floor, sobered by having a tolerably heavy table 
 on the top of him as he fell. Alice and Charles, Peggy and Lucy, 
 were a group standing back to keep out of the way, in the room 
 into which the table had pitched itself and Sam. Priscilla and 
 Cook, attracted by the noise, were on the stairs outside, having 
 come from an upper room. The Duke and the Boy in the doorway, 
 the former trying to lay claim to having foreseen this and endeav- 
 oured to prevent it. It happened because he wasn't listened to, he 
 said drunkenly. 
 
 As soon as it was clear that no bones were broken the table was 
 turned face-up, and public opinion had leisure to reflect how much 
 worse it would have been if something totally different had hap- 
 pened. It was at this point that Lucy asked what that was that 
 fell out. It was detected on the floor and picked up. A little steel 
 pin, or rod, with a wooden head on it. 
 
 "Put it back," Alice said, "it's a thing to stop the drawer coming 
 out. I wonder it didn't. You'll see the little hole, just the shape 
 of the head " 
 
 "I don't see any little hole." "Oh yes," Alice said, "it was 
 there." And she came to find it herself. 
 
 "This is funny, Charley! There's two little pins, exactly alike. 
 There must be two little holes, exactly alike."
 
 ALICE-FOK-SHORT 539 
 
 "I've never seen more than one." says Charles, and comes to look 
 for it. But both are looking along and round the table-corner, just 
 over the drawer. 
 
 "You're looking in the wrong place," says Lucy. "There it is! 
 Right out in the middle of the table." So it is, and under a 
 momentary impression that it is an extra stop, it is replaced. Then 
 Alice is suddenly perceptive and says : "My opinion is we've all gone 
 silly. If it had been like that we never could have opened the 
 drawer without finding it out !" 
 
 "Of course not !" says Charles. The Duke and Sam, as authori- 
 ties on furniture, offer valueless opinions, which acquire nothing 
 from a display of much respectful reserve and drunken deference 
 on their part. The Boy is more to the purpose, only he speaks 
 with a tone of absolute contempt for the whole human race. 
 
 "It don't b'long with that drore. Iso c'nection! *Nother drore 
 inside ! Secrecy drore ! Opens into the wacancy when this is took 
 out. You look t'other side! Correspondin' sitiwation, corre- 
 spondin' 'ole! . . . Oh no! don't you believe me unless you like 
 but that's the way of it. You see, Miss!" 
 
 He passes over opaque seniorities, and establishes direct com- 
 munication with the other creature in the room that is his own 
 age, or thereabouts. The four eyes of the two are in an instant 
 concentrated on the table surface. Which will see it first, he or 
 Lucy? It is a draw. Both shout exactly in a breath, that there 
 it is! And Lucy's clean gloved finger, and the Boy's dirty one, 
 touch it at the same moment. The Boy is a proud boy, as the 
 second pin is extracted, the drawer pulled out, and two small hidden 
 unsuspected drawers brought to light; pulled, as he had foretold, 
 into the wacancy, by small sunk handles. There was a folded 
 sheet of foolscap paper in one of them with writing on it. But 
 nothing else. 
 
 "Charley darling what's this?" Alice, who speaks, is reading 
 the paper, which she has unfolded. 
 
 "A Bill !" says Charles at a guess. But there is no printing on 
 it, nothing but handwriting. A formal document, on old foolscap 
 with uncut edges like a legal document. It has the marks of age 
 the faded ink, the spots of many sizes black asteroids in a space 
 that, held to the nose, smells of a law-stationer's lumber room the 
 damaged edge where a mouse, long dead, paused for refreshments. 
 Three or four single sheets tied at the corner with a piece of tape, 
 conveying an idea of a claim to be engrossed on parchment, and 
 adorned with the usual column of wafers one expects, which are 
 your Act and Deed; and with a real seal, of wax; but there are only
 
 540 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 
 
 signatures and an informal attestation. An informal document 
 altogether, but apparently having a formal intention. 
 
 "Well, Charley, don't stand gaping at it!" 
 
 "What on earth is it, dear old boy ?" 
 
 "Now, Uncle Charley, don't be ridiculous! Here give it me! 
 I'll read it, if you won't." 
 
 Thus, respectively, Alice, Peggy, and Lucy. But Charles remains 
 immovable, with his eyes on the paper. He is looking at the 
 signatures. Suddenly, he folds it up and thrusts it in his pocket. 
 
 "Shan't tell! Wait till after dinner!" 
 
 "Oh what a shame! !" Sic omnes. 
 
 But Charles stuck to his point and carried it, omnibus con- 
 tradicentibus. 
 
 Picture to yourself that after dinner has come, and the males, 
 Sir Rupert, Charles, and his brother Robin, the Legal Mind, have 
 promised to smoke quick and given their words they won't look 
 at the paper before they come upstairs. "All right," Charles says, 
 ''I won't let it out of my pocket. Honest Injun!" Further, that 
 they have come upstairs and Charles is tantalising them all by the 
 deliberate way in which he prepares to read. However, all is ready 
 at last! But first he says to his wife, whose arms are round his 
 neck from behind as she looks over his shoulder, "Look at the signa- 
 tures, Miss Kavanagh!" and adds, "What do you say to that, 
 Maternal Parent?" His ways of designating her are considered 
 scandalous by his mother, who is present, but whom he is not in 
 this case addressing. 
 
 As to describing the bewildered surprise on Alice's face, it is 
 simply impossible. Use your imagination to the utmost, is all we 
 can say. What follows is what Charles read : 
 
 "I the undersigned Edward Cramer Stendhall Luttrell, baronet, 
 
 of Crewys Morchard in the County of Devon and of No. 7 
 
 Street, Soho near the city of London, being in fear of God and 
 daily expectation of death from mortal disease which hath for three 
 whole years bidden defiance to the skill of physicians whether of 
 this country or of France or Italy, do hereby affirm and declare 
 as my true testimony in regard to my relations with Alice the 
 reputed wife of John Kavanagh of the dairy-farm known as the 
 Flete on the road from Highgate to London in the parish of St. 
 Saviour by Gospell Oak field. That Edward Kavanagh now appren- 
 ticed to a Taylor and reputed the eldest son of the above-named 
 John Kavanagh is in truth my own son by the said Alice born in a
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 541 
 
 false aspect and belief of lawful wedlock in her father's house 
 Samuel Lecheminant of Barnstaple in the county of Devon. And 
 is registered in the Parish registers of that town as Edward Lut- 
 trell the son of Edward and Alice Luttrell to which name the said 
 Alice did at that time believe herself truly entitled." 
 
 "That's a very funny thing too," said Sir Kupert, interrupting. 
 "However, never mind! Go on. I'll tell you after." Charles 
 continued : 
 
 "For by no other means than a false ceremony of marriage could 
 this young wench be won, being then but seventeen years of age 
 and filled up with high-flown ideas above and beyond her place 
 in life. Wherefore I being now on my death-bed, as I truly con- 
 ceive, do humbly pray that God may forgive her sin and mine, and 
 many another that I have done of a like sort. For it is not to her 
 alone that I have done wrong, neither could I account to myself 
 for all the wrongs I have done nor of all the women to whom I 
 have forsworn myself to deceive them. For whom too I pray that 
 their sin may be forgiven as I doubt not mine will be, through no 
 merit of mine own, but through the grace of Our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, Amen ! But in the case of this same Alice Lecheminant, 
 called Kavanagh, I yield to her uneasiness of conscience and her 
 earnest and repeated prayer and do now solemnly affirm that 
 she resolutely defied all my advances except she should be truly 
 and honourably my wife. On which ground seeing that the recent 
 death of my dearly-loved first wife Barbara Lady Oglethorp had 
 left me without reasonable excuse for other conduct, I was fain to 
 give way to her scruples, and do affirm now that nothing was left 
 undone that could contribute to deceive so shrewd a young person,, 
 whose father was by good-fortiine bedridden, and whose mother 
 was besotted against myself and full of malice and ill-feeling, on. 
 which account her daughter's mind was easy towards her exclu- 
 sion from our councils. But there was need of contrivance and 
 expenditure of money (which had been better spent on discharg- 
 ing debts on my Devonshire estate) to make such arrangement as 
 would soothe all suspicion of treacherous action. And I doubt 
 now whether I should have gained the end but for old experience 
 in like adventures which had taught me wisdom. And I now make 
 this solemn affirmation on Oath, being in fear of Death and with 
 serious and awful apprehension of Futurity; in part that Alice 
 Lecheminant (or Kavanagh) may bear in mind that if ye forgive 
 not men their trespasses neither will your Father forgive you your
 
 542 ALICE-FOR-SHOKT 
 
 trespasses (Matt. vi. 15) and may turn in time, as I have done, 
 unto the Rock of our Salvation ; but in some part also on this con- 
 dition that the said Alice shall sign an undertaking that she will 
 forego all claim soever on me as a husband, acknowledging her 
 ceremonial of marriage with me to have been invalid and informal, 
 however much she may have thought otherwise at the time. And 
 further that for my greater security from all such claim she shall 
 solempnise Holy Matrimony with the said John Kavanagh, thereby 
 incurring the penalty of Bigamy should mine own marriage with 
 her ever be proven. And further that the said John Kavanagh in 
 consideration of his accommodation to this end shall enjoy the 
 use and emolument rent-free during his life of the Farm he now 
 occupies aforesaid without prejudice to my own manorial rights 
 therein. And shall be indemnified in respect of all expenses he may 
 incur. 
 
 "And in confirmation of the above attestation I now append my 
 signature this third day of February seventeen hundred and thirty- 
 three, at my house situate and being No. 7 Street, Soho. 
 
 "(SIGNED) EDWARD CRAMER STENDHALL LUTTRELL. 
 
 "(WITNESSED) DOROTHY KELSEY, 
 
 "(Housekeeper to the above)." 
 
 This singular document could not be understood in one reading. 
 Charles had no sooner finished it than he turned back, and re-read 
 the whole more slowly, no one interrupting him. A pause of silence 
 followed, and then Peggy found her voice : 
 
 "What a hideous monster!" 
 
 "And what a loathsome hypocrite !" This was Alice. 
 
 "Man of the world, my dears, man of the world." This was 
 Charles. 
 
 "But I want to know what relation Alice Le-thingummy was of 
 Aunty Lissy." This was Lucy, who perhaps only half grasped the 
 full iniquity revealed ; certainly she could not grasp its motives. 
 
 "My dear Lucy," this was her Grandmother, majestically, "I can 
 only say when I was a little girl of your age, I was always sent 
 to bed. "Ses always whenever documents of this sort were got 
 out and read aloud." 
 
 "You never saw a document like it in your life come, Grandma ! 
 besides, I'm right ! How came it in Aunty Lissy's father's drawer ? 
 That's what 7 want to know." 
 
 "Suppose you shut up, some of you, while I read the rest." Thus 
 Charles, and popular assent followed. On the back of one sheet 
 was written in a woman's hand, in blacker ink.
 
 ALICE-FOE-SHOET 543 
 
 "January 16, 1751. I, Alice Luttrell, nee Lecheminant, actually 
 the wife of Sir Edward Cramer Luttrell whose signature is overleaf 
 did eighteen years since sign in exchange for this a relinquish- 
 ment of all claim as a wife on the said Sir Cramer, and did then 
 contract lawful matrimony with my supposed husband John 
 Kavanagh, thereby incurring risk of bigamy. This I did for the 
 reason that had I not done so I myself and my supposed husband 
 John Kavanagh, then in broken health and a cripple, had been 
 turned into the street. Yet even this I refused to do except this 
 wicked man whom nevertheless I could not but love, seeing he was 
 my husband, should bear testimony to his own deception, practised 
 on a young girl quite innocent of this world and its wickedness. 
 And as he has done this, so will I pray for him as he for me, for 
 that I have loved him in despite of myself. Else I should have 
 prayed that he might expiate his sins in Hell. 
 
 "ALICE KAVANAGH." 
 
 "Here's some more in another hand, written in pencil," said 
 Charles. And then read : 
 
 "Edward Kavanagh born 1710 was my great-grandfather. My 
 grandfather John Kavanagh was born 1784 or 5. This Alice Kav- 
 anagh was his great-grandmother. If this document is found 
 after my death I want whoever finds it on no account to let my 
 half-brother Jonathan get it as his game in doing so would be for 
 no good and to spite me. Also the same is untrustworthy and has 
 no right to anything of mine. I have seen lawyers to find if there 
 is money in it but all go against it. Samuel Kavanagh 114 Pratt 
 Street. Camden Town. November 16 1844." 
 
 The tempest of discussion that followed this no doubt cleared 
 up the ideas of those who took part in it about what the actual 
 story was, its moral and legal aspects. To our mind the former 
 was well expressed by the lady known to Peggy and Alice as poor 
 dear Robin's uninteresting wife. We have seen nothing of her, and 
 feel she ought to say something in the story. What she said was : 
 "Oh dear, oh dear ! this is all very shocking !" We agree. 
 
 We are not qualified to agree or disagree with her husband's 
 exposition of the legal aspects. But we cannot help suspecting 
 that the fact that the interests of a very dear brother (for Charley 
 was very dear to all his family) and his wife were concerned 
 caused him to infuse an unprofessional amount of common-sense 
 into the letter he wrote to Charles after thinking it well over.
 
 544 ALICE-FOK-SHOET 
 
 If you will just have patience till we have recorded an excerpt 
 of conversation between Sir Rupert and Lady Johnson after they 
 had retired (very late) for the night, we will give you Robin Q. C.'a 
 letter in fulL 
 
 "I say, Dr. Jomson " 
 
 "Wait till I've done splashing! Now." 
 
 "Why did you say that's a very funny thing too? Never mind, 
 go on f I forgot to ask you in all the rumpus." 
 
 "Oh, ah! To be sure! Do you remember, darling, how I came 
 down to Shellacombe in a boating suit ?" 
 
 "Rather I" Emphasis can say no more. 
 
 "Do you remember I told you about my old nurse at Barn- 
 stapleold Sarah Barrett ?" 
 
 "I remember she was ninety and a twin and had had four 
 husbands and no children." 
 
 "Well ! the second husband was a Lecheminant. And she showed 
 me in the churchyard a curious epitaph of an aunt of his, who 
 must have been this very Alice. As near as I recollect, it ran: 
 
 'Alice L . The victim of a Devil.' Then there was a Scripture 
 
 reference. Hebrews thirteen, I think it was. I remember I 
 resolved to look up Hebrews thirteen, and you knocked it all out 
 of my head. Then next day was Alice and The Beetle." (This is, 
 as it were, the title of a chapter in their lives.) 
 
 "Now really, Rupert darling, you might have told us that down- 
 stairs. Think how interesting!" 
 
 "Well! I had it on the tip of my tongue to tell it. But then 
 I thought as like as not Hebrews thirteen was just as well not 
 trotted out with penetrating intelligent Lucys all over the place, 
 like lynxes. We'll look it up to-morrow." 
 
 "Do you remember the great white cloud over the offing that day, 
 that never went?" 
 
 "Yes! And the dog that wouldn't go in the water after my 
 stick ? And Alice the pony ?" 
 
 "And Alice's performance of the lidy with the spots?" 
 
 "The spots that flowed away. And the sheep that ran about? 
 And how scared you were at the accident?" 
 
 "Well, love! who wouldn't have been scared? Just think how 
 different things would have been now, susposing we'd all gone in 
 the water together." . . . 
 
 And so the conversation ran on till sleep stopped it. You have 
 read the substance of it all in Chapter XV.
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 OF SIR CRAMER STENDHALL LUTTRELI/S WILL, AND HOW ALICE'S PROP- 
 ERTY WAS TOO LARGE TO CLAIM. HOW SHE LET IT ALONE AND WAS 
 HAPPY. OF A CAT SHE COULD REMEMBER IN THE AREA, AND THE 
 STRANGENESS OF THINGS 
 
 A WEEK or more elapsed before Robin's letter came. Charles 
 and Alice had already decided that under no circumstances would 
 they institute proceedings to prove their claim to one of the largest 
 collieries in England. Nevertheless, they were glad to have their 
 decision supported by legal opinion. 
 
 Robin's letter was as follows: 
 
 "167 DEVONSHIRE PLACE W., 
 
 Apr: 11, 1879. 
 "MY DEAR CHARLEY, 
 
 "I've found the will after hunting half through the Preroga- 
 tive Calendars. Copy enclosed. You'll see that the testator was 
 entirely under the influence of his son. He acts 'always with the 
 knowledge and consent of my dear son ... in whom I have abso- 
 lute confidence,' and whom he names sole executor. His dear son 
 had evidently convinced his dear father that if he left the unen- 
 tailed property to Esther Kaimes as the daughter of his lawful 
 wife the Dowager Lady Luttrell, and Esther's legitimacy was called 
 in question, her inheritance might miscarry. No doubt he said to 
 his papa: 'You can't suggest that Esther is illegitimate, but you 
 can make sure that she shall inherit, whether or no !' And then he 
 developed his ring-trick, always affecting great concern on Esther's 
 behalf. As to whether the old scoundrel was too easily duped by 
 the young one well! consider what failing powers and approach- 
 ing death mean. Fancy yourself sinking: and how you would 
 lean on the strong support of a devoted son! 
 
 "As to the validity of such a Will, it must have depended entirely 
 (to my thinking) on how far the ring was produced simply as evi- 
 dence of identity; I can't conceive any judicial ruling that tho 
 chance possession of that ring by an illegitimate daughter not 
 intended by the Testator could constitute a legal claim. 
 
 "Apart from this, if a claim were made 1o property after the 
 
 545
 
 540 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 lapse of a thousand years there is nothing so far as I know in the 
 constitution of the Court of Chancery to prevent a consideration 
 of the case on its merits, and (theoretically at least) the claimant 
 might succeed in asserting his title. But it is very doubtful if any 
 evidence could be produced which would prevent a Court of Equity 
 doing what it has a perfect right to do, and taking advantage of the 
 existing Statutes of Limitations. That would be the usual course : 
 and in the present case the hundred and thirty years would be 
 fatal. 
 
 "When old Sir Cramer died, young Sir Cramer was caught in a 
 trap of his own setting. No ring was forthcoming, and Vixen- 
 croft became the property of Blaydon School. Whether it really 
 became so legally is more than doubtful. The Law of Mortmain 
 as it stood at the date of the will may have appeared to sanction 
 a bequest of real property in perpetuity to an institution like 
 Blaydon School. But to my mind the existence of such a bequest 
 argues that no legal advice was taken in this matter. The father 
 and son cooked it up between them. And the son did not trouble 
 himself about the Reversionary Legatees. He didn't mean them 
 to inherit. 
 
 "But even if the title was sound when the will was written, it is 
 far from certain that it was so when it was signed. The signature 
 was appended, oddly enough, on the very day when the present 
 Statute of Mortmain came into operation, presumably at midday. 
 If the last signature was written at eleven fifty-five on June 24, 
 1836, the Will might have held good under the old Acts or usages, 
 but if at twelve-five it would come under the present Act. 
 
 "So there's a chance of voiding the title, for the ghosts. Couldn't 
 they prove that the Will was witnessed after twelve o'clock ? 
 
 "You and Alice must not imagine that the possession of the ring 
 and the proof (sufficient to my mind) that Alice is an illegitimate 
 descendant of Sir Luttrell can make you possessors of the Pen- 
 carrow Weald Collieries, which is, if you please, the 'Vixencroft 
 estate' of the Will! 
 
 "YouR AFFECT: BRO: 
 "R. 
 
 "P. S. There must have been some traditions current in Alice's 
 family, or somehow, somewhere; because the No. 40 ghosts were 
 all made to match the story. Otherwise the ghosts were ghosts. 
 Which is absurd. Q. E. D." 
 
 The extracts from Sir Cramer Stendhall Luttrell's Will were 
 long, although containing only the portions of interest to Charles
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHOET 547 
 
 and Alice; and as the letter has already given you some of its 
 contents, we shall not give the whole. The important point was, 
 that after dealing with a very considerable property outside his 
 entailed family estate, which with a few legacies made up the 
 total not devised to his widow for life, in the event of his not 
 marrying again, the will went on to what was really only a small 
 item in this total, the Pencarrow Weald, or Vixencroft farm or 
 farms, in a very peculiar way. Old Mrs. Verrinder had remem- 
 bered rightly; this property was actually left (without specifying 
 any heir by name) "to whomsoever of my female descendants shall 
 be by lawful means in possession of the ring containing the Mysoor 
 diamond taken by my brother Denis Stendhall Luttrell from the 
 finger of Shubadar Khan Bahadoor at the battle of Chingleput and 
 given to me by him on the day of his duel with Lord Cairndrum 
 of Saltoun whereby he came by his death. Which Lord hath ren- 
 dered account to me since of his deed, and may God have mercy on 
 his Soul! And this property of Pencarrow Weald in the north- 
 riding of Yorkshire I give and bequeath to such female descendant 
 of mine whether she shall have been born in lawful wedlock or not, 
 if a daughter; but only if lawfully born in other case. And that 
 there may be no doubt whatever of the identity of this diamond I 
 have caused it to be set with other stones in a ring in a manner 
 to place it beyond doubt that it is truly this diamond and no other. 
 And I have arranged, with the full concurrence and consent of my 
 dear Son and Sole Executor of these presents, that these stones 
 shall be as followeth: Sapphire, Lapis Lazuli, Jacynth, Pearl, 
 Tourmaline, Emerald, Ruby, Amethyst, and the Diamond afore- 
 named. Also therein a second Sapphire and Emerald and Lapis 
 Lazuli; and, by the advice of my dear Son, on whom I rely in all 
 matters of prudence and foresight, I have caused one blank space 
 to contain no precious stone at all, and but a piece of plain ivory, 
 that being in his Judgment a most sure and safe aid to a perfect 
 identification of this ring should any doubt arise to call it in ques- 
 tion." Then followed an appointment of reversionary legatees; 
 naming first the school in his own county of Hereford where the 
 testator (presumably) was educated. It had been ascertained, since 
 the finding of the Will (from the Pencarrow Company's solicitors 
 intimate friends of Robin), that the property had passed to this 
 school and remained in its possession for thirty years. It was 
 then sold to a private individual who died shortly after. His son, 
 who inherited it, lost it at cards. The successful card-player found 
 out about the coal, and promoted the Company. 
 As Alice, after reading thus far, re-read through the list of
 
 548 ALICE-FOK-SHOKT 
 
 stones, Charles took her hand in his, and turned the ring the very 
 ring itself! round on her finger. 
 
 "They are all there now," said he, "Ivory and all." Alice shud- 
 dered and felt creepy. "But just think," Charles continued, "how 
 the amiable son must have chuckled as he read through the stones 
 backwards !" 
 
 "I'm so glad," said Alice, "that he ran Lord Cairndrum through 
 for running his brother through. It showed he had something 
 good about him." 
 
 "Did it I" said Charles. 
 
 "Well! you know what I mean, darling. I mean, that a little 
 honest, savage revenge is like a breath of fresh air among such a 
 parcel of skunks." Charles agreed. Was there any more of the 
 Will ? he asked. That was all there was of interest. There was no 
 mention of Alice Lecheminant, nor of any of her fellow-victims. 
 
 "And this man," said Alice, "was the father of the red man I 
 saw with the knife. Ugh! Do you know, dearest, I can always 
 shiver at the recollection of him, even now!" 
 
 "Dearest love, when you talk like that you remind me of Alice- 
 for-short in the extensive basement with cellarage. I can almost 
 see the horrid black area again, and the cats." 
 
 "I remember the cats. There was a yellow one with one eye 
 out. It was named Barleycorn. I don't know why, nor who named 
 it. I had forgotten it altogether till this minute. How funny it 
 all is!" 
 
 FINIS
 
 ADDENDUM 
 
 "(THE following Is an extract from the diary of the late Abbe 
 Bernardin Fabrot, of Boulestin I'Annonay, a most accomplished 
 man and industrious scholar, who died in 1843. The diary is full 
 of such lengthy narratives, chiefly interesting. It is to be hoped 
 that the whole may one day be given to the world. As the Abbe 
 expresses strong opinions about the obligations of Father Con- 
 fessors, we must suppose that he did not regard this communica- 
 tion as coming under the seal of confession, and need be under no 
 scruple about publishing it.)" 
 
 (The above is the editorial note accompanying its publication in 
 the Journal d'Hier, February 29, 1853.) 
 
 "May 27, 1813. I have just come from visiting the poor Mi- 
 chaud. Latterly I have seen him twice in the week. But this is 
 the third time this week. For he cannot last long, le pauvre Is- 
 rael! His cough has been better since the naild season, but he is 
 very old. He will not see his hundredth birthday, assuredly. 
 Nevertheless, two years ago I had anticipated it. 
 
 "I will charge myself with the painful labour of writing out the 
 strange story he has told me of the murder in ... But here I feel 
 myself stopped. I cannot give the name of the street nor the quar- 
 ter in Paris where this frightful crime was committed. For Israel 
 Michaud will tell nothing of its whereabouts. He has only told 
 me one or two names (as he has said, 'by a lapsus linguae'), desir- 
 ing always to shrink from involving others, or their ancestors' 
 memory. I cannot identify by these names; they axe not uncom- 
 mon names, and the time is long ago. 
 
 "Two days past, the poor Israel accosted me thus as I sat by his 
 bedside thinking how strange it was I should know this man so 
 well, for himself, yet know so little of his provenance and ante- 
 cedents. I will give his words the nearest that I can recall them. 
 
 " 'You have well said, M. 1'Abbe, that it is in vain we choke 
 back (on a beau suffoquer) a guilty knowledge ; for that God knows 
 all, and can read all hearts. But your blameless life has left you 
 to know nothing of how a guilty secret may burden the soul of him 
 
 549
 
 550 ADDENDUM 
 
 who possesses it, little as he may have shared the guilt, but alwaya 
 always dreading the consequences of his confession to others 
 to others, M. 1'Abbe, whom he cannot absolve, but must needs 
 love. . . .' He was interrupted by his cough. 
 
 " 'Tell me,' I said, when he had recovered, and lay exhausted, 
 'tell me as much as you are willing I should know. No more! I 
 will not ask you for name nor place. I will guard your secret as 
 though I were of your faith, and your confessor. But I will forego 
 the confessor's right to hear all. All I desire is that you should 
 ease your mind.' 
 
 " 'Ah mon pere but you are good ! And you will ask me noth- 
 ing nothing of the others only of myself ?' 
 
 " 'I promise it. Trust yourself to me.' 
 
 " 'Then I will tell you. But I will tell you slowly, else I may be 
 p.rrested by my cough.' He then continued as follows, with pauses 
 as I have indicated them, I sitting always silent by his bed : 
 
 " 'As a boy I was placed out in service by my father with the 
 Situr Latioille. . . . Ah, my God! how confused I get! (comme 
 je me confonds) ... I had promised myself to tell no name even 
 to you! . . . He had a son of my own age a brave lad, but 
 furious as a wild beast when roused. He made of me a friend, 
 servitor though I was. We were together as boys, in the play- 
 ground as also in the schoolroom, for my elder patron his father 
 gave me also some education, which I needed. Had I not loved 
 him otherwise, I should have loved him because he was the son of 
 an old and beloved master, to whom I owed everything, and for 
 whom I would have died. . . . 
 
 " 'It is seventy-five years yes ! M. 1'Abbe, seventy-five years 
 since I was first in service, after the old man's death, in the family 
 of his son you will pardon me, M. 1'Abbe, that I do not give his 
 name, nor that of his residence; I thank you for allowing me to 
 omit all names. To what end should I resume them, when in fact 
 the whole affair relates to seventy-five years ago and now they are 
 all dead ! All dead long since ; my master and his wife, their sons 
 and daughters; even the last one I knew of as still living his 
 brother's daughter very old, nearly as old as I am. For I, M. 
 1'Abbe, have ninety-seven years. It is true, and so is the tale I have 
 to tell, for my memory is clear, and all comes back to me as 
 yesterday. . . . 
 
 " 'Yes and it is seventy-five years since that terrible night, the 
 most terrible I have ever experienced. Seventy-five since he, my 
 master then although my brother still came to the room where
 
 ADDENDUM 551 
 
 I slept; and shaking me by the shoulder, for I slept sound, said in 
 a voice that I can hear yes ! my God, I can hear it now "Wake 
 up, Israel, wake up and help! I have slain my sister, and know 
 not where to put her away. Wake up and help !" 
 
 "'Figure to yourself, M. TAbbe, that in the first moment I 
 believed myself the victim of a frightful nightmare from Hell (un 
 veritable cauchemar d'Enfer), for we were without any light. But 
 I rose trembling, and could scarce strike a light for trembling 
 indeed, I had much ado to find the flint-and-steel (pierre a fusil) 
 while he chafed with impatience in the dark. And then when the 
 lamp burned slowly up, I saw HIM. And his face was white and 
 like a Devil's, for the anger was still on it. He was still in his 
 costume-de-bal for there had been a great ball in the house, and 
 card-play till late, and somewhat of riot and confusion at the end, 
 as was not uncommon in that day. And as he stood there, his coat 
 of red silk, worked over in broderies de soie, and the red facings of 
 his long waistcoat, reaching, as was then the custom, nearly to his 
 knee, were not so red as the drops I saw on the blade he stil) 
 grasped in his right hand, while his left was on his heart as though 
 from pain. 
 
 " ' "My master," said I, when I refound my voice, "all I am is 
 yours. Tell me all, and trust me." 
 
 " ' "I have killed my sister, Israel," said he again "I have struck 
 her here, through the heart, with this sword. This blood that you 
 see, is her blood, and the blood of my father, and her mother not 
 mine !" And he lifted the hand that was on his heart, and struck 
 it back as he said the word. Then he cried out, yet keeping his 
 voice under as in fear: "Quick give me some rag God's curse 
 be on the blood!" Then, with some clout of rag (torchon) that 
 I gave him, he wiped the sword all its length, and flung the rag 
 from him as though it stung him. But he continued holding the 
 sword and I saw there was no scabbard, and wondered. But I 
 heard after. 
 
 " ' "It is not true," he cried in the same voice, but as though he 
 answered some one. "It is not true ! I am not Cain, say what they 
 may! She was no more my sister than a many others some I 
 
 know not of " Then, stopping suddenly, he caught me by the 
 
 arm, and said : "Help me, Israel ! She is dead, by her own fault. 
 Why did she madden me as she did ? Oh, that I had not had this 
 accursed sword! But to what good is all this? She is dead. 
 Would you that I should die too on a gibbet?" For in those 
 days, M. 1'Abbe, we had no guillotine. . . .' 
 
 "At this point the old man stopped. He was exhausted; and I
 
 552 ADDENDUM 
 
 saw that I should have to he patient, and accept the story as it 
 came. I made him take a little coffee, with a few drops of 
 cognac in it, and it revived him. I saw he was anxious to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " 'How much have I told of it, M. 1'Abbe?' 
 
 " 'Your master says to you, M. Israel, would you that he too 
 should die, on a gibbet.' 
 
 " 'Ah, truly, yes I I can see him now, as he hears me swear that 
 whatever he may have done, he may entrust himself to my fidelity. 
 "Come with me," he says. And we go together. And then I 
 follow him along the long passage that leads from my room to the 
 kitchen. And I am able to see that it is already daylight just 
 before sunrise and that what I thought was the darkness of night 
 was but the closed shutter of nay room, and that he had shut the 
 'door before he spoke. And when I am going to blow out the lamp 
 I carry he says to me: "Do not it will be wanted." For it was 
 troublesome to get a light in those days. 
 
 " 'We go into the kitchen, where all is dark, though one may see 
 the dawn through the shutter-cracks. I go first, for he puts me 
 first, and follows me, flinching back (reculant). I go first, always 
 in a shivering fit (en frisson). There is a draught down the chim- 
 ney, and a smell of soot, for the weather is suddenly warm, and 
 the air in the house cold at least in houses of this sort. For I 
 must tell you, M. 1'Abbe, that this house was not like the houses 
 in this quarter of Paris; there were many like it there, though! 
 The entresol was below the level of the street, and one descended 
 to it by a stairway. It was dark too very dark -dark at all times, 
 even in the day. So one sees it was little wonder I should have 
 struck the light, believing it night. 
 
 " 'Well ! We go in. I place the lamp on the chimney-shelf, to 
 shield it from the draught, and go to open the shutter. But he 
 will not permit me to open it fully nor to touch but only one 
 nor to go near the other window till there is light. Then, when 
 the gleam comes in of day from without, I see what is lying under 
 the other window. 
 
 a 'Understand me, M. I' Abbe ! I did not love this Madame 
 
 Quesnes. Who did? ' He stopped suddenly, and reproached 
 
 himself for having again let slip a name he had wished to reserve. 
 I pointed out to him how little it must matter, after so many years. 
 If, I said, it had even been twenty or thirty years, and the culprit 
 had been still living, it would have been another matter. But I 
 should not consider it my duty to reveal any portion of what he 
 might tell; and indeed considered myself under the pledge of
 
 ADDENDUM 553 
 
 secrecy, as much as though the story had been given in the Con- 
 fessionaL* He seemed reassured, and proceeded. 
 
 "'No one loved this lady haughty, defiant, vain, close with 
 money, and in her soul cruel, and bitter of tongue. But to see 
 her lying there stabbed to the heart by her own brother, her blood 
 still oozing out on the flowered silk of the rich robe-de-bal she had 
 been dancing in but an hour since Oh, but it was horrible, hor- 
 rible !' Michaud paused, pressing his fingers on his eyes, as though 
 he saw it all again and would shut out the sigiit then went on: 'I 
 can see the white face now, M. 1'Abbe, the arms thrown straight 
 above the head the eyes that glare the bloodless lips that part 
 the teeth still close set for she was but just dead. I see, a pace 
 away upon the floor, the hand-lamp she had carried I knew it for 
 hers and the broken glass that had rolled upon the floor. Then I 
 look round and see her brother, my master; still holding the sword 
 that had slain her, gazing aslant, with his face set, on the work he 
 could not undo. And I hear him speak again a quick, suffocated 
 whisper (demi-voix etouffante) that has to fight with his teeth. I 
 can hear them close against it and cut it short, by jerks. 
 
 " ' "There is no time, Israel, no time ! It must be done now, at 
 once before the household wakes. There is none I can trust 
 none but you, mon Israel." Then he gasps twice before he can say : 
 "It must be done now at once underground!" And he points 
 down. 
 
 " ' "But where, mon maitre ? If we remove it " 
 
 " ' "Bah, my friend, you are a fool ! We cannot remove it. We 
 must find a place here here at hand some dark cellar. There 
 are plenty such, and you know them better than I do. Think ! 
 God has given you wits think!" 
 
 " 'And then I, half-stunned more, to say truth, for pity for my 
 master, my brother, than for any sorrow for that dead Jezebel, who 
 had struck me with her fist more than once, M. 1'Abbe! I think 
 at my best. And I can think only of a dark cellar, but little used, 
 without the house, opening into an enclosed arene I know of no 
 house near, like it, to make you understand. I tell him of this, 
 and he says I am un brave it is good! But we shall be seen from 
 the street is it not true? But I say no! For I will watch from 
 the stair-top, level with the street, that no one comes, while he 
 carries it across the arene. And none will hear in the house, for 
 the door at the stair-head within, that always closes of itself, and 
 
 * The Abb seems to have been curiously unconscious of the abenrdity of put- 
 ting on paper a tale that was to be a secret! However, others have done the same 
 thing, forgetting their own liability to death and an executor.
 
 554 ADDENDUM 
 
 is heavy so that no sound may pass. My master would then that 
 I should carry it across the arene, while he would watch above. But 
 I say to him: "How then, my dear master, if the watchman who is 
 always on his beat (qui se tient toujours aux aguets) should note 
 you in passing? What would you say you who never descend to 
 this etage? He knows me well, and that I sleep below. It is an 
 affair of a word, and he passes on." So then my master assents, 
 with a sort of growl or snarl (espece de grognement) terrible to 
 hear ; and I find the key of this cellar, and open it with some force, 
 for it is seldom opened. It is a large cellar, or washhouse, very 
 dark, for the window is closed over with boards. 
 
 " 'I carry my lamp with great care across the arene, and place it 
 safely in the cellar. Then I find in the fuel-cellar, near by, a spade 
 and a crowbar. And then I tell my master all is ready, and he 
 must listen for my signal that none is near to see. Then I go 
 to the stair-top and watch. And there is no one near but some 
 drabs and young gallants, singing discordantly and all drunk. I 
 wait to see them well past, and to see that they have assaulted the 
 watch, who sounds his rattle (fait son allarme de sonnette). So 
 I know they are employed, and give my signal, a tap on the kitchen 
 window. 
 
 " 'M. 1'Abbe, I can see him now ! I can see him come bearing 
 IT across his shoulder, round the corner of the house, and pass 
 under an archway that crosses the arene. And as he comes, ITS 
 head strikes hard! on the pier of the archway. But he gives 
 no heed to this, for what he carries has no feeling. Oh horrible 
 horrible! . . . 
 
 " 'M. 1'Abbe, I can tell no more now. If God pleases that I shall 
 live till to-morrow, I will tell you more.' - 
 
 "May 29. I have thought it better to defer my visit to the poor 
 old Michaud. He was exhausted by his effort the day before yes- 
 terday. I found him much rested this morning, and most anxious 
 to resume his narrative. I told him he should do so, but would he 
 answer first a question, to satisfy my curiosity. It was not to find 
 any name nor place. 'Tell me,' I said, 'as to this master of yours. 
 Was he of noble birth ?' 
 
 "'Assuredly, M. 1'Abbe!' 
 
 " 'And was he this uncontrollable violence apart an honour- 
 able gentleman, just in his dealings with his fellow-men, and gener- 
 ous and forbearing to those weaker than himself ?' 
 
 " 'I never knew him under any other character, M. 1'Abbe ; until 
 indeed he gave me the whole story of the embrouillement which led
 
 ADDENDUM 555 
 
 to this awful business. I had always figured him to myself strictly 
 honourable in all money matters. As to galanteries, no doubt he 
 was like his father; but in these matters we know, M. 1'Abbe, that 
 all young men of spirit, in a high position, are the same. What 
 would you ?' 
 
 "'I would many things, mon cher Israel, that I shall never 
 attain, in this world among others that men of spirit should be 
 neither vermin nor devils. But do not let us waste your strength 
 over discussion. Go on and tell me what happens next. Your 
 master carries this poor lady, his victim, to the vault for 
 burial ' 
 
 " ' Ah, M. 1'Abbe, do not speak so cruelly. Mon pauvre maitre ! 
 But I will tell you. Listen ! My master carries her to the vault, 
 but I do not see him go. For when the head strikes on the hard 
 brick, I am sick and look away, to see no more. And I see, down 
 the street, that the young bloods and their women have gone their 
 ways, in great glee, and the watchman is in pain sitting doubled up 
 on the pavement edge. Then I hear my master say, "pst ! Israel !" 
 And I must go. ... 
 
 " 'There on the brick-floor is what was the woman, all askew 
 (toute de biais). She that was dancing, gay, full of repartee; for 
 she was a bel esprit one cannot deny it ! And now look at her ! 
 ah, my God! 
 
 " 'But there is no time for caquetage. We must work. We 
 choose a place for the grave that no prayer will be said over. And 
 I take the crowbar and loosen up the first floor-brick. The bricks 
 are set zig-zag, and it is difficult. My master becomes impatient. 
 But in time it is done, and I take the spade and we work alter- 
 nately in silence for what I should have believed an hour. But it 
 is less. We are both strong and can work quick. 
 
 " 'Then comes the terrible moment. Ah, M. 1'Abbe a moment 
 to make the strong man shudder. I can hardly speak of it now. 
 But it has to be done. . . . 
 
 " 'We have straightened out the body when I entered the vault. 
 That is well done. And my master throws back the dress-lappet 
 to hide (masquer) the face. We need not see it again. Then says 
 my master to me: "You merit your reward, my Israel. Take the 
 rings. It would be a pity to lose the good rings." But no ! I would 
 not. Then my master stoops and takes the rings from the hand, 
 bague d'alliance and all, and would have me take them. But I still 
 refuse, and he calls me fool ; but slips the rings in his pocket. But 
 he will not unmask the face again, for all the pearls there are on 
 the neck. I saw them.
 
 556 ADDENDUM 
 
 " 'So he takes the head and I take the feet, and we lay it in the 
 new-made grave. And we fill in the sandy mould, so much as will 
 enter in, and commence to replace the bricks as before. But one 
 foot, with its satin shoe, will protrude do what we may! Then 
 my master, impatient, snatches up a brick and beats it into the 
 ground. And I turn sick and hide my eyes, for I hear the bones 
 that crack (la fente des os). 
 
 " 'Then we flush over all, and replace the brickwork with care. 
 Then, there is question about the mould we have taken out. It will 
 show itself, and reveal all, says my master. But I tell him that no 
 one comes to this vault that I will lock the door, and take the 
 fey. And years may pass, but none will know. Besides, if we 
 work longer now we shall be seen ; for the sun has come, and we hear 
 the footsteps of the workmen going to their work, and their voices. 
 And the clink of the tin cans of the laitiere as she goes down the 
 street en criante. It is time to get back to bed. "Madame is a 
 sound sleeper, grace a Dieu," says my master. And we go back 
 to hide our hearts, as best we may. . . .' 
 
 " 'Ah, poor Israel,' said I, 'how I weep for you ! For you had 
 done no crime, you yourself ! Your only crime was that you gave 
 help to a man, who surely seems to me pardon my frankness ! 
 to have gone near to be a devil incarnate.' 
 
 " 'Ah no, mon pere !' replied the old man, 'it is not as you think. 
 For what merit have we of our own, the best among us? And I 
 know this, that my poor master, ere he died, turned, as his father 
 had done before him, to the blessed Lord Jesus, by whose blood we 
 can alone be washed free from sin.' And then the old invalid went 
 on to console himself for the crime of a man he held in loving 
 memory, by a long screed of gibberish (recit de baragouinages) of 
 the so-called Evangelical sectaries. For there is, I know, more 
 than one coterie of heretics that flatters its conscience with a belief 
 that sin is safe for all provided that the sinner applies in time 
 (even to the hour of his death) to the Lord Jesus as his Intercessor 
 and Mediator; and yet fails to see that the surest way to His mercy 
 is through the beatified Mary, His sweet Mother. Yet I too hope 
 that this intercession may not be for sinners only, but for those 
 who have lived to give what-may-be of happiness to their fellow- 
 man. But I will not be led away by this theme. Let me continue 
 Michaud's story. He had broken down at this point, asnd I would 
 have had him desist. But presently he resumed, of his own accord. 
 
 " 'I would you should know, M. 1'Abbe, the story my master told 
 me of the events that anticipated this murder. He told me them 
 all, keeping nothing back for who else was there to whom he could
 
 ADDENDUM 557 
 
 apeak? but by fits and starts (a batons rompus), not in one con- 
 tinuous narrative. It is too long to tell at what intervals pre- 
 cisely. I will tell it in one. 
 
 " 'This Madame Quesnes was the half-sister of my master, as he 
 had said. She had ever (so he told me) been scheming and plotting 
 to rob his daughter of an inheritance specially devised to her by his 
 father. It was owing to an entanglement, he said, that it all came 
 about. For his father, being whimsical in his old age, and not 
 being in good terms with his belle-fille, my master's wife, though 
 much attached to his grandchild her daughter, had thought well 
 to attach a special condition to this bequest; namely, that on com- 
 ing of age his grandchild should be in possession of a certain ring 
 he had given her, else she should not inherit. "Naturally," said 
 my master, "I entrusted this ring to the care of Madame, my wife, 
 enjoining her to wear it night and day. And this she did, until, 
 as I shah 1 tell you, it was stolen from her by my sister, Madame 
 Quesnes, on the evening of the ball that ended so disastrously for 
 her." . . . 
 
 " 'I need not say, M. 1'Abbe, that it was not for me, a poor servi- 
 tor, to understand the ins-and-outs of the inheritance of property. 
 I was content to make no enquiry about this matter, though it 
 seemed to me strange, and to be content that all was as my master 
 told me. I myself saw somewhat of the theft in the ballroom, and 
 can answer in part for the truth of my master's narrative, of 
 which I can repeat the words. But first I must tell you of the 
 reason no enquiry was made about the disappearance of Madame 
 Quesnes. It was this. At the end of this ball, it may be at two or 
 three in the morning, there broke out a great quarrel among cer- 
 tain gentlemen who in an upper room had been playing cards for 
 high stakes. And some would have it that a certain Milord 
 Anglais, who was reputed to be the lover of this Madame Quesnes 
 but what do I know? had provoked her husband to the duel by 
 accusations of cheating at cards, whereon blows were struck and 
 swords drawn. But my master this I saw coming from the 
 dancing-room in anger, bade them put up their swords and begone 
 to the Pare to fight, as became gallant gentlemen, rather than to 
 buffet one another on the stairs like drunken citizens in a tavern 
 brawl. And they, all in fear of him, for none would face his 
 sword, as it was, to say the truth, an assured death to do so, 
 went away to the Pare as bidden, and there M. Quesnes met his end 
 from the sword of Milord, who fought, having won the choice of 
 place, with his back to the sun. But from that hour Milord was 
 not again seen, and the tale went that he and Madame Quesnes had
 
 558 ADDENDUM 
 
 fled together and were living together, in Italy or Corsica, more 
 because there was much anger at Court over the death of her hus- 
 band than from any mauvaise-honte of their amours. Indeed, 
 some said he had made her his wife; but others made light of this, 
 saying he had little need to do so, and was not the man. This 
 story was the more easy of belief that my master affirmed that, an 
 hour or so after all had departed, he came from his room hearing 
 a noise, and saw Madame Quesnes going downstairs as though to 
 leave the house. And this, M. 1'Abbe, you will see was true, if I 
 tell you the rest of my master's tale in his own words : 
 
 " < "This arrangement of the inheritance being seen and well 
 understood, mon Israel," said he, "figure to yourself my anger and 
 disgust when I hear this woman proclaim aloud at the ball that 
 she has taken a wager that no lady in the room has ten stones in a 
 ring, setting aside small stones that encircle other stones. Well, I 
 know this is a scheme of hers to get my wife's ring from her finger 
 and snatch it away and hide it. For I know her capable of such 
 conduct. And I hear her tell some cock-and-bull tale (histoire) 
 when I refuse to allow this ring to leave my wife's finger, of how it 
 is really a ring of her mother's that my wife has stolen. And 
 then, as I would not offend the great Duke who had laid the wager, 
 I myself keep hold of the ring for him to count the stones. And 
 between us, each thinking the ring in the other's keeping, we let 
 go at the instant. And then as the ring rolls away on the ground, 
 I am called away to make peace without. And then, when I return, 
 where is the ring ? Where, truly ? But Madame, my sister, knows, 
 and knows well. And I see, from her face, what my wife believes, 
 and I speak with her ; for I would know also. What she tells me is, 
 that Mademoiselle my niece has seen her aunt stoop and pick up 
 the ring" this, M. 1'Abbe, was the young orpheline daughter of 
 his brother the soldier; she had but sixteen years a child and 
 this marmotte repeats again what she has seen; and that Madame 
 her aunt escaped by the other door, at the moment that I returned. 
 It is enough! I pursue her, and meet you without. You remem- 
 ber? .. ." 
 
 " 'And M. 1'Abbe,' thus spoke Michaud himself, 'I remembered 
 well, and that I had seen Madame Quesnes make away through 
 the door leading down to^the entresol. And her return at this 
 moment, and that my master taxed her with the theft, and she 
 defied him, and denied all knowledge of the ring. But she made 
 but a poor excuse for her inexplicable visit below, where she may 
 have been three minutes, before my master met me on the stairs 
 above, seeking her, and heard from me that she was below.*
 
 ADDENDUM 559 
 
 "I did not want Michaud to waste his strength in making clear 
 points of small importance, so I recalled him to the narrative of 
 the murderer himself. 
 
 "'I will tell you tout-de-suite, mon pere. But now, I wish to 
 make you see, so to speak, the excited confusion of the guests who 
 disperse, and to hear the voix terrible of my master, who silences all 
 recriminations by calling out that he knows well who has the ring, 
 and it will be found in time. But for M. le Due, the great man, 
 he has only apologies that this fracas should cross the pleasure of 
 his guests, and tries now to treat the whole concern as contemptible 
 (faire fi de 1'affaire toute entiere) and the ring itself as a mere 
 brimborion. And for the Duke, he speaks him fair, but shows 
 himself incredulous. And theiv the last carriage and the last Sedan 
 chair (chaise a porteurs) is gone, and when my master turns to seek 
 his sister behold ! she is gone away to bed, for she and her husband 
 were to sleep in the house, having come from the country expressly 
 for this ball. And Madame pacifies him, and swears that it is but 
 that his sister is only making game of him (veut plaisanter) ; and 
 at least, she will not leave the house. And then my master, to 
 make sure, gives a double turn to the key of the porte d'entree, and 
 all go to their rooms. I delay only to put out the lights and then 
 descend to my room below and am soon unconscious. But for what 
 happened while I am asleep, I will tell you again my master's own 
 words. 
 
 " ' "After I go to my room" it was thus he told me "I am too 
 inflamed against Madame my sister to repose, and I do not go to 
 bed at once. My wife goes to bed, and sleeps sound. She can sleep, 
 and is sure the ring will be found. It is impossible my sister should 
 be so friponne. At least, she can sleep, if I cannot! And then, 
 a little time after, I hear a light struck, and I hear footsteps. And 
 as I look out from my door to see who is moving, I hear the creak 
 (grincement) of the door of your stair. And then I say to myself, 
 mon cher Israel, that this young maroufle whom my sister has 
 brought with her from the country, and who seems a Bohemien, a 
 Gipsy, may be in league with burglars ; and I cheat myself in figur- 
 ing him descending the stairs nu-pieds, to admit the voleur-de- 
 nuit. And it is for me an accursed fancy (reve maudit), for it 
 is this that makes me carry my sword Dieu ait merci! sans 
 fourreau; et c'est ga qui m'a fait autant de malheur. Ne suis-je 
 pas vraiment malheureux, mon Israel? 
 
 " ' "Well ! I too descend the stairs, not too quickly, lest mon ami 
 vilain should not be well inside the house when I arrive. It is to 
 a divertissement. But I am surprised to find, at the stairfoot.
 
 560 ADDENDUM 
 
 beyond the door of the squeaking hinge, my sister still in her 
 costume-de'danse, who has just lighted her lamp. And at this I 
 do not wonder; for thou knowest how dark it is below there. But 
 I do wonder, for a moment, what may be the business of Madame 
 in the basement, at this hour. Then, in another moment, I have 
 understood all, and I speak. 
 
 " ' " 'You hare hidden the ring down here, my beloved sister, and 
 now you have descended to find it.' 
 
 " < <Jt jg true, my beloved brother !' she replies in a mocking tone, 
 'but what would you? I can look for it another time, when my 
 beloved brother is not here. Ah! my dear brother, mon frere de 
 demi-sang, who is it that would have torn the clothes from my back, 
 to hunt for this ring sans respect, sans egard ni de femme ni de 
 sceur? See now! I am alone here I am powerless. Search! 
 search! but there will be no ring.' And she laughs in my face (me 
 rit au nez). And thou knowest, mon Israel, the laugh of my sister 
 when she mocks. And she laughs long ; and loud enough, I should 
 have thought, to wake you in your chenil down there. But in truth 
 you had drunk too much, and M. 1'Ivrogne sleeps sound. Confess 
 it, mon cher ! Have I not reason ? At least, you do not wake. 
 
 " ' " 'Mais cherche cherche toujours, mon frere si bicn aime ! Tu 
 ne la trouveras pas la bague precieuse- sur ma personne. Voila 
 ce qui est vrai! Mais peut-etre tu peux la trouver ailleurs. Elle 
 n'est pas loin de vous, Monsieur 1'Ecorcheur. Cherche, cherehe 
 bien ! Tu la trouveras. . . .' 
 
 "'"I am enraged against her, and rage be sure of it!' But I 
 know she is speaking truth for brothers always know, of each 
 other, or sisters of sisters, or either of other, if there is truth in 
 what is said. And I seek about, and she makes as though to accom- 
 modate me with the lamp she holds, mocking always, and saying 
 now, you are warmer now colder, as the children play at cache- 
 cache." ' 
 
 "(I then knew I had not seen it before that all this had taken 
 place in England. For there the children play 'hide and seek' in 
 this way. But I say nothing, and Michaud continued, repeating 
 always the tale of his master.) 
 
 " ' "And I seek thus, feeling sure that what she says is true, so 
 far as that she has concealed the ring, and at no great distance. 
 Then says she, making a moue, as one does to a child why do I not 
 seek in the kitchen? I pass into the kitchen, all dark with closed 
 shutters; and I search about, while she stands, the vixen, leaning 
 back against the window-cupboard, her arms akimbo, or her elbows 
 on the ledge, where also she places her lamp. None can say she
 
 ADDENDUM 561 
 
 is not a comely wench ; but as for me, she maddens me and I hate 
 her. 
 
 " ' "Then when this farce has gone on some while I know not 
 how long she breaks into a low malicious laugh. 'Ah, mon frere 
 bien-aime,' she says, 'you are colder now than ever! You were 
 warmer in the passage.' 
 
 " ' "Then the Devil seizes on me, and I become mad yes ! 
 mad outright, mon Israel ! 'You said it was here,' I cry, f urieuse- 
 ment. But, with irritating calmness, she picks up her lamp, toss- 
 ing her head. 'But I never said so,' says she, almost smiling, 'I 
 only said why not seek in the kitchen?' 
 
 " ' "And then he possesses me outright the Devil ! I am his. 
 
 " ' "Oh, mon Israel ! thou dost not know hast never known 
 how swift, how facile to the swordsman's hand is the weapon he 
 knows so well! None can know it who has not been, as I have 
 truly, a great swordsman, a perfect master ! But I tell you, it was 
 the Devil that seized me. As I stood there, her mocking smile, her 
 lip that curled up from her white teeth, her head thrown back, her 
 eyelids dropped all fed my delirium of fury. Again she spoke, 
 with sweetness. 
 
 " ' " 'It is time for bed, mon frere bien-aime. Let us go. Madame 
 will miss you. Et mon mari adorable sera aussi de retour s'il 
 n'est pas tue par ce joli petit Milord Anglais. AUons tu peux 
 chercher encore demain et le demain suivant. . . .' 
 
 " ' "Oui, je le redis, mon IsraeL iful autre pent le savoir, la 
 demangeaison de doigts qu'elle sent pour son epee la main qui 
 sait bien s'en servir . . . c'est <ja qui m'a trahi mais elle aurait du 
 penser a c.a. M'exasperer ainsi ! Elle aurait du penser. . . ." ' 
 
 "At this point I saw (says the Abbe) that the old man was be- 
 coming exhausted after so long a recital. He consented to stop, but 
 said : 'I have more to tell.' He then fell asleep and I left him. 
 
 "June 2. I have again seen old Israel, and he has told me the 
 rest of his story, but of a continuity so broken that I judge it best 
 to write the narrative as my memory understands it, and not to 
 attempt to give all his fragmentary words. 
 
 "He told me how the murderer, having none other to confide in, 
 and (not being a Christian) having no resource in the Church, 
 had talked to him constantly. And, said he, he could see that the 
 tooth of his remorse bit deep. Yet he would marvel, when by 
 chance the name of this Esther (the sister's name, which also came 
 accidentally) was spoken in his circle, how bravely he would speak 
 out and denounce her for the dishonour she had done to his family,
 
 562 ADDENDUM 
 
 jusqu'alors sans tache! For, as he had told me before, she was 
 supposed at this time to be living in sin with the noble Milord 
 Anglais. And when he did not reappear (for he never did) it was 
 laid to her account. But she could not be caught, so none was any 
 the wiser. And the story being put about by my master that she 
 had left the house on the morning of the duel, and was nowhere to 
 be found, put a padlock on gossip (cadenassait les langues). 
 
 "Yet, in spite of all this, when he was alone with his so faithful 
 servant, the Sieur Latreille would break down and shed tears. 
 Then, one day, being greatly afflicted at heart, he told him that he 
 would not have the guilt on his soul of having told him a lie ; and 
 then admitted that his version of the inheritance and the ring story 
 was false, and that he had really in some way deceived his father. 
 But of this I have understood little, and can only think that poor 
 Michaud must have misconceived much of it, or been flagging 
 when he tried to tell it ; for it was (as I heard it) a mere galimatias, 
 a confused tale of the initials of the ring-jewels which made up his 
 wife's name of Phillis I could make no sense of it. 
 
 "But this was, it may be, no truer than the other version he had 
 told. I mistrust all the story, except the portion poor old Israel 
 himself knows for truth. That he is truth-telling I cannot doubt. 
 
 "One thing more he told me, that one should put on record. His 
 master continued uneasy about the soil that had been dug up out 
 of the grave, and that still lay in a heap in the vault where they 
 had left it. He himself was unwilling to make any effort to con- 
 ceal this, thinking that no one would see anything in it more 
 than some rubbish left by bricklayers. But his master had in his 
 soul the restlessness of guilt, and must needs be always doing 
 something active to conceal his crime. So he persuades Michaud 
 to go with him in the dead of night, and to remove this rubbish or 
 loam in basket-loads, choosing for its receptacle a hollow (conca- 
 vite) in the wall under the stairway of which I can only under- 
 stand this, that it is covered in part by a large beer-cask, and 
 that when this is shifted aside, and Michaud reaches down to find 
 its depth, behold a beer-jug in a recess which he would have re- 
 moved before filling in the loam. Thereat, said he, his master was 
 in a great perturbation. One minute he would have this jug re- 
 moved, the next he commands that it should be left quiet now 
 this way, now that, comme une vraie girouette. 
 
 " 'Enfin,' said he, 'nous sommes decides de laisser tranquille cette 
 cruche, et de ga je me sens mecontent; parce que je 1'ai reconnue 
 pour une cruche egaree 1'an passe, pour laquelle 1'on a fait chercher 
 beaucoup oui, que 1'on a cru volee. "Alors," dit mon maitre,
 
 ADDENDUM 563 
 
 "laissez-les croire! Plutot ga que de faire soupconner les gens qui 
 ne soupconnent rien. Remplacez-la-vite ! vite !" Et ensuite, je la 
 remplace, et nous aliens verser les paniers tous plains dans le trou. 
 Et enfin c'est fini !' . . . 
 
 "It made me sad (adds the Abbe) that I could not join my poor 
 friend in his attempts to whitewash (reblanchir) his old friend 
 and master. But I would gladly have done so had I seen a loophole. 
 I could only say that we must hope that the Almighty Wisdom, 
 which can truly read the human heart, might find some excuses for 
 his conduct which it was not given to our limited vision to dis- 
 tinguish." 
 
 "August 22, 1814. The poor Israel Michaud is departed, ninety- 
 eight years of age. Had he lived till la Saint Michel, he would 
 have been ninety-nine. He had been happier, he said, in this last 
 year and a half, for having told me the terrible tale of the murder 
 of Madame Quesnes. He held to his affection for his old master, 
 the Sieur Latreille, to the last. It was a strange fascination 1 I 
 have promised to pray for this murderer, and must do so. But, 
 mon Dieu ! with how much more heart one prays for good men, than 
 for human wolves and foxes !" 
 
 (Editor's Note. As there are still so many who do not read 
 French, the above has been translated so as to suggest its original 
 as nearly as possible retaining the French at discretion in one or 
 two places, and bracketing in the words that might add emphasis 
 to their substitutes. This treatment of a foreign language is not 
 without precedent.)
 
 Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library 
 size. Printed on excellent paper most of them with lllustra 
 tions of marked beauty and handsomely bound in doth. 
 Price, 75 cents a volume,, postpaid. 
 
 LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. By Myrtle Reed. 
 
 A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone 
 romance finds a modern parallel. One at the prettiest, sweetest, and 
 quaintest of old-fashioned love stories * * * A rare book, ex- 
 quisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness, 
 of delightful humor and spontaneity. A dainty volume, especially 
 suitable for a gift 
 
 DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR. By Norman 
 Duncan. With a frontispiece and inlay cover. 
 How the doctor came to the bleak Labrador coast and there in say- 
 lug life made expiation. In dignity, simplicity, humor, hi sympathetic 
 etching of a sturdy fisher people, and above all in the echoes of the 
 sea, Doctor Luke is worthy of great praise. Character, humor, poign- 
 ant pathos, and the sad grotesque conjunctions of old and new ciyili- 
 zations are expressed through the medium of a style that has distinc- 
 tion and strikes a note of rare personality. 
 
 THE DAY'S WORK. By Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated. 
 
 The London Morning Past says: "It would be hard to find better 
 reading * * * the oook is so varied, so full of color and life from 
 end to end, that few who read the first two or three stories will lay it 
 down till they have read the last arid the last is a veritable gem 
 * * * contains some of the best of his highly vivid work * * * 
 Kipling is a born story-teller and a man of humor into the bargain. 
 
 ELEANOR LEE, By Margaret E. Songster. With a front- 
 
 ispiece. 
 
 A story of married We, and attractive picture of wedded bliss * * 
 on entertaining story or a man's redemption through a woman's love 
 r * no one who knows anything of marriage or parenthood can 
 read this story with eyes that are always dry * * * goes straight 
 to the heart of every one who knows the meaning of "love "and 
 "home/' 
 
 THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS. By John 
 
 Reed Scott. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. 
 "Full of absorbing: charm, sustained interest, and a wealth of 
 thrilling and romantic situations. " So naively fresh in its handling, 
 so plausible through its naturalness, that it comes like a mountain 
 breeze across the far-spreading desert of similar romances."- Gazette* 
 Times, Pittsburg. " A slap-dashing day romance." New York Sun. 
 
 GROSSET & DTJNLAP, T" NEW YORK
 
 FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS 
 IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS 
 
 Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library 
 size. Printed on excellent paper most of them with illustra- 
 tions of marked beauty and handsomely bound in cloth. 
 Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid. 
 
 DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES. By Irving Bach- 
 
 eller. With illustrations by Arthur Keller. 
 "Darrel, the clock tinker, is a wit, philosopher, and man of mystery. 
 Learned, strong, kindly, dignified, he towers like a giant above the 
 people among whom he lives. It is another tale of the North Coun- 
 try, full of the odor of wood and field. Wit, humor, pathos and high 
 thinking are in this book." Boston Transcript. 
 
 D'Rl AND I : A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War 
 with the British. Being the Memoirs of Colonel Ramon 
 Bell, U. S. A. By Irving Bacheller. With illustrations by 
 F. C. Yohn. 
 
 " Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war. 
 D'ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He 
 fightt magnificently on the ' Lawrence,' and was among the wounded 
 when Perry went to the ' Niagara.' As a romance of early American 
 history it is great for the enthusiasm it creates." New York Times. 
 
 EBEN HOLDEN : A Tale of the North Country. By Irving 
 
 Bacheller. 
 u As pure as water and as good as bread," says Mr. Howells. "Read 
 
 * Eben Holden '"is the advice of Margaret Sangster. " It is a forest- 
 scented, fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country 
 and town life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to 
 know what were the real life and atmosphere in which the country 
 folk that saved this nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, 
 they must go back to such true and zestful and poetic tales of fiction' 
 as ' Eben Holden,' " says Edmund Clarence Stedman. 
 
 SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bach- 
 eller. With a frontispiece. 
 
 " A modem Leather stocking. Brings the city dweller the aroma of 
 the pine and the music of the wind m its branches an epic poem 
 
 * * * forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger 
 character than Eben Holden." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 VERGILIUS : A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving 
 
 Bacheller. 
 
 * A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose 
 great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through 
 the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding 
 the birth of Christ. 
 
 Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod. and 
 his degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter "the incomparable" 
 Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait painting. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, - NEW YORK
 
 - "''"'//II////I//I 
 
 f\ j -. " /'!/ 1/,