Sinner ; 
 
 Rachel Sweteffiacnamara
 
 By Rachel S. Macnamara 
 
 The Fringe of the Desert 
 The Torch of Life 
 
 Drifting Waters 
 The Beloved Sinner
 
 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 By 
 Rachel Swete Macnamara 
 
 Author of 
 "Lark's Gate," "A Marriage has been Arranged," etc. 
 
 "Heaviness may endure for a night, 
 but joy cometh in the morning." 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York and London 
 
 Gbe Rntcherbocfcer press 
 
 1919
 
 COPYRIGHT. 1919 
 
 BY 
 RACHEL SWETE MACNAMARA 
 
 TCbe Knickerbocker preaa, Hew gorfc
 
 Dedication 
 To C. F. C. 
 
 WHO GAVE ME THE SEED OF THIS BOOK 
 
 2137076 '
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE COLOUR OF MARRIAGE . i 
 
 II. DESIREE DEMANDS THE IMPOSSIBLE n 
 
 III. A THORN IN THE FLESH . . 26 
 
 IV. IN THE YEW GARDEN ... 42 
 
 V. "SOMETHING ON A LEASH" . . 55 
 
 VI. BLUE SOCKS .... 73 
 
 VII. THE STAR SAPPHIRE ... 91 
 
 VIII. THE YOUNG MAN IN THE TRAIN 103 
 
 IX. DESIREE TRIES HER WINGS . 118 
 
 X. JUDITH TALKS NONSENSE . .130 
 
 XI. PRINCESS PAFNUTY . . .140 
 
 XII. MOON MAGIC . . . .158 
 
 XIII. THE SEEDING MOMENT . .172 
 
 XIV. THE GOD IN THE GARDEN . .186 
 
 XV. INTERVENTION . . . .198 
 
 XVI. THE FEET OF NEMESIS . . 207 
 
 XVII. CLEAN HANDS 220
 
 vi Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVIII. LEANDER'S LOVE . . . 232 
 
 XIX. JEREMY ON RUDDERS . . . 247 
 
 XX. AMARANTH OR ASPHODEL? . . 257 
 
 XXI. "LIFE is A WHEEL" . . . 264 
 
 XXII. THE MONEY WEB . . .273 
 
 XXIII. LORD GARRY RETURNS . . 285 
 
 XXIV. CONFESSION .... 296 
 
 XXV. "THOU SHALT NOT STEAL!" . 305 
 
 XXVI. LEANDER'S WINGS . . .313 
 
 / 
 
 XXVII. JEREMY is TESTED . . . 322 
 
 XXVIII. THE VEILED FRIEND . . .334
 
 The Beloved Sinner
 
 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE COLOUR OF MARRIAGE 
 
 "AND what have you been doing with yourself 
 since last we saw you, Ludlow ?" asked Lady Brigid 
 in her soft voice. 
 
 It was her invariable prelude to conversation 
 with her old friend and kinsman, Lord Garry, and 
 she never knew to what whimsicality it might be the 
 key. Like him she possessed that unconquerable 
 light-heartedness of the Celt, which is oblivious of 
 the burden of years, and responds to the touch of 
 humour even through a mist of tears : though tears 
 were far enough from Lady Brigid's blue eyes at 
 the present moment. 
 
 Lord Garry, thin, clean-shaven, and rather 
 withered from his earlier comeliness by the frost 
 of the approaching sixties, looked around the table 
 before he answered. 
 
 He liked lunching at Bressy Rectory. Its fine 
 simplicity, its harmony, the warmth of his welcome
 
 2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 always appealed to some inner sense of well-being. 
 He said he enjoyed his visits because the Hasards 
 were so delightfully unparochial and never insisted 
 upon his having a spiritual spring-cleaning; but 
 the reason went deeper than that: deep as the 
 rare refreshment of sympathetic understanding. 
 
 His glance brushed past his host, the Rev. Noel 
 Hasard a man of sixty-two, with the face of a 
 saint and the figure of a sinner, or rather of a man 
 who wore his shabby, well-cut clothes with an air 
 that was far removed from the ascetic and rested 
 upon the tilted profile of his goddaughter, Desiree, 
 the only child of a belated marriage. Paradoxical 
 offspring of a saint and an angel, she owned no 
 nimbus other than her own aureole of hair, no 
 wings but those of mounting youth, eager for 
 flight. No classic perfection of feature was hers, 
 yet with her apple-blossom colouring and fineness 
 of texture she produced an effect of radiancy, of 
 exquisite finish which carried her far beyond the 
 attainment of mere prettiness. Her eyes were as 
 blue as her mother's, but they sparkled where the 
 older woman's softened to tenderness. The sight 
 of her young freshness among these three elderly 
 people brought similes flocking to Lord Garry's 
 mind : a daffodil springing through brown bracken, 
 a crescent moon among clouds, a silver birch in an 
 oak wood. . . . 
 
 Desiree was looking out of the window at two 
 puppies rolling on the lawn, taking no notice of 
 her godfather for once. This must not be. He
 
 The Colour of Marriage 3 
 
 would make her turn round. She always amused 
 him, this charming child, whose temperament 
 harmonized so well with his own pleasant world- 
 liness. 
 
 "What have I been doing?" he echoed. "I 
 have been studying the colours of marriage. " 
 
 His object was at once achieved. Desiree 
 flashed round, all vivacious interest. 
 
 "The colours of marriage! Mother, what does 
 he mean?" 
 
 Lady Brigid shook her head. Her grey hair was 
 as fluffy as the girl's sunny locks. . . . "Far too 
 frivolous for an old woman like me," she often 
 declared, "but I can't keep it tidy! ..." Her 
 eyes twinkled. Quick as she usually was to follow 
 Lord Garry's flights of fancy his meaning eluded 
 her now. 
 
 "I haven't an idea," she declared. "Suppose 
 you enlighten us, Ludlow. " 
 
 "I have discovered that marriages are of three 
 distinct colours, purple, orange, and green." 
 
 "This sounds deliciously mad," cried Desiree. 
 "Please expound. " 
 
 "We'll take the most common colour first, 
 purple where the wife rules," he said, with a 
 whimsical glance at the head of the table. 
 
 ' ' Ludlow, do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Fit caps for yourself!" 
 
 "But why purple?" asked Desiree. 
 
 "Because you can so plainly see that there are 
 two colours in purple. You can unmistakably
 
 4 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 trace the influence of the blue upon the red. Then 
 there is the orange marriage, where the husband 
 rules. Here you have the indubitable domination 
 of the red over the yellow. Finally, there is the 
 green marriage, the perfect marriage, where the 
 colours are so absolutely blended into one that you 
 would never suspect that it was composed of the 
 apparently conflicting elements of blue and yellow ! 
 But such marriages, my dear Dede, are only to be 
 found in the heaven where the others are presum- 
 ably made!" 
 
 He glanced at Lady Brigid again, but this time 
 she had no eyes for him. She was looking across 
 the table at her husband. Surely Ludlow had not 
 meant that theirs was anything but a green mar- 
 riage that she ruled ! Absurd ! 
 
 "Presumptuous woman! What colour is your 
 marriage, Hasard?" 
 
 The Rector brought himself back from some far 
 plane of thought with an obvious effort. 
 
 "I'm afraid I was guilty of inattention. I 
 thought that you were talking nonsense to Dede. 
 Was there a substratum of sense in what you were 
 saying? If so I apologize. " 
 
 Lord Garry appealed to Desiree. "Was there, 
 Dede?" 
 
 "Heaven forfend!" she cried, laughing, and 
 making the signs of the horns, a trick she had 
 picked up long ago from him. 
 
 "I thought it was a beautiful idea," said Lady 
 Brigid softly.
 
 The Colour of Marriage 5 
 
 ' ' But, dearest, you're a hopeless sentimentalist, " 
 said Desiree. Then, before her mother had any 
 idea of what was coming, she leaned across the table 
 to Lord Garry. "What colour was your mar- 
 riage?" she asked lightly. 
 
 Lady B rigid bit her lip. In all her years of 
 friendship she had never touched where her child 
 thrust so carelessly now. Reticent herself, in spite 
 of her apparent frankness, delicacy had always 
 held curiosity at bay the while her sympathy was 
 given generously, but in silence. Yet Lord Garry's 
 unfortunate venture was ancient history now. 
 Mention of it could scarcely hurt, though as a 
 topic of conversation it might creak a little for 
 want of use. 
 
 To her relief he answered without a perceptible 
 pause. 
 
 "My marriage was kaleidoscopic, Dede. Every 
 colour of the rainbow. You see, I made the mis- 
 take of marrying a tornado. One gets rather bat- 
 tered when one tries to go through life with a 
 tornado." He smiled reminiscently. "Never 
 marry a tornado, my child. " 
 
 "I'd rather marry a tornado than a turnip!" 
 
 "There is a wide range of choice between the 
 two. Still, even if there were not, I should be 
 inclined to lean towards the turnip. But that's 
 the advice of age," he said tolerantly. "One 
 can scarcely expect Sweet and Twenty to subscribe 
 to it." 
 
 "I'd rather be whirled to pieces than die of stag-
 
 6 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 nation!" Sweet and Twenty hoisted her colours. 
 
 "Well, one need never rust out. Life offers 
 an unfailing supply of sand-paper. Keep your 
 interests well polished and you'll never die of stag- 
 nation, Dede. " 
 
 Desiree smiled. The advice seemed superfluous 
 to one who flourished the bright sword of Youth as 
 yet undimmed by Time. 
 
 "It's rather an achievement to be able to talk 
 nonsense at fifty-nine, isn't it, Hasard?" 
 
 "It's a sign of incurable light-heartedness, at 
 any rate, ' ' replied the Rector dreamily. 
 
 "If only you'd come down out of the clouds and 
 talk nonsense too, Daddy, it would do you a world 
 of good, ' ' put in Desiree. ' ' What particular cloud 
 are you hiding your head in now? But I needn't 
 ask. It's the Lady Chapel, of course. Am I 
 right?" 
 
 "Quite right," her father answered with an 
 indulgent smile. 
 
 Suddenly as the sun breaks through clouds his 
 face became irradiated. His tone changed from 
 gentle half-interest to the ring of enthusiasm as he 
 turned towards his guest, who was also his fellow- 
 trustee, and spoke of the subject nearest his heart, 
 the restoration to its former glories of St. Osyth's, 
 the ancient church he served. 
 
 The subject lay near Lord Garry's heart also, 
 but with him it was only one of many interests, 
 whereas with the Rector it had become an ideal, 
 almost an obsession, to which all the time and more
 
 The Colour of Marriage 7 
 
 than all the money he could legitimately spare 
 were devoted. 
 
 "You will see strides since the last time you 
 were here, Garry. That young fellow, Wing, is a 
 genius. His carving for the ceiling, his designs 
 for the screen but you must judge for yourself. 
 I am afraid of saying too much. " 
 
 "Did Daddy tell you of the discovery of the 
 fresco?" asked Desiree, who did not like to be left 
 long out of any conversation. 
 
 "That was the chief reason for my visit today. " 
 
 "Then I wish frescoes could be discovered once 
 a week!" 
 
 Her father broke in upon the pretty speech. 
 
 ' ' It's wonderful, Garry. You can imagine what 
 I felt when we began to remove the whitewash 
 and saw the indications of colour. Wing says 
 that it depicts the Virgin taking souls out of 
 Purgatory 
 
 ' ' Purgatory being represented by a sort of oven 
 and the souls by little whitish things like loaves of 
 bread, " Desiree put in. 
 
 "Child, have you no imagination, no rever- 
 ence?" cried her father, stung to an unwonted 
 sharpness of tone. 
 
 "Plenty of both, Daddy dear, but that's really 
 what they're like!" 
 
 "You are not thinking of having it restored, 
 Hasard?" Lord Garry said. 
 
 The Rector shook his head dubiously. 
 
 "Not unless we can find a man who is so thor-
 
 8 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 oughly imbued with the mediaeval spirit that he can 
 absolutely reproduce the essence of the original. ' ' 
 
 "The Dodo is an extinct bird, my friend, and 
 painters whose spirit of mediaevalism is anything 
 but a carefully acquired pose are even rarer than 
 that estimable creature. Besides we must not 
 leap too far ahead. The restoration of the Lady 
 Chapel will take all our available funds. I doubt 
 if we shall have enough money even to run to the 
 screen at present. " 
 
 "Materialist! You have no faith ! 'All things 
 are possible to him who believes: they are less 
 difficult to him who hopes; they are easy to him 
 who loves!" Noel Hasard's smile was very 
 winning. "I have set my heart on that screen. 
 It will be an exquisite thing, the crowning glory 
 of the Chapel. The money will be forthcoming in 
 due time. If not I shall make myself personally 
 responsible for it." He spoke with a gentle 
 authority which waved aside remonstrance. 
 
 Lady Brigid stifled a sigh and checked a move- 
 ment which, slight as it was, caught her husband's 
 eyes. 
 
 "Et tu, Brigida? Have you not yet learned 
 the faith of the lilies of the field ? Think how the 
 Restoration Fund has grown ! Do you remember 
 the state of things when we first came here, twenty- 
 odd years ago? Look at the church now in com- 
 parison with what it was then, and say, if you can, 
 that our faith in continuing its beautification was 
 not justified ?"
 
 The Colour of Marriage 9 
 
 How could she damp the ardour of his enthu- 
 siasm ? How hint that the lilies of the field had no 
 houses to run or tradesmen's books to pay, that 
 the necessary money did not fall upon her as 
 the gentle dew from heaven? . . . Obtrusive 
 facts which saints are apt to ignore. With all her 
 heart she envied the lilies of the field, although it 
 was out of her power to emulate them. 
 
 "Your efforts and Ludlow's, " she began. 
 
 "A working combination of flesh and spirit," 
 said Lord Garry drily. 
 
 "More useful than St. Paul would have ad- 
 mitted, " declared the Rector with a smile. 
 
 The friendship between the two men, in many 
 points so dissimilar, was tempered with quali- 
 fications on either side. On points where their 
 temperaments did not harmonize they set up a deli- 
 cate vibration of discord which each fondly hoped 
 was imperceptible to the other, and which neither 
 suspected Lady B rigid of discerning. 
 
 She rose now. ' ' Will you say grace, Noel ? ' ' 
 
 The Rector uttered a Latin benediction in his 
 beautiful voice. 
 
 "Are you coming with us to the study, dear? I 
 want to show Garry the designs for the screen 
 before I take him down to the church. " 
 
 Lady B rigid shook her head. At that moment 
 she could not simulate enthusiasm for the proposed 
 screen. "I haven't time just now. " 
 
 Desiree slipped her hand through her mother's 
 arm as they left the dining-room.
 
 io The Beloved Sinner 
 
 ''I want to talk to you," she said coaxingly. 
 ''About a letter I've just had most exciting! 
 It came by the second post. I've been thinking 
 about it all lunch-time. " 
 
 ' ' Have you, my chicken ? ' ' Lady Brigid smiled 
 down into the vivid face upturned to hers, though a 
 quick pang pricked her. Ever since Desiree had 
 grown up her mother's heart had held a vision of 
 the man who was to steal her treasure from her. 
 Anything unknown might be the pillar of cloud 
 which so far hid him from view. She tried to 
 pierce it now, but read in Desiree's face no more 
 unwonted emotion than pleased excitement, no 
 more agitation than a faint tremor of uncertainty. 
 
 "The heavenliest plan, mother!" The girl 
 squeezed her arm. 
 
 "Come into my den and tell me all about it. "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 DESIREE DEMANDS THE IMPOSSIBLE 
 
 BRESSY RECTORY had once been the Manor 
 House: a place of warm, creeper-covered brick 
 and mullioned windows; a house which had 
 preserved its charm throughout the alterations 
 of its many inhabitants, indications of individual 
 taste which time had mellowed to a harmonious 
 whole. 
 
 Lady Brigid loved every winding passage, 
 every unexpected turn and twist in it, but most 
 of all she loved her garden: and of all parts of 
 that beloved pleasaunce the Yew Garden, on 
 which her den opened, was nearest her heart. 
 
 The room itself was but a white-walled slip, 
 with deep blue curtains framing the French win- 
 dow that gave on to the plot. A thick yew hedge 
 enfolded a square of vivid green lawn on which 
 stood in quaint array a set of chessmen cut in yew. 
 In the centre of the plot some former occupant had 
 sunk a round stone-bordered lily-pond, in which 
 fat golden carp swam lazily beneath the floating 
 leaves. Deep apertures cut in the blackness of 
 
 the hedge gave glimpses of the flowered loveliness 
 
 ii
 
 12 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 of the greater garden beyond. In the crevices of 
 the flagged paths grew many varieties of creeping 
 thyme, grey, lemon, variegated, "to perfume 
 the aire most delightfully when you walke or 
 tread" as a great garden-lover once said. 
 
 Old-fashioned, sweet-scented flowers grew in the 
 borders by the house. Roses, as yet but pink 
 promises in folded buds, rioted up the walls, and 
 peeped in at the windows : great bushes of lavender 
 and lemon-scented verbena stood at either side of 
 the steps. 
 
 Desiree thought the Yew Garden gloomy, but 
 Lady B rigid loved it with an intensity which was 
 of the very fibre of her being. The quaint black 
 trees against the living green of the turf, stand- 
 ing today as they had stood for so many years, 
 untouched, unmoved by the centuries, gave her a 
 sense of peaceful stability which her daily life often 
 lacked. It was a delight to rest her eyes upon their 
 changeless formality, to smell the incense of the 
 thyme-scented paths after rain ; to garner the 
 gracious memories which every well-loved flower 
 in the glowing borders evoked. 
 
 The room itself was sparsely furnished with an 
 old oak desk, a chair or two, a bookshelf, filled for 
 the most part with volumes of garden lore, and a 
 table, shrine which held the portraits of the two 
 she loved most, husband and child, the latter at 
 every age and stage from infancy to womanhood. 
 
 Womanhood ! The realization had given her a 
 little shock. Yes, her treasure was a woman now,
 
 Desiree Demands the Impossible 13 
 
 almost twenty-one, with thoughts, secrets, aspira- 
 tions, which she could not be sure that she shared. 
 She often thought of the days when she was 
 everything to her, her arms the refuge from every 
 passing trouble: thought, a little wistfully, of the 
 gulf fixed between the generations which only the 
 bridge of a great love can span. Surely that love 
 was hers. She was blest beyond most women in 
 the dower the years had brought her. Love had 
 come to her late in life, she had been thirty-five 
 when she married, but it had come in good 
 measure, pressed down, and running over. "O ye 
 of little faith!" . . . What did the petty nagging 
 worries of every day matter in comparison ? What 
 did any thing mundane matter? . . . 
 
 From force of habit she took the chair at the 
 desk. Desiree drew up a stool and sat at her feet, 
 resting her bright head for a moment against her 
 knee. Lady Brigid's eyes grew misty as she looked 
 down at the sunny hair, so exquisitely cared for. 
 Her darling! Her only one! There was nothing 
 that she would not sacrifice for this treasure of her 
 later years. 
 
 "From whom was your letter, Dede?" 
 
 Desiree sat up, her eyes sparkling with excite- 
 ment, her hands clasped round her knees, her words 
 tumbling over each other. 
 
 "From Judy. Great news, mother! Jill is 
 going to be married in July to a Captain Talbot, a 
 man in the Guards. She wants me to be brides- 
 maid, and Aunt Monica's going to give me my
 
 14 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 frock, but that's not all. Judy has an entrancing 
 scheme. She says that as Jill is going to chuck 
 the season and go down to Suffolk to stay with her 
 man's people she wants me to take her place! To 
 stay in Town with them until they go back to 
 Frayne ! To have a London season ! Oh, mother ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, daughter!" mocked Lady Brigid gently. 
 "One thing at a time. Tell me about Jill's man 
 first." 
 
 "That's the least important to us, at any 
 rate," Desiree declared. "Here's Judy's letter. 
 Read it for yourself. She says Aunt Monica's 
 writing to you. But you know Aunt Monica! 
 It may be weeks before you hear!" 
 
 "It may indeed. " Lady Brigid's heart sank a 
 little as she took her niece's letter and read slowly 
 through its tumbling incoherencies. 
 
 Her only sister, Monica, had married money 
 when she married John Bland, a sporting country 
 squire, whose motto, "Live and let live," was 
 applied to everything except game and foxes! 
 Desiree and her cousins, Gillian and Judith, had 
 always been friends. She was glad that it had 
 been so, as the girl had not much young companion- 
 ship in Bressy; but visits to Frayne were expen- 
 sive. She could not bear that Desiree should lack 
 anything that other girls of her age and class 
 possessed: and in spite of her husband's dictum, 
 no matter how much faith she had it would not 
 clothe her child like the lilies of the field unless 
 she had the money to pay for the petals withal!
 
 Desiree Demands the Impossible 15 
 
 This sordid question of money, how it crept into 
 and tainted everything ! One seemed never to get 
 away from it. 
 
 Desiree watched her mother's troubled face and 
 put up a finger to smooth away the frown that 
 drew her brows together. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked. 
 
 "Frocks and frills," answered Lady Brigid 
 dubiously. 
 
 "Frocks and frills!" the girl echoed in quite a 
 different tone, young, desirous, ardent. 
 
 Lady Brigid forced a smile. 
 
 "How is the exchequer?" 
 
 Desiree gave a little shrug and spread out her 
 hands with a pretty, hopeless gesture. "About 
 as low as the Restoration Fund will be when Daddy 
 has paid for that beloved screen of his. " 
 
 "Ah, that screen!" Lady Brigid bit her lip. 
 
 She was too loyal to her husband to say more, 
 yet sometimes she felt as if the old church, growing 
 day by day towards its ancient beauty, were some 
 grim inexorable fetish to which the needs of daily 
 life, her husband's, her child's, her own, were 
 being continually sacrificed. None ever guessed 
 at the iconoclastic fury that sometimes swelled 
 beneath her outward gentleness. Yet she loved 
 St. Osyth's, too, and would have rejoiced in its 
 beautifying as Noel did if only She stifled the 
 thought. 
 
 ' ' I shan ' t want much, ' ' Desiree pursued. ' ' You 
 know my tastes are simple. "
 
 16 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Yes, but of a costly simplicity, my dearest. " 
 
 "It pays best in the end to have the best, " said 
 Desiree airily. "What a tiresome thing money 
 is ! Why aren't we rich ? But you always manage 
 so wonderfully ! Let me have a little to go on with, 
 and I'll pay the rest out of my allowance. You 
 can advance me the June quarter, which will be 
 due next month. " 
 
 "Yes, it will be due next month," said Lady 
 Brigid slowly. Two bright spots burned in her 
 cheeks. It hurt her to deny Desir6e anything. 
 She touched her curls half -tenderly, half -absently. 
 
 Desiree caught the straying fingers and kissed 
 them. She had as many pretty ways as a kitten. 
 
 "You're nerving yourself to say something 
 horrid, darling, " she cried. "Not that I can't go. 
 Oh, don't say that, mother. " 
 
 "No, I won't say that. We must manage the 
 Frayne visit, however it's done. But even part 
 of the season in Town? . . . You'd have to be 
 decently turned out, Dede. You'd want frocks 
 of all sorts, and more than frocks. " Lady Brigid 
 shook her head, while the spots on her cheeks 
 deepened. "It can't be done, belovedest. Quite 
 impossible." 
 
 Desiree rubbed her soft cheek against her 
 mother's hand. "Yet I've heard you say before 
 that things were impossible things which were 
 done afterwards. Couldn't this be one of the 
 impossibly possible things ? ' ' Her voice was honey- 
 sweet in its coaxing.
 
 Desire Demands the Impossible 17 
 
 At all times it was one of the girl's charms, but 
 when it melted as it did now, who could resist her ? 
 Not the fond mother-heart that only longed to 
 yield. 
 
 "No, no. At least I don't think so. No, it 
 can't be managed. . . . Oh, Dde, how weak I am 
 where you are concerned!" There was a ring of 
 pain in the cry which struck no echo from Desiree's 
 excitement. 
 
 "Go on being weak, dearest, if that's what 
 weakness means. Don't be strong and horrid 
 and unapproachable. Let me have a darling 
 mother who's always achieving the impossible. 
 Hush! Don't say no. Think it over, and we'll 
 plan a lovely outfit that won't cost twopence- 
 farthing!" 
 
 Lady Brigid smiled in spite of herself. "I 
 think I see you in an outfit costing twopence- 
 farthing! We'll plan for Frayne at present, if 
 you please. " 
 
 "Not for Town?" 
 
 "Not for Town," answered Lady Brigid in as 
 adamantine a tone as she could assume, quite 
 spoiling its effect by adding as she saw the cloud- 
 ing of Desiree's brightness "at present." 
 
 Desir6e threw her arms round her. "You 
 darling! You will! I know you will! You'll 
 achieve the impossible as usual. " 
 
 Lady Brigid held her a little away and looked 
 intently into the dark blue eyes so like her own. 
 
 "Desir6e, has it ever struck you that the
 
 i8 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 impossible is only attained at a cost, and that that 
 cost has to be counted some day ? The time may 
 come when you will wish that I had been strong 
 instead of weak, when you will regret ' 
 
 "Never, never!" Desiree interrupted. "There 
 is no weakness in letting me have such a chance as 
 this. Just think what it means ! What a wonderful 
 chance for me to see the world as other girls see it ! 
 I know you will. 'Yes' is peeping out of your 
 eyes, though you won't let your lips say it ! ... 
 Oh, darling, I want to dance and shout for joy! 
 I know what the morning stars felt when they sang 
 together!" 
 
 "All because you're going away for a little. 
 Ungrateful child !" 
 
 "You know it's not that. You know I'm quite 
 happy here, but 
 
 "There always is a but, isn't there?" 
 
 "A sort of but. The spring makes one restless, 
 doesn't it?" 
 
 ' ' Has it made you restless ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, not particularly." Desiree shied away 
 from the faintest suggestion of the probe with the 
 queer reticence of youth. "Mother, you'll lend 
 me your pearls, won't you?" 
 
 "Of course; and I'll give you my Limerick lace. 
 Mrs. Brabazon ought to be able to make something 
 fairy -like of that. " 
 
 "Oh, you darling! I love that lace. It's 
 made of October gossamer. . . . What a blessing 
 that there is such a clever dressmaker as Mrs.
 
 Desiree Demands the Impossible 19 
 
 Brabazon at Churchampton. She's awfully de- 
 cent, too. She gets me anything I want. " 
 
 "Yes, she's an obliging creature," returned 
 Lady Brigid absently. "She never forgets that I 
 have brought her a good deal of custom. I hope 
 you don't keep her too long out of her money, 
 Dede. A woman like that has to pay her work- 
 girls, and probably doesn't get long credit from 
 shops." 
 
 "What's long credit?" Dede asked airily. 
 ' ' How clever of you to know all these things, dar- 
 ling! . . . She had some fascinating cr^pe-de- 
 chine blouses the last time I was there, but I didn't 
 dare . . . I was too rocky ! Now we may expand 
 a little, mayn't we? Especially as Aunt Monica 
 says she'll be responsible for my bridesmaid's 
 frock. I wonder what it will be. ... I must go 
 and overhaul my rags. Are you coming?" 
 
 "Presently." Lady Brigid's tone was still 
 absent. Her mind was working busily and the red 
 spots were beginning to fade from her cheeks, 
 making her look paler than her wont. "I must 
 first " 
 
 "Manage the impossible?" 
 
 "Persistent child! . . . Lineal descendant of 
 the importunate widow! First cousin of the 
 daughter of the horse-leech, run away, and play!" 
 
 "I'm just going to, but I must have that dress- 
 parade first." 
 
 "What are you going to do this afternoon? I 
 know you told me, but I've forgotten."
 
 2o The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "The Howards are having tennis, just a prac- 
 tice. They've invited Mr. Wing, too. They've 
 rather taken him up. I think Molly admires 
 him. . . . Mother," she paused at the door to 
 ask the question, "what do you think of him?" 
 
 "Of Mr. Wing? I don't know that I have ever 
 thought about him." Lady Brigid's tone re- 
 moved Leander Wing to some far distant plane. 
 ' ' I have seen him only through your father's eyes 
 as a young man of great talent, if not genius. . . . 
 He seems a quiet youth, rather untidy . . . with a 
 wild eye, " she went on, in the manner of one mak- 
 ing discoveries. "Why, what do you think of 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. . . . He gives me the im- 
 pression of something on a leash. ... I agree 
 with you, he has a wild eye. . . . Don't be long, 
 dearest. If you don't come up soon you'll find me 
 making a bonfire of all my old clothes ! " 
 
 She ran off, closing the door, with a little bang of 
 joy, behind her. It seemed to her mother as if 
 the sunshine of the day had gone with her. 
 
 Lady Brigid sighed and leaned her head on her 
 hand. She sent her thoughts back to the past, 
 to the beginning of life in middle life for herself, 
 when Noel Hasard had come unexpectedly upon 
 her horizon and wooed and won her after a brief 
 and surprising courtship. 
 
 It had been what the outside world would have 
 called a grey romance, but to her it was shot with 
 every colour of the rainbow. Her childhood, her
 
 Desire Demands the Impossible 21 
 
 girlhood, had indeed been dull and colourless. 
 Her mother she scarcely remembered, and her 
 father, the Earl of Mountmassey, lived the life 
 of a recluse among the hills and bogs of his desolate 
 patrimony, imprisoned in the obsession of past 
 glories with insufficient means to translate them 
 into terms of the present. 
 
 How they had pinched and scraped, in spite of 
 their ancient title, until the death of a scarcely- 
 known great-aunt bestowed freedom upon her and 
 her younger sister, Monica, in the shape of a legacy 
 of ten thousand pounds apiece! What riches 
 it had seemed! Wealth unbounded! Her lips 
 twisted in a smile that held an unwonted tinge 
 of bitterness as she thought of it now, likening 
 Great-aunt Judith's fortune to Balzac's Peau de 
 Chagrin in its capacity for dwindling. 
 
 When first she had married, her happiness had 
 seemed boundless, overflowing ; yet one more drop 
 had been added by the birth of Desiree, the longed- 
 for, granted treasure. She had then been rich 
 indeed. She knit her brows in the effort to recall 
 when exactly the first little creeping discomfort 
 had wriggled its way into her bliss. 
 
 There was no flaw in Noel, none! He was her 
 man, her husband, her saint, but even her loyal 
 heart admitted an inevitable "but," which she 
 would never acknowledge to any one save herself. 
 
 Noel Hasard had been an ascetic forty when 
 flesh and spirit were violently assailed by his love 
 for Brigid Massarene. All his life he had held
 
 22 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 strongly to the ideal of celibacy, and he had had 
 a stern fight between principle and inclination 
 before he yielded finally to the human claim. 
 After the calming satisfaction of marriage the 
 saint slowly ousted the lover. The bond between 
 husband and wife grew daily more of the spirit, less 
 of the flesh. If Lady Brigid sometimes sighed at 
 the gradual merging of man in priest it was but a 
 woman's sigh, quickly chidden. She had perforce 
 to stay in the warm valleys of humanity while 
 he strove to attain the heights above. Was it 
 not on her he leaned in all material ways, to her 
 he turned for all his daily needs ? It was her pride 
 and joy to keep his path free from stones, to shed 
 the balm of peace he craved around his days. 
 
 He would still have called himself an ascetic. 
 Perhaps in essentials he was right. Lord Garry 
 dubbed him ' ' A saint with the tastes of a sybarite ! ' ' 
 Perhaps in essentials he was right also. 
 
 Noel Hasard wore his clothes until they were 
 really shabby, but they had been cut by the best 
 tailor in Savile Row, a man whom he had always 
 employed. 
 
 Lady Brigid strained her eyes darning his un- 
 derclothing, but socks and garments were always 
 of silk. This note of expensive simplicity sounded 
 throughout his whole life. 
 
 A saint in essence, he honestly tried to be an 
 ascetic in practice, and in so far as being remote 
 from the coarser ways of living he was an ascetic. 
 But of true asceticism, that rigid scourging and
 
 Desiree Demands the Impossible 23 
 
 stripping life bare of all but the spiritual, he knew 
 nothing. He was under the impression that he 
 lived sparingly and economically. He would have 
 told you that he was practically a vegetarian, that 
 all he had for luncheon was an egg or two. But 
 the vegetables were always of the finest kinds : his 
 palate shrank from the coarseness of cabbage or 
 turnip. The eggs resolved themselves into a 
 perfect omelette prepared by an expensive cook. 
 He drank only water, but a cup of the rarest Mocha 
 followed luncheon and dinner, made exactly as he 
 liked it by Lady Brigid herself. 
 
 With his stipend of four hundred pounds a year, 
 and her income of four hundred fifty pounds , life had 
 been easy enough in those early days: but gradu- 
 ally the spell of St. Osyth's drew the Rector 
 closer and closer. More and more of his income 
 went towards the realization of his ideal, until at 
 last the family practically lived on Lady B rigid 's 
 money. She had striven to augment this legiti- 
 mately. She worked early and late in her garden, 
 spurring the one man the place boasted to un- 
 heard-of efforts. She started keeping poultry. . . . 
 What whipping to energy of a pleasantly indolent 
 temperament this had involved none knew but 
 herself. . . . 
 
 Then had come the question of Desiree's edu- 
 cation, followed by the first nibbling at her capital. 
 The way once shown, the rest was easy. Money 
 was always to be obtained by this means. Her 
 lawyer, Mr. Barnet, remonstrated as much as he
 
 24 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 dared, but Lady Brigid could assume at will the 
 grand manner that forbids interference. The 
 money was absolutely hers to use as she wished. 
 He could do no more than protest, which he did 
 with unfailing regularity whenever further inroads 
 were made. 
 
 The best only was good enough for Desiree. 
 She had inherited her father's taste for costly 
 simplicity. Had she inherited his saintly qualities, 
 Lady Brigid wondered, or was her blood tinged 
 with the wildness of the Massarenes? She did not 
 know. To her Desiree was spring incarnate, vivid, 
 fragrant, glowing. Did one ask more of early 
 girlhood? Is it not experience which avows the 
 deeper qualities? She wanted her child to enjoy 
 to the full all that is the heritage of youth; the 
 dearer, deeper things also which she herself might 
 have missed had it not been for Ludlow Garry 
 . . . Suddenly her thoughts swung to another 
 train. 
 
 How strangely things had fallen out! If Lud- 
 low had not given chance hospitality to Noel 
 Hasard in his shooting-box at the edge of the bog 
 she and he would never have met! She would 
 have withered in gentle spinsterhood at Mount- 
 massey until Death, the grey-veiled, summoned 
 her away. . . . What a curious chance ! Chance ? 
 No! God, thought Lady Brigid, in the simple 
 faith that yet could not compass the unconcern 
 of the lilies of the field. 
 
 A tap at the door roused her from her musings.
 
 Desiree Demands the Impossible 25 
 
 Sanctuary was broken. She turned round with a 
 little sigh. 
 
 "What is it, Jane?" 
 
 "Mrs. Mawson in the drawing-room to see you, 
 my lady." 
 
 "Very well, I shall be with her in a moment. " 
 
 When the maid had gone Lady Brigid turned to 
 look at the placid yewkings-and pawns and castles. 
 The May sunshine powdered their blackness with 
 gold-dust, and shone on a gay flutter in the lily- 
 pond, where two blue tits splashed in a lily-leaf 
 bath, sending up diamond-sparks of spray. 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Mawson and I are no more to my chess- 
 men than those tomtits, " she thought to herself, 
 reluctant to face her visitor. "Of all the thorns 
 ever devised by a chastening Providence, give me 
 a former incumbent's widow!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A THORN IN THE FLESH 
 
 WHEN the Hasards first came to Bressy, Lady 
 Brigid felt a warm pity for the childless widow who 
 was only a few years older than herself ; but such 
 emotions became tinged with apprehension when 
 she learned that Mrs. Mawson had taken a cottage 
 on the outskirts of Bressy, not far from the Rectory 
 gates, and quite close to the church. Delicacy 
 made her feel it an outrage that the former 
 mistress of the Rectory should now squat humbly 
 on its very threshold; but her pangs were pity 
 wasted. 
 
 The strategical position of her cottage gave 
 Mrs. Mawson unbounded pleasure. Curiosity 
 was her ruling passion ; above all, curiosity about 
 the ways of her successors. Fiercely she sought 
 for spots on the sun of their popularity. There 
 would be many, no doubt. The fact of Lady 
 Brigid's title presupposed "airs," and airs were 
 what a plain woman like Mrs. Mawson could not 
 stand, as she was fond of saying. 
 
 She had married the Rev. Robert Mawson for 
 his position, an eminence to which she would not 
 
 26
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 27 
 
 otherwise have attained. This gained, she deter- 
 mined to remain where its height was recognized, 
 even after the dreamy personage who had exalted 
 her to it slipped out of life as quietly as he had' 
 sauntered through it. 
 
 Bressy, as a town, was in a state of flux at the 
 coming of the Hasards. Its interests had for 
 years been purely agricultural, and, like most old 
 agricultural towns, it had gradually decayed. 
 The church, with its ancient foundation, was 
 neglected and semi-ruinous; only the actual por- 
 tion where service was held being in any real 
 state of repair. Robert Mawson had not cared. 
 The parish had not cared, the scattered gentry had 
 not cared. 
 
 No one had cared until Lord Garry succeeded 
 his uncle at Bressy Park, and gave the living to Noel 
 Hasard. It was like the stirring of wind after a 
 long interval of breathless weather. First, a faint 
 movement among the leaves, then little whirls of 
 the dust of time, and finally a blowing away of 
 cobwebs and the deadening litter of years. Lord 
 Garry interested himself in the industrial develop- 
 ment of the town; helped to revive its half -for- 
 gotten industries, to deepen the old quays and 
 dredge the tidal river to allow coasting-steamers to 
 come right up to the mills. 
 
 Noel Hasard devoted himself to the restoration 
 of the neglected church and the awakening of some 
 spiritual life in the sluggish spirits of his parish- 
 ioners.
 
 28 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Neither innovation pleased Mrs. Mawson. 
 She spoke regretfully of the changes. 
 
 "Ah, dear, Bressy is terribly altered in these 
 days!" she would say mournfully. 
 
 The Rector was, of course, painfully High 
 Church "almost a Roman Catholic! Indeed it 
 was a wonder that he had ever married!" and 
 Lady Brigid, in whom she had failed to find any 
 airs, try as she would, was "sadly worldly and 
 injudicious." 
 
 Desiree's appearance was another rock of 
 offence. "Dressed like that! A clergyman's 
 child. With a French name, too!" 
 
 In fact, although she would have been the last 
 to admit it, the Rectory family and their mis- 
 doings provided the salt and savour of Mrs. Maw- 
 son's daily life. It was delicious to be able to 
 disapprove so whole-heartedly of almost every- 
 thing they did, said, or looked, from daily matins 
 at St. Osyth's to Desiree's black silk stockings. 
 
 The Rectory stood in the fold of a little hill just 
 outside the town. With its industrial develop- 
 ment Bressy seemed to have turned towards the 
 river, concentrating itself there, and drawing away 
 a little, as it were, from church and house: a 
 partial isolation which was much to the Hasards' 
 taste. Mrs. Mawson's cottage was a connecting 
 link between Rectory and town a bond with 
 which they would willingly have dispensed. 
 
 Lady Brigid dreaded Mrs. Mawson's visits, 
 which were usually of unpleasant portent; there
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 29 
 
 was generally something distasteful which she 
 "thought it her duty " to tell. Pity had long ago 
 chilled to a determined patience, which Lady 
 Brigid strove to prevent from merging into active 
 dislike. Today she felt unusually reluctant to 
 see her. She shrank from the thought of the 
 inquisitive face with its smooth band of hair looped 
 across the forehead, a loop which she had seen 
 change from brown to grey, from grey to white. 
 
 She spurred her unwilling steps towards the 
 drawing-room. It was against her code to keep 
 any visitor waiting, however unwelcome. Even 
 as she opened the door she knew that her 
 brief delay was being unfavourably commented 
 upon. 
 
 "Waited to change her dress! No, it wasn't 
 that. Lord Garry lunched here. She must have 
 dressed before. " She read it all in Mrs. Mawson's 
 twitching nose as she held out her hand. 
 
 "Ah, Lady Brigid, busy as usual! Which of 
 your old women were you pampering now?" 
 
 "Only myself, " Lady Brigid answered as pleas- 
 antly as she could, motioning Mrs. Mawson to a 
 comfortable chair. "I was giving myself the 
 unusual luxury of a half -hour's idleness. " 
 
 "That's more than I can do," sighed Mrs. 
 Mawson. "Then I need have no qualms at dis- 
 turbing you. " She settled herself more per- 
 manently. Lady Brigid's spirit quailed. Why 
 had she not declared herself pressed for time? 
 
 1 ' I just ran in " (her invariable formula) " to know
 
 30 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 if you had heard about that unfortunate affair of 
 Tom Herring's?" 
 
 "What affair? I have heard nothing. " 
 
 "Really? And you the Rector's wife! I won- 
 der Mr. Hasard didn't tell you. " 
 
 "Perhaps he has not heard. What is it, Mrs. 
 Mawson?" Her heart sank still further as she 
 scented trouble for her husband. Tom Herring 
 was, she knew, rather a favourite of his : sang in the 
 choir, was a regular attendant at the Bible Class. 
 "What has poor Tom done?" 
 
 "Stolen money out of Mr. Woolridge's till." 
 There was an indescribable malice in the way 
 the sentence was shot forth. "Ah, I knew you 
 would be shocked! It's a wonder that Mr. Has- 
 ard 's influence shouldn't have kept the boy straight. 
 He was by way of being such a model boy, too, was 
 Tom. And Mr. Woolridge is a Dissenter. Looks 
 so badly for the Church, doesn't it?" 
 
 ' ' Surely there is some mistake. There must be. 
 I can scarcely believe that Tom would do such a 
 thing. His poor mother! . . . He was always 
 such a good boy. Why, I've known him since he 
 was a baby." 
 
 "One might know a murderer from his infancy, 
 but that wouldn't prevent him from committing 
 the crime if such wickedness was in him ! " answered 
 Mrs. Mawson tartly. "I am not in the habit of 
 telling lies, Lady Brigid. I had the sad facts 
 from Mr. Woolridge himself when I went in this 
 morning to buy some tea, and missed Tom from
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 31 
 
 the shop. It's a most unfortunate occurrence 
 altogether. Such a handle for the Dissenters! 
 Such a slur on the Church!" 
 
 "I hope the Church is strong enough to rise 
 above the slur of poor Tom's misdemeanours," 
 said Lady Brigid, with dignity. "Besides, 
 I don't see why the Dissenters should rejoice. 
 Has no Dissenter ever committed a sin of any 
 sort?" 
 
 ' ' That's not the point. They are a self-righteous 
 lot. This will make them more set against the 
 Church than ever. Mr. Woolridge is going to 
 make a proper example of Tom, he says. No 
 weakness with backsliders for him! Oh, he was 
 very determined ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' I hope he won't be too hard on the boy. He is 
 always so civil and obliging to me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' It pays to be civil to people who give ten and 
 sixpence a pound for their coffee," Mrs. Mawson 
 sniffed. 
 
 Lady Brigid ignored the challenge. "I wonder 
 why Tom did it?" she mused. "That is if he 
 really " 
 
 "I tell you Mr. Woolridge caught him red- 
 handed. And as to the motive, what does that 
 matter? No one could have a good motive for 
 theft. Sin is sin no matter how you try to gloze it 
 over." 
 
 "I am not trying to gloze it over," said Lady 
 Brigid slowly. "I am only wondering, and feeling 
 very, very sorry. "
 
 32 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I hope the Rector won't be as deplorably 
 lenient as you are. ' ' 
 
 "The Rector?" 
 
 ' ' Mr. Woolridge is going to bring Tom up to him 
 this evening ! ' ' Mrs. Mawson's eyes glistened, and 
 her nose twitched again. 
 
 "Oh, but must he? Need he? It will worry my 
 husband so. ' ' 
 
 "What are the clergy for but to be worried? 
 The rector of a parish is the fit and proper person to 
 go to when one of his young men goes astray. I 
 hope Mr. Hasard will be firm and not make any 
 exception in Tom's favour. I wonder his influence 
 didn't prevent the boy from doing such a thing. 
 But there, I always say no good ever comes of 
 making favourites in that class. It only turns 
 their heads." 
 
 "You may be quite sure that my husband will 
 do whatever is right and just. He is not in the 
 habit of making favourites, and I have never known 
 him shirk any duty, however disagreeable. ' ' Lady 
 Brigid's manner would have daunted any one less 
 absolutely self-satisfied than her hearer, but Mrs. 
 Mawson had no eye for a snub. ' ' I merely wished 
 to spare him pain if possible. He feels these 
 things so acutely. " 
 
 "It does not do to be too thin-skinned these 
 days. . . . Running after girls, Tom was. That 
 London niece of the Boltons', a minx if ever there 
 was one, with her high heels and her hats cocked 
 over one eye! She doesn't care what man she
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 33 
 
 goes with. Anything in trousers is good enough 
 for her!" 
 
 Suddenly Lady Brigid felt stifled. Mrs. Maw- 
 son's atmosphere seemed to poison the air about 
 her. She felt as if she could bear it no longer ; as if 
 she must rid herself of this gnat-like cloud of petty 
 spitefulness and relish of the ugly side of life. She 
 had never dismissed her before. How was she to 
 do it now ? She moved helplessly. 
 
 Mrs. Mawson had no intention of stirring. She 
 was very comfortable, she had the satisfaction of 
 knowing that she had ruffled that well-bred calm 
 of Lady Brigid 's, which always annoyed her, and 
 she had still another arrow or two in her quiver. 
 
 "I saw her talking to that young man at the 
 church, ' ' she continued with a little titter. ' ' By 
 the way, do you know anything about him? " 
 
 ,"Do you mean Mr. Wing?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. Outlandish name ! Whoever 
 heard of wings, except on birds?" 
 
 "Or angels!" said Lady Brigid smiling in spite 
 of herself, though Mrs. Mawson had not meant 
 to be humorous. "Wingis quite a good name, I 
 believe. Personally I have seen very little of him, 
 but my husband is quite satisfied with his creden- 
 tials. Why do you ask?" 
 
 Mrs. Mawson looked sly. "Young people will 
 be young people, of course, but have you ever 
 noticed the way he looks at Desiree in church?" 
 
 Lady Brigid's temper was quick in spite of years 
 of self-control. A little flame spurted up now.
 
 34 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I go to church for other purposes than to 
 watch my neighbours, " she answered warmly. 
 "I should hope you did, too, Mrs. Mawson." 
 Then she calmed a little. "Mr. Wing is an artist. 
 If he does look at Desiree it is because she is good 
 to look at." 
 
 "Ah, you take such lenient views, " Mrs. Maw- 
 son said hastily. "But there are looks, and 
 looks." 
 
 Lady Brigid could stand no more. She rose. 
 She was very angry. 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm not a connoisseur in looks, " she 
 said. "It is nothing to me whom Mr. Wing 
 honours with his regard, but I must ask you 
 kindly to refrain from coupling his name with my 
 daughter's." 
 
 Mrs. Mawson rose, too, with obvious reluctance. 
 She might have known that any mention of Desiree 
 was treading on delicate ground, but malice 
 sometimes pricked her to indiscretion. 
 
 "Ah, the ewe lamb! Certainly, certainly. No 
 doubt Desiree will look higher than a common 
 artist, though he may do well enough to amuse 
 herself with for a while. Girls will be girls and 
 boys, boys! ... I saw him hurrying along the 
 road with a tennis racquet in his hand as I was 
 coming in. There's a tennis practice at the Croft 
 today. Is Desiree going?" 
 
 "She is." 
 
 "I thought so. Lovely weather, to be sure, for 
 young people who think only of their own amuse-
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 35 
 
 ment. Good-bye, Lady Brigid. I'm so glad I 
 found you in." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Lady Brigid. She rang the 
 bell. She could not accompany this visitor to the 
 hall-door as was her usual hospitable wont. Her 
 pride was up in arms, outraged by Mrs. Mawson's 
 tittering innuendoes 
 
 Desiree and Mr. Wing ! How dared she couple 
 their names together ? What did she mean by it ? 
 Preposterous nonsense ! Every instinct made ve- 
 hement protest against such a suggestion. 
 
 Then the fire died down as quickly as it had 
 arisen, and common sense brought a fugitive smile 
 to Lady Brigid's lips. After all, it was highly prob- 
 able that the poor youth should admire Desiree. 
 Everyone did. Everyone masculine, certainly. 
 Lady Brigid could not help seeing that the girl 
 attracted men without effort : that some intangible, 
 indescribable fragrance of sex emanated from her 
 as a perfume from a flower, luring unconsciously. 
 Desiree accepted the homage as her delightful 
 due, but in all innocence, the mother's heart pro- 
 tested. 
 
 Where the mother- vision and the vision mascu- 
 line differed was in this, that to Lady Brigid she 
 was a pearl incomparable, set in a silver shrine of 
 maidenhood, while to the men who admired her, 
 she was a girl of girls, wholly human and desirable ; 
 a young Eve in flight, glancing half -afraid, half- 
 delighted over a white shoulder at pursuit. . . . 
 Desiree the desired: the well-named.
 
 36 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 It is always difficult for a mother to realize that 
 her child is a child no longer. To the end of Time 
 she sees beneath the script of the years the fair 
 white page as it was when only her dreams were 
 written there. Man and woman may do their wil- 
 ful best to make her forget them, but in the 
 mother's heart the -child lives for ever. . . . 
 
 Lady Brigid went up to Desiree's room. The 
 girl was not there, though an untidy ruffle of gar- 
 ments, laces, ribbons, showed that she had held 
 the promised review of her wardrobe, and had 
 not yet resorted to the threatened bonfire. Lady 
 Brigid straightened and tidied the pretty things, 
 which it had been a delight to shower on Desir6e, 
 frowning here, smiling there, as she decided what 
 was or was not available for the visit to Frayne, 
 which was the only possibility admitted to her 
 wavering mind at present. She noticed that the 
 tennis racquet had gone from its press, and 
 concluded that Desiree had slipped away, rather 
 than run the risk of meeting Mrs. Mawson. 
 There was no love lost between them. 
 
 She went slowly down to her den, still a trifle 
 ruffled, pricked by the memory of Mrs. Mawson 's 
 words. What had she meant to insinuate? That 
 Desiree was seeing too much of Mr. Wing ? That 
 she was carrying on a clandestine flirtation with 
 him? Ugh! . . . Hateful! . . . How the 
 woman tarnished everything she touched. She 
 would question Desiree when she came back from 
 the Croft. There were no concealments between
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 37 
 
 them. Desiree was crystal-clear. She repeated 
 the words aloud to the yew chessmen, as if to 
 reassure herself. She thought of her conversation 
 with the girl. . . . What if she were a little bit 
 interested in Mr. Wing ? . . . It was only natural. 
 An artist was off the beaten track for Desiree: 
 different from Roddy Howard or the Challoner 
 boys. . . . But the child had often said that her 
 father and Lord Garry had spoilt her for other 
 men : that she had never met any one half so angelic 
 as the one or so amusing as the other. Who 
 could compare this uncouth young person with 
 either. 
 
 Lady Brigid turned to her desk, took up a fat 
 black account-book, looked through its pages, and 
 sighed. Then she unlocked a drawer, drew forth 
 her bank-book, made difficult calculations which 
 drew her brows together and brightened the 
 spots on her cheeks. Finally, she took out of a long 
 envelope, a prospectus of the Queen of Sheba Gold- 
 mine, and scanned its glowing promises of ten per 
 cent, interest. Ten per cent, interest! 
 
 No crock of gold at the rainbow's foot could 
 ever hold more irresistible lure than these words 
 for Lady Brigid. She had nibbled away nearly 
 four thousand pounds of her capital already, reduc- 
 ing her income to pinching dimensions. If she 
 sold out her remaining shares and invested them 
 in the Queen of Sheba Gold Mine she would more 
 than re-double her original income ! Six hundred 
 a year where she now had a bare three ! The pro-
 
 38 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 spect dazzled. She found it increasingly difficult 
 to provide the fifty pounds yearly for Desiree's 
 dress-allowance, which her foolish generosity had 
 allowed the girl since her eighteenth birthday. 
 Truly it was little enough, though disproportion- 
 ate in regard to her present income. 
 
 Lady Brigid eagerly read the names of the 
 directors. . . . They were good names, reliable 
 names. . . . Surely no owners of such old and 
 honoured names would deliberately lend them- 
 themselves to fraud. . . . Then the name of 
 the mine itself: The Queen of Sheba! . . . 
 There was something reassuring, something solidly 
 Biblical about it. ... She would hesitate no 
 longer. She might lose her chance if she waited. 
 She must have some ready money for this trip of 
 Desiree's. Her bank balance was already very low. 
 If only she could give the child that glimpse of the 
 season on which her heart was set ! . . . Why not 
 Desiree as well as another? Why should not she 
 have every possible chance of meeting the right 
 sort of man, not callow boys or underbred artists? 
 .... A chance in a thousand. . . . 
 
 She opened her blotter, took a sheet of paper, 
 and began : 
 
 "Dear Mr. Barnet ' then paused. There 
 would probably be an odd hundred pounds or so 
 over and above the six thousand. Could she, dare 
 she take it and give Desiree this longed-for chance? 
 Household needs were also pressing, and if Noel 
 were to make himself responsible for the Lady
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 39 
 
 Chapel screen he would have no more left to give 
 her. Perhaps if she appealed to him. She shook 
 her head at the thought. It would be impossible 
 now to break her life-long rule of never bothering 
 him about money-matters. He gave her what he 
 could. He must not be worried: this was a Med- 
 ean law to which Desiree also had been trained 
 to submit. She had managed so long unaided, she 
 must go on to the end, achieving the impossible. 
 . . . Yes, but by what means? 
 
 For a moment it was as if a veil were rent and 
 she saw an abyss yawning beneath her feet, black 
 and terrifying. . . . Suppose the gold-mine failed, 
 as gold-mines have been known to do, and all her 
 precious money were lost ? . . . The thought was 
 too horrible to contemplate. . . . 
 
 She snatched up the prospectus and scanned 
 again the list of directors. Gradually her face 
 cleared. They were good names, honourable 
 names. Their owners could not lie or cheat. 
 One must always risk in order to gain. She came 
 of a line which had gambled away most of the 
 Massarene money in cards, dice, or horses. It was 
 in her blood to risk all at a single throw, but until 
 now no such opportunity had ever presented it- 
 self. The gambling spirit, overlaid in her by the 
 patina of more gracious instincts, was still there, 
 inherent if dormant. 
 
 ' ' Nothing venture, nothing win ! ' ' Childhood's 
 tag came back to her. She took up her pen again, 
 but before she had time to write, a sound outside
 
 40 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 caught her ear. She turned round and looked 
 through the open French window. Lord Garry 
 stood at the foot of the steps. 
 
 Here was a chance of expert advice ! She would 
 -consult him about the Queen of Sheba mine, but 
 not here. Her cheeks burned. She must get out 
 into the open air. Hastily closing her desk she 
 went to the window. 
 
 "I'm coming out to you," she said. 
 
 As she stood there in her dull blue gown, her eyes 
 shining, her colour heightened by excitement, it 
 seemed to him for a moment as if the Brigid Mass- 
 arene of twenty-five years ago had been suddenly 
 evoked from the past : the one woman whom he had 
 ever really loved, but whom he had never been free 
 to win. Caught in youth by a gust of passion 
 and whirled into marriage, he had realized this too 
 late, as so many men do. When freedom at last 
 came to him she was already married to Noel 
 Hasard. Time had long since softened the sting 
 of desire and blunted the edge of passion; what 
 remained was essentially pleasant and undisturb- 
 ing friendship with a faint, imperishable nimbus. 
 
 Yet for that one moment the twinge of an 
 old pain shot across his calm, as if for him, too, 
 youth had returned in all the heat of its impatient 
 turbulence. 
 
 The illusion faded. Brigid Massarene merged 
 once more into Brigid Hasard. A little breeze 
 fluttered her soft grey hair: the humorous lines 
 showed clearly round her changeless blue eyes;
 
 A Thorn in the Flesh 41 
 
 her big lovable mouth curved to a smile as she came 
 down the steps towards him. 
 
 "I've been losing my temper, Ludlow, " she said. 
 
 "I knew it by your roses. " 
 
 She put her hand to her cheek. "Winter roses, 
 and therefore completely out of place. " 
 
 "Nonsense, my good woman! Why, I scarcely 
 feel autumnal yet, and I am three years older 
 than you! Let us demonstrate our youthfulness 
 by sitting near the lily-pond. Your chessmen 
 have the invariable effect of reducing my years to 
 a pleasant minimum.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN THE YEW GARDEN 
 
 IT was still and scented in the Yew Garden. 
 The end of an unwontedly luxuriant May seemed 
 to have hastened the footsteps of June. 
 
 The stone coping of the lily-pond, enamelled 
 with grey, green, and orange lichen, was warm to 
 the touch. Bird-wing and butterfly- wing flashed 
 and fluttered in the afternoon sunlight : bird-song 
 and hum of bees threaded the stillness with music. 
 Beneath the broad lily-leaves red-gold carp moved 
 lazily on delicate quivering fins. Jets of glitter- 
 ing water sprang from the bronze nostrils of the 
 fountain hippocampi, brought years ago by some 
 adventurous owner from Italy. 
 
 "The Peace Pool," Lord Garry called the 
 place. He loved it almost as much as Lady B rigid 
 did. 
 
 "Sometimes an angel troubles the stillness," 
 she said, dabbling her long fingers in the water, 
 "and I'm not always sure that it is a good angel!" 
 
 "Mrs. Mawson in this instance! I met her in 
 the avenue as I was coming in. What a poisonous 
 creature she is! Her mission in life seems to be 
 
 42
 
 In the Yew Garden 43 
 
 to worry people. She tackled Hasard as we were 
 going to the church. " 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Nothing much. Some complaint about the 
 chants, 'so long since we had dear old Robinson,' 
 or something of that sort. I could see that it was 
 merely a prelude, but Hasard shook her off with a 
 delightful air of oblivion. We left her on the verge 
 of an explosion 
 
 "Which she came up and vented on me," said 
 Lady Brigid quickly. "I'm glad Noel escaped. 
 . . . What did you think of the fresco ? ' ' 
 
 Lord Garry laughed. "An interesting relic, 
 but that irreverent monkey, Dede, has a knack 
 of hitting the right nail on the head. I couldn't 
 help thinking of her naughty description when I 
 saw it. " 
 
 "And Mr. Wing's work?" She looked at him 
 searchingly as she asked the question. 
 
 "Do you know, Brigid, I believe that young 
 fellow is a bit of a genius in his own way. " 
 
 "Is he?" Her tone was rather flat. Were not 
 geniuses notoriously peculiar and lax in their ideas ? 
 What chance had drawn one to quiet Bressy ? Her 
 own husband, she told herself reluctantly. 
 
 ' ' He has a wonderful feeling for form and line, " 
 Lord Garry went on. "His carving is really 
 beautiful, and the designs for the screen exquisite. 
 I don't wonder at Hasard 's enthusiasm, although 
 I have been obliged to damp it as regards the 
 screen."
 
 44 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Oh, have you? Why?" The relief in her tone 
 was obvious to a sensitive ear. 
 
 "The Fund won't run to it, and I don't think 
 Hasard ought to make himself responsible for more 
 than he has done already. " 
 
 ' ' Has he consented to give up the idea ? " 
 
 "Reluctantly, I'm afraid. Wing is to finish the 
 carvings for the ceiling, which will take him some 
 time. I am going to Russia next month to look 
 into some investments of mine. If they turn out 
 well I have promised to send a cheque towards 
 the screen. If not, the idea is to be abandoned 
 for the present. It would cost, roughly speaking, 
 about three hundred pounds. " 
 
 "As much as that!" Lady Brigid sighed. 
 Then her mind turned to his forthcoming depar- 
 ture. ' ' What a wanderer you are, Ludlow ! Always 
 in flight ! No wonder we see so little of you. " 
 
 "Better see too little than too much. " 
 
 "We could do with rather more, " she said smil- 
 ing at him. 
 
 "You certainly have the knack of making one 
 feel on good terms with oneself, " he returned. 
 "Perhaps it would be bad for my morals if I 
 indulged myself too often in that luxury. Bless 
 your dear heart, I shall be back again worrying you 
 with my worldliness before you know where you 
 are." 
 
 "Your worldliness doesn't worry me. " 
 
 ' ' Doesn't it ? I thought it did. " 
 
 "Not really. I know you, you see. "
 
 In the Yew Garden 45 
 
 "No woman knows any man until she's married 
 to him, and not always then. " 
 
 The allusion pricked her to hesitant speech, 
 "Ludlow, that careless child of mine she didn't 
 hurt you by her questions today?" She looked 
 deprecatingly at him. 
 
 "D6de? No, you hyper-sensitive creature. I 
 believe she's right and that you're a hopeless 
 sentimentalist. You thought it was a case of 
 fools rushing in " 
 
 "No, but " She hesitated and then went on. 
 "You never mentioned the subject to me, so of 
 course " 
 
 "Of course you thought it was because it hurt. 
 Well, it wasn't. It was because I had put the 
 episode thankfully out of my life for ever, locked 
 the door upon it, and flung away the key. " 
 
 "Then you weren't ?" 
 
 "Not a scratch. I've had a good life, a full life. 
 If I had to live it over again I should probably do 
 the same foolish things. So would Camilla. So 
 would you!" 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 ' ' Undoubtedly, ' ' he asserted. ' ' Given the same 
 characters and temperaments. ... I don't know 
 why I never talked things over with you. There 
 were always other interests, and I wanted to for- 
 get. " 
 
 "Tell me now," she urged softly. "I've 
 always wanted to know exactly what happened. 
 That is, if it really doesn't hurt. "
 
 46 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Nothing but the truth will kill your romantic 
 belief in my broken heart, " he said with a whimsi- 
 cal smile. "It can be told in very few words. 
 ... I did wrong to call Camilla a tornado. She 
 was rather a humming-top that must spin or die. 
 When Camilla stops spinning she will surely die ! 
 She spun in the wrong direction for me. I stood 
 it as long as I could. Then I found that if I went 
 on spinning with her I should surely die. So I 
 stopped spinning. It was all most amicably 
 arranged. We parted with intense relief on either 
 side, et voila!" 
 
 "Is that all?" She wondered more than ever 
 what really lay beneath the trite fantastic nar- 
 rative. 
 
 "Not quite." His voice changed a little. 
 ' ' She spun straight enough for a while. Then she 
 tumbled into mischief. She wrote and asked me 
 to divorce her. From what she said it was the 
 only thing I could do for her. " 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 "The summer you and Hasard were engaged. " 
 
 "Then? When I was so happy? Oh, Ludlow, 
 and you never told me!" 
 
 "How could I cloud the first happiness you 
 ever had? Thank God, I was not quite such a 
 kill-joy as that!" 
 
 "You do believe in God, then?" she asked 
 quickly. It was an hour of revelation, and things 
 he had sometimes said had puzzled her. 
 
 "I perhaps not quite as you do, " he answered
 
 In the Yew Garden 47 
 
 ^slowly. "God, Love, Beauty they're all the 
 same. The mystery of a flower's perfume, a bird's 
 wing, the wind that bloweth where it listeth, two 
 foolish people sitting by a lily-pond trying to 
 touch the Ineffable ! . . . Something inexplicable 
 must be behind it all. What do labels matter?" 
 "Noel thinks they do. So do I." 
 "High Church people like labels. Hasard 
 knows my limitations," he began, and then stopped. 
 He did not want to discuss her husband with her. 
 He turned the subject. "Have you ever seen 
 any of Wing's paintings?" 
 
 "No. Does he paint? I didn't know." 
 "He took us down to the ramshackle barn 
 which he's rigged up as a studio. Now there's 
 a case of not knowing one's limitations! Wing's 
 carving is beautiful, his painting mere chaos. 
 Mad or meaningless splashes of colour. And yet 
 he says that that is the expression of his soul, and 
 the carving merely the skill of his fingers. To me 
 there is infinitely more soul in his designs for the 
 screen than in all his Futurist ravings put to- 
 gether. ... A strange boy, but undoubtedly 
 clever. He has mixed blood in him, he told me. 
 His mother was Greek, his father English. The 
 result of such an amalgam is always an unknown 
 quantity, therefore interesting. It's like a chemi- 
 cal experiment. One can never quite foretell the 
 result of untried combinations. " 
 
 "What do you think of Mr. Wing, personally? 
 Apart from his art, I mean?"
 
 48 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 The careful carelessness of her tone pricked him 
 to amused attention. 
 
 ' ' It has just occurred to me that he is probably 
 the only person in Bressy who remotely resembles 
 a tornado!" 
 
 ' ' Ludlow ! You don ' t mean ' ' 
 
 ' ' Brigid ! Has Dede been flirting with the poor 
 youth?" 
 
 Lady Brigid's head went up. "Dede never 
 flirts. Odious, smirching word !" 
 
 Lord Garry chuckled. "Oh, doesn't she? My 
 dear foolish woman, Dede has flirted with her 
 whole world-masculine ever since she was short- 
 coated, or whatever you call the process of emerg- 
 ing from the first cocoon. She will continue to do 
 so until her curls are white and the last spark has 
 gone out of her pretty eyes." 
 
 ' ' Ludlow ! How can you ! ' ' 
 
 "Don't blame me, my dear Brigid. Blame Na- 
 ture, who has made your child a desirable woman, 
 and men merely men. Come, it can't really be a 
 surprise to you that your duckling has turned 
 into a swan and gone for a little sail on the waters 
 of life by herself." 
 
 "Don't tease, Ludlow. I know you think 
 I'm absurd about Dede, but where there's 
 smoke " 
 
 "It's liable to get into one's eyes! What's the 
 smoke in this instance?" 
 
 "Mrs. Mawson 
 
 "I might have known that old cat was at the
 
 In the Yew Garden 49 
 
 bottom of it. Don't let her worry you. What did 
 she say?" 
 
 "It wasn't exactly what she said, but what she 
 insinuated. She asked me if I had noticed how 
 Mr. Wing looked at Desiree in church. " 
 
 Lord Garry laughed aloud. "I have yet to 
 learn that it's a criminal offence for a man to look 
 at a pretty girl in church. Sometimes it's one's 
 only alleviation. . . . Forgive me, my dear, but 
 is that all?" 
 
 "Ye es, " she admitted reluctantly. 
 
 ' ' Then I see no cause for worry. Dede is nearly 
 twenty-one and fully armed. Leander Wing is 
 twenty-three, and of the true artistic tempera- 
 ment. The wonder would be if he had not fallen 
 in love with her. I don't think he is her type, but 
 one never can tell with girls. . . . How far has it 
 gone?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 "I didn't know that it had even begun," she 
 admitted, "until Mrs. Mawson's visit today." 
 
 ' ' Has D6d6 never talked of him to you ? " 
 
 "She asked me this afternoon what I thought 
 of him. She said he gave her the impression of 
 something on a leash. " 
 
 Lord Garry glanced at her quickly. "Did 
 she? Dede has brains beneath her curls. She is 
 also at the age when it seems most desirable to play 
 with things on leashes, sometimes even to the extent 
 of unleashing them. . . . Generally a risky ex- 
 periment. " 
 
 His tone was dry as he watched her troubled 
 
 4
 
 50 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 face. She did not speak. She seemed to be 
 thinking deeply. 
 
 "Why not provide an antidote?" he suggested. 
 "All young things love change. Send her away 
 for a little." 
 
 Lady Brigid looked up. Speech and decision 
 were simultaneous. "How odd that you should 
 have suggested that ! She's just had a delightful 
 invitation. Monica's elder girl, Jill, is going to be 
 married in July. They want Dede to spend the 
 rest of the season in town and go back with them 
 to Frayne for the wedding. " 
 
 ' ' The very thing. Who is the courageous man ? ' ' 
 
 She told him. 
 
 "You ought to go to the wedding, too. The 
 change would do you good. " 
 
 She shook her head. ' ' I couldn't possibly leave 
 Noel." 
 
 "Take him with you. " 
 
 "Nothing would induce him to go, so that 
 decides it." 
 
 "Does it?" he asked drily. "It would be 
 wholesome discipline for Hasard to be obliged to 
 do without you once in a while. " 
 
 "Oh, but he couldn't," shedeclared, with alittle 
 laugh. "He'd be absolutely lost if I went away. " 
 
 "Who can argue with a conceited woman? 
 Well, well, send your cygnet out of the danger- 
 zone as soon as may be. If I read my Dede aright t 
 chiffons have at present a strong enough interest 
 to oust any young man off her horizon. "
 
 In the Yew Garden 51 
 
 "The place will be deadly dull without the 
 child. We seem to be only half alive when she's 
 away. She reminds me of a butterfly fluttering 
 around two grey old monoliths. " 
 
 "Don't be absurd!" he cried. "Anything less 
 like a grey old monolith than you are I never 
 beheld." 
 
 She laughed. His sharpness was tonic rather 
 than cutting. A pleasant silence fell, such as can 
 only be sustained between two people who are in 
 absolute sympathy. Now was the time to ask 
 about the Queen of Sheba mine. She played with 
 the idea for a moment. Perhaps he would only 
 throw cold water on the scheme. She knew how 
 odd men were on the subject of money ; how extra- 
 ordinarily prejudiced in favour of a safe four per 
 cent. Then another thought thrust it momentarily 
 aside, demanding utterance. 
 
 ' ' What became of Camilla afterwards ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' After I divorced her, you mean ? She married 
 the man, since when she has been spinning merrily 
 about the world, and has probably spun herself 
 back into society again. I haven't seen her. 
 She's a rich woman, you know. Her great- 
 grandfather on the maternal side was one Solomon 
 Morse, an old gentleman of Hebrew lineage, whose 
 money-sense was very strongly developed." 
 
 ' ' Solomon ' ' ' ' rich"" money ' ' ! the words 
 clanged like gongs in her ears, bringing back her 
 own worries with a rush. 
 
 Lord Garry rose a little stiffly. "We mustn't sit
 
 52 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 here too long. Will you take me round the garden 
 and show me what you've been doing since last I 
 was here. It will be some time before I see it 
 again. " 
 
 ' ' I hate to think of your going away. We shall 
 miss you greatly. " 
 
 "Will you really? I believe you're the only 
 person in the world who can say that with any 
 truth." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense, Ludlow. You have hosts of 
 friends." 
 
 "None so old as you. " 
 
 She looked at him affectionately. "There's 
 no bond like the bond of 'Do you remember?' ' 
 she said softly. 
 
 If she had ever divined that something deeper 
 than friendship had once lain beneath his feeling 
 for her she never admitted it, even to herself. . . . 
 Yet the sixth sense in woman generally whispers 
 in her ear when a man loves her. The difficulty 
 with the average woman is to believe that he has 
 ever ceased to do so, which is why she invariably 
 adorns a by-gone lover with a halo of romance, 
 no matter how prosaic the passing years may have 
 made him ! . . . 
 
 Her old friend was going away and the moments 
 were flying. It would be an ease to her mind to 
 think that she had consulted him, even if she did 
 not take his advice. Did one ever take advice, she 
 wondered, when it ran counter to one's own 
 desires? Did one ever really want advice? Was
 
 In the Yew Garden 53 
 
 it not rather confirmation of one's own opinion 
 that one unconsciously asked for? She made a 
 tentative plunge. 
 
 "Do you know anything about the Queen of 
 Sheba Gold-mine, Ludlow?" 
 
 He looked at her in astonishment. His thoughts 
 had been wandering far in another direction, peer- 
 ing across the gulf of years which separated past 
 misery from present peace. 
 
 "Amazing person! Why do you ask such a 
 question? Are you thinking of speculating? If 
 so, take Punch's famous advice!" 
 
 "Prospectuses are always being sent to Noel," 
 she said, evading direct answer. "I happened 
 to read this one. It sounded tempting." 
 
 "Naturally. That is the chief mission of a 
 mining prospectus. If the trap isn't alluringly 
 baited the victims won't enter. " 
 
 "Victims? Then you think it's a fraud? But 
 the directors there are good names among them. " 
 She mentioned one or two. 
 
 "What's in a name?" he quoted teasingly. 
 "All is not gold that glitters, even in a Queen of 
 Sheba prospectus ! " He had no idea that she was 
 in earnest. 
 
 "Then you think it's a fraud," she repeated 
 slowly. She knew he would only laugh if she told 
 him of her foolish reliance on its Biblical name. 
 
 "I don't know anything about it, but it 
 probably is. Don't speculate, Brigid. It's a 
 risky game. If you have money to burn give
 
 54 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 it to me and I'll invest it at good interest for 
 you." 
 
 "What do you call good interest?" 
 
 "Four and a half per cent. " 
 
 She gave an odd little laugh. "Four and a half 
 per cent, is very dull. " 
 
 "But safe, " he asserted. 
 
 "Most safe things are dull, " she declared. 
 
 "Are they? Now if I had said that, or Dede " 
 he paused and smiled significantly. 
 
 "I cannot let you have the monopoly of being 
 frivolous," she retorted. The red spots burned 
 on her cheeks again. She felt a sinking sense of 
 disappointment .
 
 CHAPTER V 
 "SOMETHING ON A LEASH" 
 
 WHEN, from her bedroom window, Desiree saw 
 Mrs. Mawson's approach she changed quickly, 
 picked up her tennis racquet, and fled, singing 
 softly to herself as she went down the avenue. 
 
 The life-force which stirred the sap in the trees 
 till it rose to light the green fires of spring stirred 
 her own pulses to an answering riot. It was good 
 to be alive, to be young on such a day as this! 
 Good to think of the enchanting vista that lay 
 before her ! For, despite her mother's disclaimer, 
 Desiree had a lurking hope, which almost bore 
 guess of a certainty, that the London visit would 
 be managed after all. 
 
 How wonderful her mother was! There really 
 was no one like her. How was it that some girls 
 were not even fond of their mothers? Molly 
 Howard was often rude to hers, but then Mrs. 
 Howard in nowise resembled Lady Brigid, who 
 was quite the nicest person in the world except 
 well, was there any exception? 
 
 Scanning her universe Desiree came to the con- 
 clusion that there was not. Her pace slackened a 
 
 55
 
 56 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 little as she went down the winding avenue. Her 
 mother had been a little odd today about being 
 weak where she should have been strong: what 
 exactly had she meant? She was not weak. 
 Everyone went to her in their troubles. Every- 
 one leaned on her. How could one lean on weak- 
 ness? . . . And her speech about ultimate 
 payment? . . . That pricked Desiree's con- 
 science a little. She thought how worried her 
 mother would be if she knew how she had over- 
 stepped her allowance. But Mother mustn't be 
 worried. She would pay something on account 
 when she got her next quarter's money. Besides 
 it was only to Mrs. Brabazon she was in debt. 
 Mrs. Brabazon was always awfully decent. She 
 never minded waiting a little. It would be all 
 right, she reassured herself, especially when Mrs. 
 Brabazon got this new order: an order which 
 opened a further vista of delight to Desiree. 
 
 Lord Garry had been right. Clothes were the 
 moment's paramount interest, leaving mere man 
 where he had hitherto been, pleasantly on the 
 horizon. 
 
 And yet one young man, in the person of Leander 
 Wing, was not at all content to remain on the 
 horizon, but obtruded himself suddenly upon a 
 vista of chiffons, as Desiree swung open the gate 
 and emerged into the road. He stepped forward 
 from beneath a big elm, whose shed blossom-discs 
 carpeted the ground with a fairy green; and con- 
 fronted her. Curiously enough, sudden as his
 
 "Something on a Leash" 57 
 
 appearance was it did not altogether surprise 
 Desiree. It was not the first time that he had 
 sprung, spritelike, across her path. 
 
 "I almost missed you," he said breathlessly, 
 as if he had been running. ' ' Lord Garry and your 
 father came down to the studio to look at my pic- 
 tures after they had been to the church. I had to 
 beg them to excuse me. I was so afraid of miss- 
 ing you." 
 
 "How very foolish of you!" Desiree, answered. 
 "Lord Garry has a great deal of influence and 
 might be able to help you later on. " 
 
 "He doesn't know much about art, but he seems 
 to have temperament, " said Leander Wing, with 
 an assurance that amused his hearer. ' ' However, 
 I would give years of his influence for one moment 
 with you." 
 
 Desiree dropped her tennis racquet and swept 
 him a curtsey. "Monsieur, you flatter me!" she 
 cried. 
 
 She treated him exactly as she treated her other 
 boyish admirers. Her coquetry was spontaneous, 
 unconscious. Yet beneath the surface she was 
 aware of a difference in the quality of Leander 
 Wing's homage : a difference that piqued her inter- 
 est and thrilled her senses. In appearance he was 
 different, too. Even in flannels he did not look 
 quite like Dick Challoner or Roddy Howard. 
 They were clean, fair English boys, healthily ob- 
 vious. There was something bizarre about Lean- 
 der Wing's angular thinness, his red hair tumbling
 
 58 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 over queer eyes that sometimes dwindled to sparks 
 under thick red brows, and sometimes opened in a 
 blaze of light. It gave Desiree an odd tingle of 
 excitement to meet that burning gaze across a 
 room or in the midst of otherwise honest prayers : 
 and added a pleasurable thrill to these pulsing 
 days of May. Life was just now a sunny glade 
 with an enchanting vista at the end of it : the ele- 
 ments tamed in rose-chains at the feet of Summer. 
 
 Leander Wing stooped to pick up Desiree's rac- 
 quet. "I thought that as it was so early we might 
 walk round by the Bluebell Wood, ' ' he said. ' ' I've 
 always wanted to see if they really matched your 
 eyes. I am never quite sure." 
 
 That was the sort of thing he was always saying 
 in an impersonal way that half-piqued, half- 
 pleased Desiree. Sometimes she felt an impulse to 
 provoke some more vivid expression of feeling, but 
 always a little fear of that hidden turbulence re- 
 strained her. She wanted to keep her hand on the 
 leash, but she liked to feel it strain and pull. It 
 gave her a queer troubling sense of power. She 
 had no idea of the forces with which she was play- 
 ing. Love was to her a winged cherub rather than 
 a mighty angel, whose minister, passion, is a flame 
 of fire. 
 
 "If you like," she returned carelessly. "It's 
 just a chance that I happened to be so early. I 
 saw Mrs. Mawson coming to see mother, and I 
 fled." 
 
 He frowned until his eyes almost disappeared.
 
 " Something on a Leash" 59 
 
 "That woman! How can Lady Brigid tolerate 
 her?" 
 
 "She can't, but she has to, " Desiree answered. 
 "She says that there ought to be a law prohibiting 
 rector's widows from living in the same parishes as 
 the new people ! Clergy-folk have enough to bear 
 without that! . . . But what has Mrs. Maw- 
 son done to you?" 
 
 "You know I lodge with the Boltons?" 
 
 "All Bressy did before you were there a day. " 
 
 "Well, that old viper saw me talking to Tessie 
 Hart, their niece from London, down near my 
 studio the other day, and went straight to Mother 
 Bolton and harangued her! Warned her of me! 
 As if as if " Indignation choked him. 
 
 Desiree smiled. "What were you talking to 
 Tessie Hart about?" 
 
 ' ' I wanted her to sit to me for my new picture. " 
 
 "And will she?" Desiree's tone cooled a little. 
 She did not altogether like to hear of his wanting 
 to paint Tessie Hart. 
 
 "No. She refused when she saw my other pic- 
 tures. She has a Philistine soul." 
 
 Desiree laughed. "I'm afraid I have, too. 
 At least, I don't understand your pictures. What 
 is the subject of this one?" 
 
 "An impression of a London street-corner at 
 night. She has just the provocative sort of face 
 I wanted, disagreeable little thing." 
 
 "I don't think the faces much matter in your 
 pictures, " said Desiree, with the disarming frank-
 
 60 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 ness of utter ignorance. "You seem to put any- 
 thing you like on the canvas and call it the first 
 name that comes into your head! That one you 
 showed Daddy and me called A Novice at Prayer 
 did not seem to mean anything. It looked like a lay 
 figure with some awful skin disease, all blotches. 
 Perhaps that is what you intended, though, and 
 the poor thing was praying to be cured! Was 
 that it?" 
 
 Leander Wing tossed back the hair that was 
 tumbling into his eyes and laughed. "You are 
 delicious!" he cried. "You try to prick me with 
 thistledown, you little English flower, cool and 
 soft as the petals of roses! But you don't hurt, 
 because you don't know what you are talking 
 about!" 
 
 "I love your carving," she answered quickly. 
 
 "Bah! My carving! I loathe it," he cried 
 vehemently. "At least I don't exactly loathe it, 
 I merely despise it. I use it as a means to an end. 
 It keeps my body alive, but it starves my soul. 
 My tragedy is that I am kept at it, bound and 
 chained by form, when something stupendous in 
 me struggles for expression, something chaotic, 
 which I can only express in paint. " 
 
 "Perhaps you'll paint a masterpiece in splashes 
 some day," Desiree consoled. "Ask me to the 
 private view. I shall feel flattered, though prob- 
 ably I shan't understand the picture. " 
 
 He gave an odd little laugh. "No, you won't 
 understand it," he said abruptly, swinging the
 
 "Something on a Leash" 61 
 
 racquets to and fro. "How should you, finished 
 product of modernity that you are, understand 
 an elemental soul?" He walked quickly. His 
 eyes glittered. He seemed almost angry with her, 
 Desiree thought, with a little thrill of excitement. 
 One never knew where to have him. He was very 
 interesting, very stimulating, even in his rudeness : 
 perhaps because of it. 
 
 "You're very fond of talking about your soul, " 
 she said provocatively. "I'm not even sure that 
 I have one. ' ' 
 
 He swung round to her with denial as vehement 
 as his former assertion. 
 
 ' ' But you have. You have. One day you will 
 find it. There is no armour against Fate. Your 
 fate will come upon you suddenly some day and 
 sweep you away like a straw on a torrent. " 
 
 She looked up at him, half-startled. "Oh, but 
 I don't think I should like that. " 
 
 "It doesn't matter whether you like it or not. 
 It's what happens to unawakened people like you; 
 people with dormant souls. . . . You've a sen- 
 suous love of beauty, too, that answers to mine, 
 if you only knew it. " 
 
 Desiree wrinkled her nose. "I don't think sen- 
 suous is a very nice-sounding word. " 
 
 "It only means being easily affected through 
 the medium of the senses. I'll prove it to you. 
 You love textures, the soft touch of fur or velvet, 
 the smoothness of silk, the slippery coolness of 
 linen. Smells, too, the haunting tang of wood-
 
 62 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 smoke, the hot richness of gorse in the sun, the 
 spiritual scent of lily-of-the-valley, the swooning 
 fragrance of roses. Don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," she nodded, feeling vaguely disturbed. 
 
 "So do I. I tell you the perfume of freesias 
 makes me feel as if I had an immortal soul. The 
 smell of syringa makes me feel hot and wicked." 
 He stopped abruptly. "I wonder if I could make 
 you understand, you exquisite little English blos- 
 som. " 
 
 "Why do you always use the word English as 
 if it were a term of contempt? I've always been 
 rather proud of being English, though I am half 
 Irish as well." 
 
 "Ah, there you are! There's the blessed amal- 
 gam, mixed blood like my own. The leaven that 
 produces temperament, that saves you from being 
 a beautiful block, or stock or stone. " 
 
 "Mr. Wing, what do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that you've escaped, through your 
 merciful mother, attainment of the English ideal, 
 the block ideal, the stone-wall, impregnable- 
 fortress ideal. You are not really cold. There is 
 fire in you beneath your snow. Some day you will 
 find it out for yourself. . . . God, what a 
 blaze!" he said below his breath, with half- 
 closed eyes. "If only I could light it! Then 
 he took a step towards her, opening his eyes 
 suddenly. Their light seemed to scorch her. 
 She shrank back a little. "Could I? Can I?" 
 he whispered.
 
 " Something on a Leash" 63 
 
 "Please don't try," she said in a voice that 
 trembled in spite of herself. "It's far too hot even 
 to talk of fires. " 
 
 He flung back his hair with his favourite wild 
 gesture. 
 
 "So be it," he cried. "Let's wander on in 
 search of green shade and coolness. Let's bathe 
 in bluebell pools until our hot spirits shiver. " 
 
 Desiree's pulses quickened as she walked beside 
 him in silence down the lane that led to the Blue- 
 bell Wood. Something new and strange was 
 stirring within her: some hitherto unknown emo- 
 tion or desire. She did not know that it was the 
 first whispering of Nature's greatest secret: that 
 Leander Wing was but her messenger; whether as 
 high-priest or acolyte was still hidden in the book 
 of Time. 
 
 Suddenly under the silence Desiree felt a tug at 
 the leash that drove her to the refuge of speech. 
 
 "Will you be disappointed if Daddy gives up the 
 idea of the screen?" she asked, taking the first 
 safe subject that flashed into her mind. 
 
 "More than disappointed," he answered, turn- 
 ing quickly. "He must let me do the screen. 
 He must not rob me of my red pottage. His heart 
 is set on it. So is mine. " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "For two reasons. If I get the commission for 
 the screen it will give me enough money to chuck 
 carving for years, and paint, paint, paint until I 
 have satisfied my craving a little. The other
 
 64 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 reason but that won't interest you," he broke 
 off abruptly. 
 
 "It will interest me. Please tell me. " 
 
 Once again she let herself be guided by previous 
 intercourse with Dick and Roddy. So would she 
 coax them to shy, half -reluctant admissions. She 
 felt Leander Wing's difference anew when she met 
 his look and saw the odd smile that twisted his 
 thin lips. 
 
 "I'll tell you in the wood," he answered, "if 
 you really care to know. " He vaulted the stile, 
 and put up his hands to help her over. Their 
 hot dry clasp renewed her faint sense of uneasiness. 
 She withdrew her own, quickly. 
 
 The wood sloped down the side of the hill be- 
 hind the Croft, dropping to a hollow in its centre. 
 It was a silent, sweet-enchanted place of delicate 
 green branches above silver beechboles, round 
 whose columns spread pools and streams of blue- 
 bells, deeper in colour than the glimpses of sky 
 overhead, and thinning in the distance to a magical 
 amethyst mist. 
 
 Sunlight fell in golden bars and splashes across the 
 drifts of blue, and lit the young beech-leaves to a 
 green luminance. Somewhere in the depth of the 
 little wood a nightingale tried a tentative phrase 
 or two, practising liquid roulades for his evening 
 love-song. For a moment the two stood mute, 
 absorbed in the tumult of their own thoughts. 
 Then Leander turned abruptly and fell upon his 
 knees among the bluebells, plucking them fever-
 
 "Something on a Leash" 65 
 
 ishly, pressing them to his face and drawing in 
 great breaths of their curious honey-sweetness. 
 Desiree leaned against a beech-trunk watching 
 him, still faintly excited, still on the edge of expect- 
 ancy of she knew not what. 
 
 Leander looked up at her, his eyes dwindling to 
 sparks of brightness. 
 
 "If only I could paint you as you stand there 
 so that all the world should see you as I see you!" 
 he murmured, half to himself. "The soul of the 
 wood!. The soul of all women! Desiree, the 
 world's desire, with the golden apple of Paris in 
 your hand!" 
 
 Desiree was silent. Her eyes smiled answer. 
 There seemed to be nothing to say. In her heart 
 she knew that if he ever painted her it would be as 
 a series of unrecognizable blotches: still the sug- 
 gestion flattered. It is not every girl of twenty 
 who has been called the World's Desire, well aware 
 though she may be that her beauty is not really of 
 such transcendent quality. It would be something 
 to think over in the moments in which one savours 
 those unforgotten happenings whose memory is 
 often more poignant than the actual event. 
 
 "Come nearer," he commanded abruptly. 
 "That I may match the bluebells with your eyes. " 
 
 If he had been Dick or Roddy, Desiree would 
 have laughed at him, made him ask prettily before 
 she yielded to so odd a demand. Some swift in- 
 stinct forbade such trifling now. The leash drew 
 very taut. She had the odd sense of not knowing
 
 66 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 what the least unconsidered touch might pre- 
 cipitate. She approached him half reluctantly, 
 stopping a pace or two away from him. He flung 
 himself, still on his knees, towards her, his eyes 
 burning on hers. 
 
 "Stoop, World's Desire," he said hoarsely, 
 "that I may drown myself in the blue sea of your 
 eyes." 
 
 Desiree stood still, shivering a little. Here was 
 no half -playful, half -earnest admiration. Some- 
 thing she had never seen before cried to her from 
 Leander Wing's white face; cried with a voice that 
 made her heart beat so loudly that it drowned even 
 the song of the nightingale. 
 
 The leash strained to its utmost. He held the 
 bluebells towards her with trembling hands. 
 
 "Here at your feet I will tell you why I am 
 willing to sell my birthright for the accursed 
 carving," he said in low, thick tones. "It is that 
 I may be near you. " 
 
 Unconsidered words rushed to Desiree's lips. 
 
 "Oh, but I'm going away," she cried, drawing 
 back a little, and gazing at him half -fascinated, 
 half-repelled. 
 
 Her evading movement was the one thing needed 
 to snap the leash. Self-control fled. He threw 
 his arms round her shrinking body and strained her 
 violently to him. 
 
 "You mustn't. You mustn't. I love you. I 
 am on fire for you. " He pressed his head against 
 her, shaking like a leaf with the vehemence of his
 
 "Something on a Leash" 67 
 
 passion. "You don't know what love is. I will 
 teach you. Let me teach you. I have the blood 
 of great lovers in my veins the blood of Paris, of 
 Helen, of that other Leander. . . . God, I 
 would swim twenty Hellesponts to get to you. 
 . . . No waters could drown me if I were coming 
 to you. . . . No waters can quench love, love 
 that is a deathless fire. God ! If you were mine. 
 ... if you were mine. . . . !" 
 
 His voice tumbled to incoherencies with the 
 urgency of his desire. He pressed wild kisses upon 
 the slim trembling body he held, pouring forth his 
 passion in hot, broken words. 
 
 Desiree's senses reeled. It seemed as if upon 
 her happy careless life the very elements had sud- 
 denly been let loose, fire in fury, raving winds. 
 Only the kindly earth seemed solid beneath her 
 feet. . . . Was this love, this searing, devouring 
 flame, that scorched, that outraged? . . . Oh, 
 how dared he? . . . how dared he? His clasp 
 was like iron. He paid no heed to the thrusting 
 protest of her hands. Her voice choked in her 
 throat as she strove for speech. 
 
 ' ' Oh, let me go ! Let me go ! How dare you ? ' ' 
 
 Nothing in her responded to the leaping fire of 
 his claim. All throbbing pulses had chilled to a 
 deadly fear and an anger which strove to over- 
 master that fear. If Lord Garry had seen her now 
 he would not have called her fully armed. She 
 felt young, helpless, desperately ignorant of the 
 forces unloosened against her.
 
 68 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I'll never let you go. You are mine mine!" 
 cried the low, thick voice she scarcely recognized. 
 
 If this were love it was repellent, hateful. She 
 would have none of it. It terrified and disgusted 
 her. It seemed as if she were in the clutches of 
 some odious nightmare from which she would pres- 
 ently awake to safe normality : as if this could not 
 possibly be the dear familiar Bluebell Wood, known 
 and loved from childhood: as if it were not she, 
 Desiree Hasard, but some dream-person who was 
 held there staring into the unveiled face of Passion 
 and rinding it a Gorgon's head of petrifying ugli- 
 ness. She struggled anew to free herself. 
 
 ' ' No !" muttered Leander. ' ' No. You are mine, 
 mine, mine!" 
 
 Suddenly her lips trembled. "You're frighten- 
 ing me, " she said in a quavering little voice. 
 
 The touch of tears fell cool upon his passion, 
 melting him instantly to a shocked realization of 
 his madness. He released her as abruptly as he 
 had clutched her and rose to his feet with a dazed 
 look in his eyes. She swayed as he let her go, 
 but shrank back against the beech-trunk for 
 support as he put out an involuntary hand to 
 steady her. 
 
 "No, no, you mustn't touch me again," she 
 whispered, her eyes dark with fear, her face very 
 white. 
 
 He flushed and thrust his hands into his pockets. 
 
 "You're safe now," he said hoarsely. "For- 
 give me if you can. I didn't mean to frighten you.
 
 "Something on a Leash" 69 
 
 But you don't know. . . . You don't know. 
 . . . " He broke off and bit his lip, looking at 
 her with a queer searching gaze as if he would read 
 something in her face that was not yet written 
 there. "You mustn't play with fire," he broke 
 out with a jangling laugh. "It's dangerous. 
 You might burn your pretty fingers. You nearly 
 did. . . . You see I made the mistake of 
 thinking that you had a Greek soul in your white 
 English body. " 
 
 " If to have a Greek soul is to behave as you did 
 just now, I'm thankful I haven't, " said Desiree, 
 with a trembling show of spirit. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment without speak- 
 ing. Life had changed since he gazed at her across 
 the bluebells but a few minutes before : there was 
 a crushed space of broken stems and trampled 
 blossoms where he had knelt. Had he crushed 
 irrevocably other and frailer blooms by his folly? 
 Had he been mad, incredibly mad. How could he 
 have imagined for an instant ? 
 
 "You know nothing of love," he thrust at her 
 suddenly. "How could you? . . . But I 
 you go to my head like wine. I am drunk with 
 love of you, insane, intolerable doubtless, but you 
 must forgive me." Suddenly he fell at her feet, 
 pressing his lips to the hem of her white skirt, 
 kissing her little white shoes in his abasement. 
 "Forgive me. . . . Only forgive me. I shan't 
 transgress again. Oh, be good to me. Be good 
 to me. Don't cast me adrift. Don't let me
 
 7o The Beloved Sinner 
 
 starve for a sight of you. . . . Forgive me and 
 I'll be as English, as block-like as I can. " 
 
 Desiree looked down at the kneeling figure with 
 mingled emotions. She felt awkward and un- 
 comfortable, but no longer afraid. A touch of 
 anger warred with the pity which welled from some 
 newly-stirred depth of her womanhood. Her chief 
 desire at the moment was to return to the safe com- 
 monplaces of every day. But how attain normal- 
 ity without touching the ridiculous? 
 
 ' ' Please get up, " she said quietly. ' ' If any one 
 were to see you 
 
 "I don't care if the whole world saw me. It is 
 where I always am in spirit, at your feet. " 
 
 "Oh, are you?" said Desiree dubiously. "But 
 I don't want you at my feet. I want you to get 
 up and be sensible. " 
 
 "To be sensible is to be dead," cried Leander. 
 "I shan't get up until you forgive me. " 
 
 He caught at her skirt, dropping it abruptly as 
 she paled and shivered. 
 
 "Before God I never meant to frighten you," 
 he said very low. "I didn't know. . . . I beg 
 of you to forgive me. " Suddenly he poured out 
 penitence as fiery as his declarations had been, 
 calling himself every uncouth savage name his 
 wide vocabulary could attain, craving pardon this 
 time with his whole heart. 
 
 "I will forgive you. I do forgive you," cried 
 Desiree, half -laughing, half -crying. "Only do 
 get up and be ordinary again."
 
 "Something on a Leash" 71 
 
 "As long as you love no one else, I am safe, " he 
 said. "You will come back to me. . . . Say 
 you will, you little golden thing! You hold my 
 heart in the hollow of your hand ! ' ' He rose slowly. 
 The knees of his trousers were stained green where 
 he had knelt among the bluebells. 
 
 Desiree's eyes fell on the mark. "You can't go 
 to the Howards' like that, " she cried impulsively. 
 
 It was an absurd anti-climax. They had not 
 been able to skirt the ridiculous after all. He looked 
 down and flushed an angry red. "I had forgotten 
 their very existence. I wish they were in the 
 Styx and that there was no one in the world but 
 you and me. " 
 
 "That would be very dull," returned Desiree, 
 with an attempt at lightness. 
 
 "For you perhaps . . . and yet. . . . Do 
 you really think I could go anywhere today after 
 touching heaven and hell?" ,he cried scornfully. 
 
 Desiree was shaken with an hysterical desire to 
 laugh. "You use such big words," she said in- 
 coherently. "You'll have none left 
 
 ' ' I was in heaven when I held you in my arms. 
 I was in hell when you shrank from me," he an- 
 swered slowly. 
 
 There was a ring of pain in his voice that checked 
 her nervous impulse. Truly today she had 
 touched forces of which she had hitherto been 
 unaware. All at once she felt very tired. She 
 wanted to end the scene, but did not know how to 
 do it. Leander Wing saved her the trouble.
 
 72 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I hope you will never suffer as I have suffered 
 today, " he said, in a tone which sounded as if he 
 hoped she would: then turned and left her. De- 
 siree shivered again as she watched his retreating 
 form. She wanted to say something kind, but 
 could think of nothing. Her mind felt blank and 
 exhausted. Her eyes lit upon the tennis racquets, 
 half-hidden among the springing bluebells. 
 
 "You're forgetting your racquet," she called 
 after him. 
 
 He did not hear her. He had reached the stile, 
 vaulted it, and was out of sight. She picked up 
 her own and fled in the direction of the Croft. . . . 
 
 When she returned in the evening she was sur- 
 rounded by a bodyguard of Challoners and How- 
 ards. She did not go through the Bluebell Wood. 
 She felt that Leander Wing had smirched its 
 sweet enchantment for ever.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BLUE SOCKS 
 
 DESIREE was slipping a blue ribbon through her 
 hair when the dinner-gong sounded. It was an 
 old Chinese gong which Lord Garry had brought 
 home from one of his wanderings. Tonight its 
 mellow boom had a sound of portent as it echoed 
 through the winding passages of the old house. 
 With an unwonted touch of imagination the girl 
 felt as if it were sounding the knell of her own care- 
 less youth. That which had happened today 
 had changed, had ended something for ever. She 
 who has looked upon passion is no longer a child. 
 In a few packed moments Desiree had taken many 
 steps towards the stature of womanhood. She had 
 left behind her a happy ignorance which she could 
 never again recapture. It still seemed unbeliev- 
 able that it was she, Desiree Hasard, who had 
 been through that wild scene in the wood. . . . 
 Did every ordinary exterior hide such possibili- 
 ties? What a vista of uncertainty opened up at 
 the thought ! . . . 
 
 The dream-like sense lingered with her as she 
 73
 
 74 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 ran quickly down the shallow old stairs, thrusting a 
 pink rose through her belt as she went, 
 
 "So sorry to be late, " she cried as she entered 
 the drawing-room. "We had to finish a most ex- 
 citing set." 
 
 "The echoes of the gong have scarcely died 
 away, " said her father indulgently, offering his arm 
 to his wife. 
 
 Lady Brigid smiled as she took it, thinking that 
 in the chequered history of the old house no fairer 
 vision had ever passed through its doors than her 
 own child. 
 
 Desir6e tucked her hand through her father's 
 other arm and together the three went into the 
 dining-room. The little ceremony was never 
 omitted. 
 
 Dinner was always a pleasant meal at the 
 Rectory. By mutual consent nothing jarring 
 ever obtruded itself there. Each contributed 
 his or her share of the odd or amusing in- 
 cidents of the day. Matters parochial were 
 discussed only when they were alone, and not 
 even then if they were of a disturbing char- 
 acter. 
 
 As a rule it was Desiree who talked most, but 
 tonight she seemed content to play listener. 
 Presently the subject veered round to St. Osyth's. 
 
 "King Charles's head," said Desiree, looking up 
 with a smile. "What are you going to do about 
 the screen, Daddy?" 
 
 "Ludlow said that you had decided to give up
 
 Blue Socks 75 
 
 the idea for the present, " Lady Brigid put in 
 quickly. 
 
 "I'm afraid the wish was father to the thought, 
 my dear. I consented, under protest, to leave 
 the matter in abeyance for the moment. Still, 
 I feel half -pledged to Wing .... I fear I may 
 have raised hopes ... he seems to count upon 
 being given the commission. . . . " 
 
 "Oh, but " Desiree began, then stopped. 
 
 "Ludlow seemed very definite." 
 
 ' ' He is a man of the world, my dear, and men of 
 the world are necessarily mundane," said the 
 Rector, with a smile. "He takes limited views. 
 His faith would not move a mustard-seed, much less 
 a mountain. It is nothing to him if I choose to 
 make myself responsible for the screen. " 
 
 "Oh, but " it was Lady Brigid who began this 
 time, and then stopped. The eyes of the mother 
 and daughter met with a gleam of mutual under- 
 standing. 
 
 "Would you not like to give a contribution to- 
 wards it out of your fortune, Brigid?" asked the 
 Rector, gently teasing. It was a point of honour 
 with him never to interfere with his wife's manage- 
 ment of her own affairs. 
 
 Lady Brigid's colour deepened as she looked at 
 him and shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't. 
 Noel. All my spare pennies are going to help 
 Dede to accept Monica's invitation. " 
 
 "Mother! The impossible? Not really?" 
 
 "For the last time, " answered Lady Brigid in as
 
 76 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 excited a tone as the girl's, Desiree's quick delight 
 reflected in her face. 
 
 "There's no one like you!" Desiree breathed. 
 "Oh, mother!" She gave a long sigh of relief and 
 joy. 
 
 "Oh, daughter! Sure I'd give you the stars out 
 of heaven if I could!" Lady Brigid murmured, 
 unwontedly Irish. 
 
 "Don't you think the money would be better 
 expended on St. Osyth's than on a London sea- 
 son?" the Rector put in, still in that tone of quiet 
 raillery. 
 
 "No, I don't," answered Desiree with great 
 decision. "There is always a chance of gleaning 
 money somewhere for St. Osyth's, but I may never 
 have another opportunity of seeing what a London 
 season is like!" 
 
 "Would that be an inestimable loss?" 
 
 "Inestimable!" cried Desiree. "You always 
 think of the right word, Daddy!" She looked 
 across at him and laughed, quite restored to her old 
 poise. A chance word of Lady Brigid 's brought 
 back the afternoon's experience with a rush. 
 
 "I thought Mr. Wing was going to the Croft 
 today," she said. "I saw him about half -past 
 five wandering across the salt-marshes." 
 
 "He left us a little after three, " the Rector said. 
 "He pleaded an engagement and begged to be 
 excused. He almost ran from the studio, bare- 
 headed, with a tennis racquet in his hand. Did 
 you see him, Dede?"
 
 Blue Socks 77 
 
 "Yes," Desiree answered quickly, holding her 
 hands tightly clasped in her lap. "I met him on 
 the road. We walked as far as the Bluebell Wood 
 together. . . . Then he changed, his mind and 
 went back." 
 
 "Did he give any reason for such extraordinary 
 behaviour?" 
 
 "Does genius ever give reasons for its eccentrici- 
 ties, Daddy? You say Mr. Wing is a genius. He 
 certainly can't be judged by ordinary standards. 
 He is too erratic." 
 
 Lady Brigid said nothing. Her eyes scanned 
 Desiree' s face as if she would read its innermost 
 secret. Afterwards in the drawing-room she put a 
 gentle finger under the girl's chin and tilted the 
 delicately-tinted face towards her. 
 
 "Did Mr. Wing make love to you today, my 
 chicken?" 
 
 "Yes, mother. . . . How did you know?" 
 
 Desir6e suddenly hid her hot face against the 
 comfortable shoulder which had been her refuge 
 from every trouble until a year or two ago. 
 
 "Mothers know more than they're supposed 
 to," said Lady Brigid softly. "Did you like 
 it?" 
 
 "No, I hated it," cried Desiree vehemently. 
 She paused on the brink of speech, but held back. 
 Some instinct warned her that, much as her mother 
 might know, she would not understand and would 
 most certainly deplore Leander Wing's mad out- 
 burst. Desiree deplored it too, but still she felt
 
 78 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 an impression of new knowledge, of an awakening 
 that subtly mingled sensations not altogether 
 unpleasant. No, her mother would not under- 
 stand. Besides she could not tell any one how he 
 had held her, kissed her .... Her whole body 
 burned at the thought. 
 
 Lady Brigid was satisfied. Love had not un- 
 sealed the eyes of her little girl as yet. When he 
 did- 
 
 " That's all right," she said, stooping to kiss the 
 hot cheek nearest her. "When the real thing 
 comes, belovedest, you will know and rejoice, as 
 I did. 'Terrible as an army with banners,'" she 
 quoted softly, ' ' ' but overwhelmingly glorious in 
 his array. ' ' For a moment of happy communion 
 the two faces lay pressed against each other in 
 silence. Then Lady Brigid raised her head, and 
 put the girl away from her with a little squeeze of 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "Now let's talk chiffons," she said. "What 
 exactly is a tea-frock, and do you think you'll need 
 one?" 
 
 She had not wanted Desiree to be the first to 
 draw away. In spite of her disappointment at 
 Lord Garry's advice her cup was very full tonight. 
 Desiree was crystal-clear. That sufficed. She 
 threw herself whole-heartedly into the discussion of 
 frocks and frills. 
 
 In the study two men confronted each other,
 
 Blue Socks 79 
 
 each subtly typical of his class and caste. By the 
 table stood a pale, shamefaced youth, twisting his 
 cap nervously in his hands and looking from one 
 to the other of his arbiters with eyes dark and 
 frightened as a hare's. 
 
 Twilight shadowed the old brown room. It 
 dimmed the already subdued colours of the books 
 which lined it, and dulled the gold of the beautiful 
 little triptych after Fra Angelico that hung over 
 the chimney-piece. Narcissi gleamed, starlike, 
 from a porcelain bowl beneath it and shook the 
 incense of their sweetness upon the air. Wafts 
 of garden perfume came in through the open win- 
 dows. In the clear evening sky, now faded to a 
 delicate green, a single star trembled. 
 
 The very atmosphere of the room irritated Mr. 
 Woolridge. It was scented, papistical. He had 
 said his say. He wanted to get away. He made 
 a blundering movement forward. 
 
 ' ' I wish you would sit down and let us finish our 
 discussion quietly," said the Rector in his clear, 
 well-bred voice. "I'll ring for lights 
 
 "Light enough to discuss deeds of darkness," 
 answered Mr. Woolridge, subsiding again into his 
 chair. 
 
 He was a florid, square-built man, narrow in his 
 views, bitter in his creed. Desiree said he looked 
 as if he had been cut out of a block of wood and 
 coloured by a child. He was now penetrated by 
 conflicting emotions : anger with his peccant shop- 
 assistant, secret delight at having in his person a
 
 8o The Beloved Sinner 
 
 legitimate grievance against the church of which 
 he so vehemently disapproved, and a very natural 
 distaste to offending one of his best customers. 
 Man and merchant struggled for mastery. 
 
 "Seems to me there's nothing more to be said, 
 sir," he exclaimed, with an air of finality. 
 
 "Pardon me. I think there is a great deal more 
 to be said. I have heard your account of this 
 painful occurrence. I have not yet heard Tom's. " 
 
 Tom made an awkward movement, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Heard Tom's? What has that to do with it? 
 Why, I caught him red-handed. " Mr. (Woolridge's 
 eyes bulged with astonishment. "He had the 
 money out o' the till in his pocket! You can't 
 get over that, Mr. Hasard. The eighth command- 
 ment ain't to be juggle4 with ! " 
 
 "I have no desire to juggle with any of the 
 commandments, but I confess that I should like 
 to hear what Tom has to say for himself. " 
 
 "Speak up, thief, and tell your clergyman how 
 you've carried out his teaching," said Mr. Wool- 
 ridge, letting his feelings overmaster him. 
 
 "Please, Mr. Woolridge," said Noel Hasard in a 
 voice that silenced the other for a moment. ' ' Now, 
 Tom, you have confessed that you stole this 
 money. Tell me, if you can, why you did such a 
 thing." 
 
 The boy took a step forward. His face worked : 
 he twisted his cap round and round in his trembling 
 hands.
 
 Blue Socks 81 
 
 "I never meant to steal it, sir. I only intended 
 to borrow it. I'd have paid it all back, sir, every 
 penny. Before God, sir, I never meant to steal. " 
 His voice grew shrill, and broke. 
 
 "That Name must not be taken lightly on your 
 lips, Tom," said the Rector sternly. 
 
 ' ' I didn't mean to take it lightly, sir. You know 
 I don't swear. This is the first time, the only time 
 as I've ever done anything real wrong, and I never 
 meant it, sir. I only meant to borrow it. I never 
 meant to steal." 
 
 "Takin' money what don't belong to you can't 
 be called borrowing," said Mr. Woolridge gruffly. 
 
 "Why did you take this money, Tom?" The 
 Rector's voice had a gentler note. 
 
 "To to pay a bill, sir." 
 
 "What was the bill for?" 
 
 Tom fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a 
 crumpled bit of paper. 
 
 " 'Twas at Elliots'," he mumbled. 
 
 "Gauds and vanities," sniffed Mr. Woolridge. 
 The Rector unfolded the bill and read the items : 
 a straw hat, a blue silk tie, blue socks, a pair of 
 brown shoes. Total, 18/9. 
 
 "How much money did Tom take, Mr. Wool- 
 ridge?" 
 
 "Eighteen and ninepence, sir." 
 
 The Rector handed him the bill. "That seems 
 to confirm the boy's story, " he said quietly. ' ' He 
 only took what was necessary to pay the bill. 
 Why he did not come to me or to some other friend
 
 82 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 to borrow the money I cannot conjecture, but 
 there it is. He made the false step and fell. I'll 
 take his word for it that he meant to pay it back 
 honestly. Will you not do the same and give 
 him another chance?" 
 
 "Another chance at my till? No fear!" 
 
 "And yet you say daily, as I do, 'Forgive us 
 our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass 
 against us," said Noel Hasard gently. 
 
 "I never robbed any man of his hard-earned 
 money." 
 
 "Then out of your greater righteousness you 
 can afford to give this poor weak lad a chance to 
 redeem himself, to recover his lost self-respect?" 
 
 "To buy more blew socks!" snorted Mr. 
 Woolridge. "Blew socks indeed! Ornary grey 
 ones are good enough for honest folk like me. 
 No, Mr. Hasard, sir. I feel it my duty to make an 
 example of Thomas Herring; to learn him the 
 difference between meanin' and doin'- 
 
 " Between our acts and our intentions ever, 
 There is a bridge without a parapet," 
 
 quoted the Rector. "Surely you are not going 
 to thrust poor Tom into the abyss. " 
 
 "I'm goin' to chasten him with a prosecution 
 back into the ways of grace." 
 
 "You are far more likely to plunge him irrevo- 
 cably into the ways of sin," said Noel Hasard, with 
 a ring of authority in his voice. "I must ask you, 
 Mr. Woolridge, once for all, to put the idea of
 
 Blue Socks 83 
 
 prosecuting Tom out of your head, if not for his 
 own sake, then for his poor mother's. You are 
 at no loss. You have your money intact. I beg 
 of you to give the boy another chance. Do not 
 put the prison brand upon him just as he is begin- 
 ning life. . . . No, don't answer hastily. 
 Think the matter over for a moment. " 
 
 Mr. Woolridge bent a suffused face and gazed 
 into the pattern of the old Persian rug at his feet 
 as if he would wrest decision from its dim intri- 
 cacies. Thought raced thought through his mind. 
 . . . The law was a costly weapon. . . . The 
 Rectory custom was worth keeping. . . . Per- 
 haps Tom would be punished enough by dis- 
 missal from a good situation. He'd make a point 
 of telling everyone why he'd sacked him, too! 
 The young scoundrel wouldn't be able to show 
 his nose in Bressy again in a hurry! ... Blew 
 socks indeed ! . . . . 
 
 The brief silence hung heavily. Tom's heart 
 beat so loudly that it drowned all other sounds 
 for him, even the singing of a belated thrush 
 in a lilac-bush by the window, who poured his 
 evening ecstasy, liquid as any nightingale's, 
 into a clean, scented world of half-lights and 
 velvet shadows and the wonder and mystery of 
 approaching night. 
 
 The Rector's heart was moved to pity for the 
 boy who stood there, sullen now in his shame, 
 dumb with misery at the thought of going to prison. 
 How often in his long ministry had he heard
 
 84 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 the despairing plea, "I didn't mean it!" That 
 miserable excuse which is no excuse. How often 
 had he known the impulse of the moment, which 
 is the crystallization of character into action, fall 
 pitifully from high endeavour! He had seen too 
 much of human frailty to be hard on the erring. 
 He had schooled himself to conquer a fastidious 
 delicacy, and to continue to love the sinner while 
 hating the sin; yet it was with a sense of bitter 
 disappointment that he now numbered Tom 
 Herring among those to be condoned. . . . He 
 had had high hopes of Tom. He had thought him 
 a lad of sterling worth. . . . What had induced 
 him to steal for the sake of buying articles which 
 seemed absolutely unnecessary? . . . There 
 must be something beneath the bald outline he 
 had heard. Why, why, had not Tom come to him ? 
 Had he ever been hard on the boys? Had he not 
 always tried to sympathize with them, to encour- 
 age them to come to him in time of trouble? He 
 felt a pricking sense of failure, as if Tom's misde- 
 meanour were in some way to be laid at his door. . . . 
 
 Mr. Woolridge raised his head with reluctant 
 decision. 
 
 "Well, sir, as you make such a point of it I 
 won't prosecute, though I don't hold with these 
 soft dealin's. Sin is sin, and them as isn't chas- 
 tised with whips will be chastened with scorpions. 
 You take the responsibility, Mr. Hasard, of havin' 
 Tom chastised with scorpions later on, if not 
 worse."
 
 Blue Socks 85 
 
 "I take the responsibility, " returned the Rector 
 slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Woolridge. You will 
 never regret your leniency." 
 
 "I hope not. . . . I'm not going to take 
 Tom back, mind you. " 
 
 "I suppose we could scarcely hope for that. 
 Could we, Tom?" 
 
 The boy tried to speak. "I don't hope it, sir. 
 Thank you, Mr. Woolridge. You'll never 
 I'll " the words choked in his throat. 
 
 ' ' His mother will be grateful to you, Mr. Wool- 
 ridge. She has had a hard life. " 
 
 "So has most of us, sir." Mr. Woolridge 
 rose, relieved that he could escape at last. Satis- 
 faction began to swell within him. He had spoken 
 to the Rector as man to man. He had pelted 
 him with a few home- truths about sin: had 
 hinted at his own righteous convictions; and at 
 the same time had done nothing to alienate good 
 custom, at least with gentlefolk as was gentle- 
 folk. He realized that he could never have spoken 
 so frankly to Mrs. Mawson or her like, reluct- 
 antly as he made the admission. He had one 
 more indictment and that, he felt proudly, rather 
 an up-to-date one, to thrust at Tom before he 
 went. 
 
 "You'll be disappointed in Thomas Herring 
 yet, Mr. Hasard, " he said, with his hand on the 
 door. "Beware of the eternal female, sir. Those 
 that runs after the petticoats of the eternal fe- 
 male come to no good."
 
 86 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Yet but for them neither you nor I would be 
 in the world, Mr. Woolridge. " The Rector could 
 afford the little parry in his relief. 
 
 Mr. Woolridge shut the door with a determina- 
 tion that was closely akin to a bang. 
 
 When the sound of his footsteps had died away, 
 Noel Hasard turned to the boy, who glanced this 
 way and that as if for escape. 
 
 "Tom, Tom, why didn't you come to me?" 
 
 There was nothing but love and gentleness in his 
 tone. It went straight to Tom's heart. In a 
 moment he was on his knees before the man whom 
 he revered above all others, pouring forth an in- 
 coherent stream of penitent regret. 
 
 Mr. Woolridge had hit the mark with his 
 "eternal female." Tom had but obeyed the 
 natural instinct of the young male animal in spring. 
 He had decked himself in brown shoes and blue 
 socks to please the eye of Tessie Hart, who had 
 laughed at his country clothes! . . . Elliot 
 had refused to give him credit. He had been 
 ashamed to ask Mr. Hasard for the money, and so 
 and so 
 
 "Yet you were not ashamed to steal; to break 
 one of God's commandments. " 
 
 "I didn't mean to break it, sir. I only meant 
 to borrow the money, " the boy persisted. 
 
 The Rector sighed. "Nevertheless it was steal- 
 ing, Tom. You deliberately took money which 
 did not belong to you. There is no minimizing 
 that fact. Your intentions may have been honest
 
 Blue Socks 87 
 
 enough, but your act was the act of a thief. Go 
 on your knees to God, my lad, rather than to me,, 
 and ask Him to forgive your sin!" 
 
 Then very gently, yet with a tonic ring of firm- 
 ness in his tones, he tried to point out to the boy 
 where he had trailed his standard in the mud, and 
 how he must try, with God's help, to raise it 
 again : conscious the while of a sense of failure in 
 his own teaching that such abasement of the ideals 
 he had tried to instil should be possible. 
 
 "Is Tessie Hart a good girl, Tom?" he asked at 
 last. 
 
 Tom flushed. "She's as pretty as a picture and 
 as cruel as a cat. She do tease and bewitch till 
 you don't know whether you be on head or heels. " 
 
 "Let girls alone for the present. Time enough 
 later on, when you find the real thing, the good, 
 true girl who will be your mate and comrade 
 through life. " 
 
 "But how am I to find her, sir, if I let girls 
 alone?" asked the boy with an earnestness that 
 checked any savour of impertinence. 
 
 The Rector bit his lip. Here was a side 
 of life on which he felt scarcely qualified to 
 speak. It had always been very easy for him 
 to let girls alone until he had met Brigid Mas- 
 sarene. He felt as if a sudden gulf separated 
 him from Tom's world of young red blood and 
 natural instincts. 
 
 "We need not discuss that now," he said. 
 "I'll lend you the money to pay Elliot's bill. You
 
 88 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 can repay me when you are able, and you must give 
 me your word that you will never do such a thing 
 again. Come up to me at eleven o'clock to- 
 morrow. I shall have thought of some opening 
 for you by then." 
 
 He felt in his pockets. Nothing there. He 
 suddenly remembered an urgent case of illness in 
 Fish Street which had emptied them that afternoon. 
 
 "I'll get you the money," he said, leaving the 
 room in search of his wife. 
 
 Lady Brigid sat at an open window in the draw- 
 ing-room, her busy hands idle in her lap for once, 
 wrapt in a perfumed twilight of content. Desiree 
 was at the piano, playing Chopin in the dusk. No 
 one else satisfied the unrest which throbbed in her 
 veins tonight, roused by the scene to which her 
 thoughts went back again and again with half- 
 fascinated reluctance. If Leander Wing had not 
 been Leander Wing, if he had been someone else 
 to whom that mysterious unknown something of 
 which she had been hitherto unaware could re- 
 spond, what then? . . . What then? . . . 
 
 Her hands fell upon the keys with a little crash 
 as her father entered the room. 
 
 "That you, Daddy?" 
 
 "I've come to borrow some money, Brigid dear. 
 Can you lend me eighteen and ninepence?" 
 
 "Of course," she said. It was her invariable 
 answer to his demands. She had never failed him 
 yet. 
 
 "What a funny sum! What do you want it
 
 Blue Socks 89 
 
 for?" asked Desiree as her mother left the 
 room. 
 
 The Rector told her. Desir6e was silent for a 
 moment. Then : 
 
 "Tessie Hart seems to be a sort of provincial 
 Helen," she said, without thinking. 
 
 "Why do you say that, my dear?" 
 
 "Well because Mr. Wing told me today that 
 he wanted to paint her. He says she has a pro- 
 vocative face." 
 
 "Apparently," commented the Rector drily. 
 "She seems to be setting the young men of my 
 parish by the ears. I fear she must be flighty 
 and Mrs. Bolton is so respectable." 
 
 "Who could be more respectable than you, 
 Daddy?" cried Desiree, kissing the cheek nearest 
 to her, "And see how flighty I am! . . . Mr. 
 Wing has a Greek soul, which accounts for a lot. " 
 
 "It should," he answered. "I hear your 
 mother. I will be back presently." He went 
 into the hall to intercept his wife. 
 
 When Lady Brigid returned to the drawing- 
 room the twilight of content was dispersed. The 
 thoughts of each were caught back into the money- 
 web once more. 
 
 Lady Brigid's mind spun from Tom's theft to 
 fevered calculations as to how and when she might 
 expect results if she ventured on the Sheba specu- 
 lation. 
 
 Desiree wondered vaguely how much she really 
 owed Mrs. Brabazon, and if it would upset her
 
 90 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 mother very much if she knew. She would have 
 to come to her in the end probably, but there was 
 no use in worrying her before one need. Mrs. 
 Brabazon would be content to wait until when? 
 Well, the future always holds vast potentialities 
 for Sweet and Twenty. . . . 
 
 The Rector did not go back to the drawing-room 
 after all. When Tom had left he sat with his head 
 in his hands beneath the smiling angels of the 
 triptych, pondering over the sordid little tragic 
 comedy whose fringe he had touched; searching, 
 with painful introspection, for light as to where he 
 had failed ; praying for guidance lest he should fail 
 again. . . . Then at last his thoughts wandered 
 back to St. Osyth's, from which they never strayed 
 very far. He took up the designs for the screen 
 from the table where they lay and looked at them 
 with eyes in which the worried look gradually gave 
 place to an expression of wistful longing. . . . 
 
 So beneath the happy surface-ripple of these 
 three lives flowed a troubling undercurrent of 
 which neither of the others was aware, closely knit 
 by love 1 , and sympathy as they were.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE STAR SAPPHIRE 
 
 TOM HERRING did not present himself at the 
 Rectory on the following morning. Instead came 
 a note borne by a weeping mother. 
 
 Tom could not face the shame he had incurred 
 in Bressy. He had run away, where, his mother 
 did not know. He had always been a good boy 
 until he was led astray by hussies, she said between 
 sobs. He was her mainstay. How was she to live 
 now? How was she ever to hold up her head? 
 
 The Rector hastily read the note, which said 
 in a few bald words that Tom would never forget 
 his kindness and that he'd work his fingers to the 
 bone till he paid back what he owed. So help 
 him God he never would steal again, but he must 
 go away, and there was no use looking for him. 
 
 "There's the making of a man in Tom, Mrs. 
 Herring," he said kindly. "He'll win through 
 yet, never fear. You'll hear before long that he's 
 'making good,' as the Americans say. You'll live 
 to be proud of Tom again. ... If you go round 
 to Lady Brigid I'm sure that she will find you 
 some sewing or charing to do. ..." 
 
 91
 
 92 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 So another pensioner was added to Lady Brigid's 
 list, the while it was the Rector who was always 
 most fervently remembered in Mrs. Herring's 
 prayers. . . . 
 
 The days spun in a whirl of delighted excitement 
 for Desiree, punctuated by visits to Churchamp- 
 ton, a bustling seaport town which contrasted 
 vividly with the half -forgotten sleepiness of Bressy. 
 
 Mrs. Brabazon, a quiet woman with a manner 
 which brought her in almost as much custom as her 
 clever fingers, had set up in Bressy about fifteen 
 years previously. She was not the widow that 
 most people supposed her to be, but only Lady 
 Brigid knew that she had been cruelly deserted by 
 her husband, and left penniless, with a delicate 
 little girl to support. Touched to the core of her 
 warm heart, Lady Brigid had exerted her influence 
 to the utmost in Mrs. Brabazon's favour. The 
 dressmaking business grew until rising ambition 
 made the woman leave Bressy to set up on a larger 
 scale in Churchampton, adding millinery, lingerie, 
 and various accessories to her original undertak- 
 ing. She often declared that she wished she 
 could afford to dress Lady Brigid and Miss Hasard 
 for nothing "they set off their clothes so!" 
 But one must live and a delicate child needed 
 luxuries as well as necessaries. 
 
 For the past year or so Desiree had been in 
 the habit of getting everything she needed through 
 Mrs. Brabazon. ... It was so much easier 
 than writing to shops. . . . But Mrs. Brabazon
 
 The Star Sapphire 93 
 
 had no anxiety. She knew that her money was 
 safe, that she had only to refer the matter to 
 Lady Brigid to receive a cheque by return of post. 
 She could afford to give her favourite customer 
 as long credit as she wished, especially in view of 
 this new order Lady Brigid's order, a commis- 
 sion into which she threw herself heart and soul. 
 It was a delight to her artistic instincts to dress 
 Desiree. 
 
 Lady Brigid's tentative suggestion that perhaps 
 Miss Knight of Bressy might make some of 
 Desiree's less important frocks had received an 
 emphatic negative. 
 
 "All frocks are important for London, " Desir6e 
 declared. "I'll have as few as possible, but they 
 must be good. You don't want me to look 
 frumpish or provincial, do you? It would only 
 reflect on you! I'll be an angel of economy if 
 you'll let me get all my things at Mrs. Brabazon's. " 
 
 Lady Brigid smiled and yielded as usual ; but her 
 cheeks bore those red spots of excitement, which 
 worry always produced, when she met Desiree 
 at Mrs. Brabazon's after a short but trying inter- 
 view with her lawyer, Mr. Barnet. 
 
 She had carried her point : and now awaited the 
 result of her investment. The Sheba dividends 
 were to be paid in June: double what she had 
 lately received! . . . How curiously narrow the 
 legal outlook was! Certainty, dull, cramping 
 certainty was what it stood for. Glorious possi- 
 bilities, splendid chances for the courageous to
 
 94 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 snatch at, never came within its purblind view. 
 Mr. Barnet was reliable, no doubt, but he had 
 no imagination. No lawyer had. No honest one, 
 at least, she supposed. It just occurred to her 
 that perhaps the dishonest ones suffered from a 
 plethora of that desirable quality ! . . . 
 
 On Sunday after morning service, Leander 
 Wing, bareheaded as usual, hung about Desiree's 
 steps until she had dispensed her usual greetings 
 to her friends. 
 
 "If you've really forgiven me you'll let me walk 
 as far as the Rectory gate with you," he murmured. 
 
 "You may if you like," she answered in her 
 clear voice. "I hope you apologized to Mrs. 
 Howard for not turning up the other day. " 
 
 "It was you who should have apologized," he 
 said, with a queer little laugh. "It was all your 
 fault." 
 
 Desiree laughed too. It was a relief to find him 
 normal again. "You're all the same from Adam 
 downwards!" 
 
 "And you from Eve, with your apples of desire ! " 
 
 "They made the Garden of Eden forbidden 
 ground for us, " said Desiree quickly. "We won't 
 trespass there, please. " 
 
 "As you wish. You can't forbid thoughts from 
 wandering, though. No wall is high enough to 
 keep those out, no notice-board sufficiently for- 
 bidding. " Suddenly his tone changed. He 
 looked down searchingly at her. ' ' Are you really go- 
 ing away? Or did you say it just to frighten me? "
 
 The Star Sapphire 95 
 
 The hunger in his voice and eyes touched De- 
 siree to a careless pity beneath her own bubbling 
 happiness. 
 
 "I really am going away. Why should I want 
 to frighten you, as you say ? It was you who ' ' 
 
 "Don't! . . . Where are you going?" 
 
 "To London." 
 
 The unconcealed joy in her voice pricked him to 
 a troubling vision of the possibilities which a visit 
 to London held. 
 
 "Are you coming back?" he cried hoarsely. 
 
 "Of course I'm coming back." Her tone was 
 cool, and light as dew. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "When my visit is over." 
 
 "When will that be?" 
 
 "It's on the lap of the gods!" 
 
 "You're happy about it?" 
 
 "So happy that I want to sing with the birds. " 
 She glanced over her shoulder. No one was 
 nearer than Mrs. Mawson, who stood at her gate 
 peering after them. Tilting her head upwards, 
 Desiree began to sing, half under her breath. 
 Her voice was silver as a robin's pipe: her throat 
 quivered like a bird's. 
 
 "The throstle flutes from topmost branch 
 
 And sets his whole heart free : 
 The lark from near the gates of heaven 
 
 Shakes down his ecstasy. 
 The wood-dove croons upon the pine
 
 96 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Her message day by day. 
 She calls you to the deep green wood 
 And coos, "Tis good, 'tis good, 'tis good!' 
 
 Cast here your care away!" 
 
 "And yet you are leaving it all for the roar and 
 reek of London!" he said bitterly. 
 
 "I'm leaving it all for the joy and colour and 
 delight of London, " she cried happily. ' ' I've had 
 this always. I'm coming back to it again. I want 
 something different. Something I haven't had 
 before." 
 
 "The Apple again! . . . Well, I'll go, too. I 
 can't get on without a sight of you. " 
 
 ' ' Oh, but^- ' Desiree stopped. She was always 
 having to bite back unconsidered speech. How 
 could she tell him that their orbits were unlikely 
 to cross? 
 
 "You needn't be afraid. I shan't worry you. 
 . . . Sometimes, perhaps, I shall see you from the 
 gallery of a theatre. Sometimes I shall stand in 
 the crowd at a door and watch you going in to a 
 ball." 
 
 ' ' I should hate you to do that, ' ' she cried 
 impulsively. His words made her feel that she was 
 a horrid little snob, yet she knew unmistakably 
 that the possibility of those hungry eyes burning 
 upon her from chance crowd or gallery would do a 
 great deal to tarnish the gold of her wonderful 
 visit. 
 
 ' ' You won ' t know, ' ' he said. ' ' Why should you
 
 The Star Sapphire 97 
 
 care? What is it to you what I do? You never 
 will care. . . . Will you ? " he shot at her suddenly. 
 
 The thrust took her aback. She did not want 
 to be unkind. She wished all the world to share 
 her joy, yet she knew instinctively that she had 
 nothing to give Leander Wing, no salve for his 
 hurt, but rather a deeper wound which she shrank 
 from inflicting. 
 
 "No, I'm afraid I can't in the way you mean, " 
 she answered gently. "I'm sorry. I am indeed. " 
 
 ' ' Thanks. . . . Your little sugary sorrow. . . . 
 You can't cure a broken heart with sweets, 
 though!" He turned abruptly, leaving her hurt 
 and puzzled, until it suddenly occurred to her 
 that people whose hearts are really broken never 
 talk about them. She had not meant to hurt 
 him. When it came to real things she had been 
 honest with him. For the rest, it had only been 
 play, as with the other boys. Well, she had had 
 her lesson. She would trifle with things on leashes 
 no more. . . . 
 
 On the day of her departure, Lord Garry came 
 with a pre-birthday gift. 
 
 "I shall probably be in Russia on your birthday, 
 Dede, " he said, "and I wanted to give you this 
 myself. It belonged to my mother. It will 
 match your eyes better than hers, dear soul, which 
 were brown. One other woman wore it for a time 
 my late wife. Her fancy for it was brief, so you 
 needn't mind. I shall like to think of it on your 
 white neck, my child. "
 
 98 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 There had been moments when he had pictured 
 it on the white neck of her mother, but such had 
 long ago been relegated to the Dust-Heap of Things 
 Better Forgotten. 
 
 Desiree opened the velvet case with a face of 
 delighted excitement. A beautiful star sapphire 
 set in brilliants hung from a slender gold chain, 
 flashing its blue rays as she took it out with fingers 
 that trembled with joy. 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Ludlow, darling, how perfectly 
 angelic of you! I must kiss you for it. " 
 
 She flung her arms round his neck and hugged 
 him. 
 
 "You like it?" He put his hands on her 
 shoulders and kissed each glowing cheek lightly. 
 
 "Keep your lips for your lover, Dede. Let no 
 other man touch them. You'll be glad later. " 
 
 Desiree blushed. "I love it, " she said, ignoring 
 his injunction. "I must fly and dress now. 
 You'll lunch here, of course, and see me off at 
 the station afterwards. The Howards are coming, 
 and Dick Challoner. " 
 
 Lord Garry shook his head. ' ' I refuse to be one 
 of a crowd. If there's anything I dislike more than 
 meeting people at a train, it is seeing them off. 
 Besides I have to see a deputation at three and am 
 lunching at the Crown. I'll ask your mother for a 
 cup of tea later, if she'll give it to me. " 
 
 ' ' Oh, do. It will cheer her up. I'm afraid she'll 
 be awfully lonely. I wish she could come, too. " 
 
 "Not a bit of it. You can't persuade me that
 
 The Star Sapphire 99 
 
 you really want to drag your unfortunate mother 
 into your escapades with the enterprising. Judy. " 
 
 "Oh, mother never spoils things, " Desiree cried. 
 "She understands. " 
 
 "She does, bless her, " said Lord Garry. "Still, 
 no one understands you as I do, you flibbertigibbet ! 
 Your foolish parents think you an angel. I know 
 you're a warm, naughty little human being! 
 One word of advice before you go. Put on asbes- 
 tos gloves, if you want to play with fire. It's a 
 dangerous game, but it's been humanity's favourite 
 pastime ever since the first fire was kindled out- 
 side the gates of Eden. " 
 
 "Extraordinary how everyone's mind has been 
 running on Eden lately. First Mr. Wing and now 
 you!" Desiree was bubbling over with gay ex- 
 citemejit. 
 
 He caught a fleeting shoulder. "What was 
 Wing saying about Eden, you monkey?" 
 
 She wriggled away, laughing. "Oh, I said he 
 was like Adam and he said I was like Eve. Some 
 nonsense of that sort. " 
 
 "Adam was the first man and Eve the first 
 woman," said Lord Garry slowly. "There is one 
 in the world for each of us. I believe he's your 
 first man, Dede, though I'm not at all sure that 
 you're his first woman. " 
 
 "I hope he won't be my last, at any rate," 
 Desiree laughed, and vanished. . . . 
 
 When she had gone Lady Brigid came back to 
 an empty house and an empty life ! Though work
 
 ioo The Beloved Sinner 
 
 in abundance awaited her it was to be done in a 
 world grown suddenly grey. Noel had gone to 
 visit the people in Fish Street, Bressy's nearest 
 approach to a slum. He would expect her to 
 follow him with some comforts she had promised, 
 but she could not go just yet. She wandered 
 into the Yew Garden and sat by the lily-pond, 
 feeling an unwonted sense of desolation, as if she 
 had said a very long good-bye to her beloved. 
 It was to be a long good-bye, too. Desiree 
 would not be home until after the wedding in 
 July. Perhaps not even then. Lady Brigid sent 
 her thoughts yearning after her, picturing her 
 on the various stages of her journey. She wished 
 with all her heart that she could have gone 
 with her, could have seen for a little while her 
 joys, her triumphs, her happy plunge into life. . . . 
 Well, Dede was to have her chance at last. 
 No one could wrest it from her now, what- 
 ever happened. She could take her place with 
 any one, thought the swelling mother-heart. 
 Where could one find a prettier, a daintier, a 
 sweeter . . . ? 
 
 "This is becoming a habit, " said a gently teas- 
 ing voice behind her. 
 
 She looked up with a start to see Lord Garry. 
 She had not heard his steps on the velvet softness 
 of the turf. 
 
 "Dede invited me to tea with you," he said, 
 sitting down beside her. He did not say that he 
 had arranged his business in Bressy today for that
 
 The Star Sapphire 101 
 
 special purpose, knowing how lonely she would feel 
 when the girl had gone. 
 
 "She told me so, but I had forgotten," said 
 Lady Brigid, with her disarming smile. 
 
 "Neglectful as well as ungracious!" he mocked. 
 "That's what comes of brooding by a fish-pond 
 instead of sweeping the cobwebs from your mind 
 with the broom of memory. " 
 
 She laughed. "Fiohes are depressing creatures 
 at best," she said, rousing herself. "Ludlow, 
 what a beautiful jewel you gave the child! How 
 good you are to me and mine! I should love to 
 see her wear it." 
 
 "So should I. Camilla had a brief fancy 
 for it once, in the early days, but somehow I never 
 cared to see it on her neck. I like to think that 
 your child has it now. " 
 
 "My dear!" she cried, profoundly touched. 
 
 Some impulse for which he could never account 
 moved him to unwonted speech. Afterwards he 
 was glad he had not checked it. 
 
 "Brigid," he said gravely, "the best thing in a 
 long and full life has been my friendship with 
 you." 
 
 ' ' Oh, Ludlow, has it really ? Have I been of any 
 use to you?" Her joy was simple as a child's. 
 
 "The very greatest. " 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad." Her eyes brimmed with 
 tears. 
 
 "You've kept my faith in womanhood from 
 shipwreck, Brigid. It was your burning and
 
 102 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 shining light that brought it safely to firm anchor- 
 age again. ..." 
 
 "My dear!" she said once more, holding out a 
 warm hand. "You have made me a prouder and 
 happier woman even than I was before. " 
 
 He took her hand and kissed it. "What a 
 blessing Dede has gone!" he exclaimed, with a 
 return of his usual manner. "How she would 
 scorn our old-fashioned sentimentality!" 
 
 "I never pretend to be anything but old-fash- 
 ioned," she admitted, "and I think life would 
 be a dry and dreary desert without its oases of 
 sentiment. . . . Ah, here's Noel ! He looks very 
 tired. Come, Ludlow, we'll have tea at once." 
 
 She got up with the quickness of a girl, and went 
 to meet her husband. Lord Garry rose more 
 slowly, and followed her.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN IN THE TRAIN 
 
 DESIREE' s sense of adventure quickened as the 
 train moved off, leaving a waving knot of girls and 
 boys on the Bressy platform, among whom her 
 mother's tall figure .stood out with its usual touch 
 of distinction. 
 
 It grieved Lady Brigid that she could not send a 
 maid to travel with Desiree. Her sheltered life 
 had never accustomed her to the modern independ- 
 ence of girlhood, which she disliked as well as 
 distrusted. It seemed to her monstrous, that her 
 darling should be sent forth alone to face the perils 
 and possibilities of a journey to London. She 
 tipped the guard lavishly and begged him to look 
 Desiree up at every station. 
 
 The guard was an old friend and had young 
 daughters of his own. 
 
 "I'll lock the carriage door if you like, my lady, " 
 he said, touching his cap. 
 
 But no, Lady Brigid would not hear of that. 
 Suppose there were by any terrible chance an acci- 
 dent and that Desiree were locked in! No, she 
 must risk fellow-travellers. . . . 
 
 103
 
 IO4 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Therefore it was not the guard's fault that a 
 large young man in a Panama hat was ushered 
 into her carriage at Churchampton ; a young man 
 who settled himself into his corner with the in- 
 stant and permanent ease of a dog, hiding himself 
 at once behind a barricade of evening paper." 
 
 "Shy, poor thing!" was Desiree's swift deduc- 
 tion. "Terrified of women. Been badly scratched 
 once probably." 
 
 That his apparent instinct of self-preservation 
 was a tribute to the power of her sex she did not 
 doubt for an instant. The thought quickened 
 her sense of pleasant excitement. The young man 
 had as yet no personality. He was merely a unit 
 of the big world into which she was venturing. 
 He was an abstraction typifying Romance, Adven- 
 ture, Possibilities! 
 
 At present her own hero, that wonderful impossi- 
 ble lover of whom every girl dreams, was far away 
 upon the horizon, hidden in the golden dust raised 
 by his horse's hoofs. With the queer instinct of 
 girlhood she felt that once he appeared in view 
 there would be no delay. He would gallop 
 towards her what was it her mother had said? 
 "Terrible as an army with banners, but over- 
 whelmingly glorious in his array. " 
 
 Yes, that was how it would be; but not yet oh, 
 not yet. She thought of Leander Wing and her 
 face suddenly burned. Oh, no, not yet! 
 
 She forgot the young man in the corner until a 
 rustling of the newspaper attracted her attention.
 
 The Young Man in the Train 105 
 
 She shot a quick glance towards him. Nothing was 
 to be seen but a big loose-limbed frame clad in an 
 admirably-cut riding-suit, terminating in equally 
 admirable boots and gaiters. 
 
 "Nice clothes. The right sort of clothes. His 
 hat is a real Panama, too," she mused. "He looks 
 as if he went to Cousin Ludlow's tailor. " 
 
 Higher sartorial praise could no man win from 
 the lips of Miss Desiree Hasard ! 
 
 It was a pity that the young man in the corner 
 could not have perceived the friendly trend of her 
 thoughts towards him. It seemed to him as if the 
 newspaper, of whose contents he had not mastered 
 one single word, were of glass, and that he could 
 see through it the delicate profile, which a hasty 
 glance seemed to have stamped indelibly upon his 
 brain. He felt an overmastering desire to speak 
 to her. Women were to him, as Desiree had 
 guessed, beings rather to be avoided than pursued, 
 but this one was different. She was so slight, so 
 young, so exquisitely fair and finished like an 
 ivory, he thought, with a flash of appreciation. 
 He collected ivories. She should not be travelling 
 alone, subject to the risks of beauty unattended. 
 Someone might speak to her, might frighten her 
 some bounder ! With a sudden twist of humour 
 he realized that that was just what he had wanted 
 to do himself: that he was probably the only 
 bounder with whom she would come in contact on 
 her journey ! 
 
 For the first time in his life he cursed convention.
 
 io6 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 At the moment it seemed to him an ineffably stupid 
 rule which forbade two decently bred young people 
 to speak to each other without the absurd formal- 
 ity of an introduction. Hitherto social laws had 
 seemed to him safeguards rather than barriers. 
 Now he felt an iconoclastic fury towards them. 
 . . . He ventured to lower the paper for another 
 quick glance. 
 
 She was not looking in his direction. Chin on 
 hand, she gazed out upon the flying landscape, 
 seeing fields, woods, and thatched hamlets through 
 a haze of enchanted anticipation. . . . 
 
 How lovely her hair was under the little blue 
 hat ! The very sunbeams seemed entangled in it ! 
 How exquisite her skin, in colour and texture like 
 the petals of a wild rose flower-soft, flower-fine! 
 There would be a dimple near her mouth when she 
 smiled, he felt sure. It was a warm, impulsive 
 mouth, softly red as a child's, none of your mincing 
 buttons. He hated tiny mouths. . . . What 
 colour were her eyes, he wondered. They were 
 shaded by such long dark lashes that he could not 
 see. . . . Would she be frightened if he spoke to 
 her? There was a frank sweetness about her air 
 that precluded affectation or mock modesty. . . . 
 She might be angry. Yet would she? . . . He 
 could imagine no attitude in her other than a 
 nymph-like naturalness, an exquisite freedom, 
 that, in its very innocence, was sufficient barrier 
 against intrusion. 
 
 If he ventured on speech what could he say?
 
 The Young Man in the Train 107 
 
 Each had command of an open window, through 
 which the very air from Paradise seemed gently 
 wafted. No one could wish to shut it out. Not 
 he, lover of the open as he was : for all her look of 
 dainty perfection he would swear she was a blossom 
 of the garden rather than the hot-house. He dis- 
 liked greenhouse women almost as much as he 
 disliked sportswomen. The eternal feminine in 
 its highest manifestation was his ideal. Here, 
 newly-created as Eve, sat its realization, almost 
 within reach of his hand, yet as far removed from 
 him as if she were enthroned upon some inaccessi- 
 ble snow-peak. 
 
 Time was flying, spilling the precious, irre- 
 vocable seconds as he went, each minute racing 
 towards the moment of their separation. 
 
 With an unconscious sigh he let his paper fall on 
 his knees, and threw his whole soul into an effort 
 to will Desiree to turn round and speak to him. 
 
 Without seeming to see she was aware of the 
 whole manoeuvre. It all seemed part of the fun, 
 one of the amusing possibilities which lay be- 
 fore her. At first she resisted her own spring- 
 ing impulse to turn round and speak to this 
 personable young man with the right kind of 
 clothes, because she knew that her mother would 
 not like it. Then gradually, almost against her 
 will, his compelling gaze so wrought upon her that 
 at last she turned suddenly, and met his eyes. 
 The corners of her mouth began to twitch: the 
 promised dimple sprang out of ambush.
 
 io8 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Why are you making that extraordinary face 
 at me?" she asked, with a ripple of laughter. 
 
 "Am I making an extraordinary face?" he said, 
 inspired with the sudden ease and boldness which 
 occasionally comes to the very shy. "I didn't 
 know. I was willing you to speak to me. " 
 
 Desiree laughed outright. He thought he had 
 never heard a prettier sound. 
 
 "Are you often successful in your efforts?" she 
 queried. She was very glad that he had spoken. 
 His voice and face were as nice as his clothes, she 
 thought, summing him up with a swift difference 
 from her former appraisal. His eyes were grey, 
 set in a tanned face of a pleasant ugliness. His 
 mouth was humorous: the line of his jaw was 
 square and perhaps stern. His mouth could look 
 grim, too, she surmised, but it smiled with his eyes 
 now. His voice was charming. It had the clear, 
 well-bred ring of her father's and Lord Garry's 
 her touchstones of taste in men. It lacked the 
 slight burr of Leander Wing's or the high boister- 
 ousness of Dick's and Roddy's. It was just right. 
 
 "I've never tried before," he answered. 
 
 "I shouldn't again," Desiree advised. "It 
 might have the opposite effect to what you 
 intended." 
 
 Then, because they were both young and a 
 little intoxicated with the glamour of youth and 
 summer and delightful propinquity, they laughed 
 together with a swift sense of mutual understand- 
 ing, which set them farther on the road to friend-
 
 The Young Man in the Train 109 
 
 ship than months of casual intercourse might have 
 done. 
 
 "I shan't want to try," he answered simply. 
 
 Desiree flushed faintly, yet there was no offence 
 either in tone or glance. He seemed a very direct 
 person, this big young man: a person who went 
 straight to his point whatever it was. She liked 
 that. Her own frank impulsiveness responded 
 at once to it. She had no patience with bush- 
 beaters ! 
 
 A little silence fell. He looked at her apprehen- 
 sively. "I say, you're not angry with me, are 
 you?" 
 
 "For speaking to me? No, I'm quite glad. I 
 was beginning to feel rather dull," she admitted. 
 "Besides it was I who spoke to you a thing 
 which no properly brought-up young woman ought 
 to do!" 
 
 "Yet you look as if you had been properly 
 brought up, " he replied, with a twinkle. 
 
 "You never can tell what dark depths may lurk 
 beneath an outwardly fair exterior!" 
 
 "Tell me about yourself. Hidden depths are 
 always interesting." His tone was humbly 
 eager. 
 
 "They are only for the explorer. The forest 
 doesn't yield up its secrets to the casual passer-by. 
 Coal isn't found on the surface. You have to dig 
 for it." 
 
 ' ' But you resemble neither a forest nor a coal- 
 mine, " he objected.
 
 no The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I'm afraid I got a little mixed in my meta- 
 phors," laughed Desiree, happily embarked upon 
 a flood of nonsense. She felt as if she had been 
 silent for years. 
 
 "I should be honoured if you would tell me a 
 little about yourself," said this odd young man. 
 
 "If it pleases you, sir, I am a humble maiden, 
 born of poor but honest parents. Carefully 
 brought up, I have spent most of my young life in 
 the secluded hamlet of Bressy, and am now on my 
 way to that great and wicked city, called by the 
 learned the modern Babylon, to stay with my rich 
 aunt, and see something of life. Life I " she echoed 
 in quite a different tone, with a little sigh of 
 ecstasy. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment without speech. 
 He liked her reticence, he liked her frankness, he 
 liked her nonsense, he liked everything about her. 
 Never had he felt such irresistible drawing power 
 in a human being before. He suddenly felt 
 that he wanted to kneel before this small, slim, 
 sparkling creature, and lay everything that he had 
 and was at her feet. 
 
 ' ' Yet you can see life at its fullest even in a 
 hamlet. The big things are all there, the funda- 
 mentals, the things that matter," he said in his 
 ordinary voice, while his heart pounded and some 
 inner instinct whispered, "Fate! This is Fate! 
 She has you in her grip. There is no armour 
 against Fate, the irresistible. " "You only get the 
 froth of life in big cities, " he went on. "I've seen
 
 The Young Man in the Train in 
 
 most of them and I know. The heart of things 
 is nearer the good brown earth. " 
 
 ' ' But I've been near the good brown earth all my 
 life," Desiree objected. "I want the froth now, 
 and the sparkle, and all the frivolous, exciting things 
 I can get." 
 
 He smiled suddenly at her. His square brown 
 face became irradiated with a kindly tenderness 
 that had something protective in it. 
 
 "You want to try your wings, is that it?" 
 
 "Yes, " Desiree breathed. 
 
 "They should carry you far above the little 
 glittering things after a time," he said, as if he 
 were satisfying some doubt in himself rather 
 than answering her. ' ' But you want to try them 
 all first. It's very natural. " 
 
 "Ah, you understand, then?" 
 
 "I, too, have been young!" he answered, 
 wrinkling up his eyes until they almost disappeared. 
 
 Desiree looked at him and laughed. "Poor 
 ancient! I don't believe you've seen twenty- 
 seven yet." 
 
 "I shall never see it again," he said, with mock 
 ruefulness. "I was twenty-eight my last birth- 
 day." 
 
 "And I shall be twenty-one in a few days, " she 
 said impulsively. 
 
 "That shows the vast difference in our years," 
 he went on lightly. "You are young enough to 
 quote your next birthday. I regretfully allude 
 to my last."
 
 ii2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 / ' 
 
 "Come, come, twenty-eight is not so very old 
 after all! But you haven't returned the compli- 
 ment of my frankness. You have only told me 
 your age while I've poured forth my history into 
 your ears." 
 
 "I am but a country clod," he returned, "who 
 farms his little patrimony, tilling the soil with 
 the sweat of his brow as man was ordained to do, 
 while his aged mother keeps house for him. Not 
 that she is really aged. She's bewilderingly 
 active. I only wish she had passed on some of her 
 superfluous energy to me." 
 
 "Yet you don't look lazy, " said Desiree, with a 
 glance at the loose-knit, athletic-looking frame. 
 
 "For this relief much thanks," he quoted, with a 
 whimsical look that reminded her of Lord Garry. 
 ' ' My hidden depth is that I am really a lazy beggar 
 at heart. I love loafing. " 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 "What is it Walt Whitman says? 'I loaf and 
 invite my soul.' On downs, or cliffs, or any wide 
 spaces," he ended, with a diffident simplicity. 
 
 For a moment Desiree's heart sank a little, 
 with a quick remembrance of Leander Wing and 
 his talk of souls. Still there was nothing intense 
 or leash-like about this big young man, who spoke 
 with such absolute naturalness and sincerity. 
 
 "I shan't have much time for loafing in town," 
 she said, with a happy smile. 
 
 "You'll whirl till you're giddy. " 
 
 ' ' It would take a lot of whirling to make me
 
 The Young Man in the Train 113 
 
 giddy," she said. "Do you never stay in Lon- 
 don?" 
 
 ' ' Only when I can't possibly help it. London in 
 June! Ye gods, what waste of the treasure of 
 summer!" 
 
 ' ' I'm going to spend it, to squander every golden 
 minute of it," cried Desiree, her eyes alight, her 
 cheeks delicately glowing. 
 
 The train whistled shrilly and slackened pace. 
 The young man put his head out of the window 
 and drew it in with an air of surprised disgust. 
 
 "Why, it's Westleigh Junction," he cried 
 flatly. 
 
 "Yes, " said Desiree. ' ' I see it's Westleigh, but 
 what has poor Westleigh done that you should be 
 so annoyed with it ? " 
 
 "I've got to change here and catch a train 
 for Cottenham, " he answered, still in that disap- 
 pointed tone. ' ' I had no idea it was so near. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Do you live at Cottenham ? " she asked, feeling 
 a little prick of regret that her pleasant companion 
 was being reft from her so soon. 
 
 "No. Ten miles away, but I've ordered my 
 man to meet me there with my horse. Hence this 
 tog." He looked down at his riding-breeches. 
 "I hate motor-cars. I ride whenever I can. Do 
 you ride?" 
 
 "Whenever I've a chance, but I love cars too, " 
 she answered. "We have only an old pony at 
 home, and he's too fat to ride now, alas!" 
 
 For a moment each pictured the other on horse-
 
 ii4 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 back, seeing a satisfying vision. Then the train 
 stopped with a jerk. 
 
 The young man rose. The platform was at 
 Desiree's side. He opened the door and got out, 
 standing there bareheaded for a hesitant moment. 
 Then he blurted into speech. 
 
 "I want you to know," he began hastily, "that 
 I've never before spoken to a girl whom I didn't 
 know. I hope you realize that that I am 
 more honoured than words can express by your 
 goodness in talking to me that I'm that I 
 that you " he faltered into a bog-hole of de- 
 sperate silence. 
 
 Desiree felt touched and amused at the same 
 time. 
 
 ' ' I knew you were the right sort of man the very 
 minute I looked at you. I couldn't possibly 
 misconstrue anything you said or did. Besides 
 it was I who spoke to you ! You must remember 
 that. . . . Oh," she broke out impulsively, 
 "you're the first man I ever met who wasn't 
 like Adam, glad to put the blame of anything he 
 could on the woman. " 
 
 "And you," he said in a low tone packed with 
 feeling, "are the first woman I've ever met who 
 was the least like Eve, fresh and pure, and un- 
 spotted from the world. " 
 
 "Oh, dear, Eden again!" thought Desiree, with 
 an irrepressible smile. "What a curious similar- 
 ity there is among men ! ' ' Yet in her inmost heart, 
 well hidden away, was a certain conviction of the
 
 The Young Man in the Train 115 
 
 difference of this young man from all the others 
 she had hitherto met. Lord Garry's words flashed 
 across her mind. "Must your Adam be the first 
 man who has loved you? May he not rather be 
 the first man who ? " 
 
 The guard raised his whistle, with a searching 
 glance at the tall bareheaded figure by the carriage- 
 door. 
 
 "Bit of all right, he is," he thought. "Some 
 friend of the young lady's, likely. " He blew. 
 
 "You're going," said the young man, paling 
 suddenly under his tan, and holding out a ten- 
 tative hand. 
 
 Desiree slid hers into it. Never had she felt so 
 strong, possessive a clasp. She reddened faintly 
 as she withdrew her hand. 
 
 "Good-bye and good luck!" she cried. 
 
 "We'll meet again, " he said. "I feel it in my 
 bones, as my old nurse used to say. " 
 
 "Have you prophetic bones?" she asked. "I 
 wish I had. " 
 
 The train moved. He walked alongside, his 
 hand on the open window. Desiree liked the look 
 of it, strong, brown, and clean-cut a hand that 
 would surely grip fast whatever it held. 
 
 "You haven't told me your name," he said 
 suddenly. 
 
 ' ' Desiree Hasard, ' ' she replied. ' ' And yours ? ' ' 
 
 He let go the window and stood still on the plat- 
 form as the train gathered speed. 
 
 "Desiree!" he said below his breath. "No
 
 n6 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 other name could have suited you half so well. 
 I might have known. " 
 
 "You haven't told me yours," she called to 
 him. 
 
 He said something which the rising rattle of the 
 train prevented her from hearing. In a moment 
 the platform swerved out of sight, leaving her with 
 a vivid impression of the tall bareheaded figure 
 in the sunshine, holding her eyes with his until the 
 train swept her from view. 
 
 She sank back into her seat with a sigh that 
 was more than half regret. She sincerely hoped 
 that his words would come true and that they 
 might meet again. Instinctively she felt that he 
 was the sort of man her mother and father would 
 like. He would like them, too, she was sure. 
 He was rather un-modern: perhaps even a little 
 old-fashioned. He gave an impression of gentle 
 protectiveness through his strength. He had un- 
 derstanding, too, that inestimable, undefinable 
 quality. In short he was a dear! Hitherto 
 Desiree's highest term of praise for man or boy 
 was to dub him a lamb, but though the brown 
 young man might possibly have many lamb-like 
 qualities he soared above mere lambhood to 
 something which merited a stronger phrase. . . . 
 Yes, she would be very glad if his bones were 
 really prophetic! She would like to see him 
 again. . . . Suddenly she thought of him on his 
 horse, riding through the scented air of the clean, 
 green country. He would have a good seat
 
 The Young Man in the Train 117 
 
 and perfect hands. ... He was just the sort 
 of man who would come galloping. . . . 
 
 With a swift blush she pulled her thoughts 
 together, and turned them towards the unrealized 
 pleasures of the future. She meant to wring 
 every possible ounce of enjoyment out of them. 
 
 Her previous visits to London had been of the 
 country cousin order. Her aunt's town house had 
 never been open when she and her mother were 
 there. It was two years since she had even 
 been to Frayne. She had tried her wings in the 
 country. 
 
 Now she was ready for a real flight.
 
 LADY MONICA BLAND offered a marked con- 
 trast to her sister Brigid. 
 
 Where necessity had spurred the elder sister 
 to a gracious activity the lack of it had lulled 
 the younger to a placid apathy. She did not 
 mind what any one did so long as they did not 
 worry her. She carried her husband's motto 
 "Live and let live" almost to excess, allow- 
 ing her children a latitude which Brigid Hasard 
 deplored. 
 
 Only on one point was she inflexible. She 
 required perfect service from those in her employ- 
 ment. Everything had been so haphazard and 
 casual in her early youth that, from the time of her 
 marriage, she determined that she would have no 
 more of it. She demanded the best of attendance 
 and she got it. She was an exacting mistress, an 
 indulgent mother, and a comfortable wife. 
 
 Fair, large, and auburn, she sailed through her 
 days on a waft of amiable indolence : pleased that 
 those around her should be pleased (always except- 
 ing the servants whom she really did not regard 
 
 118
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 119 
 
 altogether as human beings), letting her girls do 
 just as they liked, and spoiling her boys, on whom 
 most of her affection was lavished. 
 
 Gillian, the elder girl, was twenty-four, large, 
 cream, and red-gold as her mother had been at her 
 age. Judith, just twenty-three, was of a different 
 type, dark, thin, distinguished. Her hair had red 
 lights and her eyes the red gleams of a highly- 
 strung, spirited thoroughbred. 
 
 "You could ride Judy on the snaffle, but never 
 on the curb, " her father often said; but as yet no 
 man had been courageous enough to attempt to 
 do either. 
 
 She had tried most things and had found them 
 wanting. Clever, but not talented, she had no 
 special aptitudes, if one excepts a somewhat 
 intermittent love of music. 
 
 She was friendly with all men, intimate with a 
 few, and beloved of none. There was an odd 
 streak in her personality which ultimately re- 
 pelled those whom her queer attractiveness at 
 first drew. 
 
 Yet she was popular in her own careless way. 
 Lady Monica kept open house, and allowed Judith 
 perfect freedom in her choice of guests, which va- 
 ried according to the girl's different phases. Her 
 present craze was barefoot dancing and the cult 
 of the Greek. 
 
 Desiree wished that she and Leander Wing 
 could meet ! 
 
 Of the two Bland boys, John, just of age, was in
 
 120 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 his last term at Oxford, and Dudley, the youngest 
 of the family, in his first. 
 
 Squire Bland came to town for reluctant periods 
 during the season, returning to Frayne with a 
 sense of relief that was almost worth the pur- 
 gatorial visits. 
 
 Desiree saw his point of view, but wonderingly. 
 * ' I suppose the true lover of turnips can never be 
 satisfied with asparagus, " she said to herself when 
 her Uncle John pinched her cheeks and made fool- 
 ish jokes about her roses drooping for want of 
 country air. 
 
 She liked him, as she liked any one who was 
 kind to her, but she often wondered how Aunt 
 Monica could ever have married him. 
 
 "They have nothing to talk about," she thought. 
 4 ' I should like always to have things to talk about 
 with the man I marry. " 
 
 She said as much once to Judith, who replied 
 with a queer little chuckle: 
 
 "There's no fear that you won't always have 
 plenty to talk about to men, whether you marry 
 them or not." 
 
 "Them?" echoed Desiree, wrinkling up her 
 nose. "I'm not a' Mormon, Judy!" 
 
 They laughed. It was easy to laugh when one 
 was young and the world so full of amusing, delight- 
 ful, exciting things. 
 
 Life spun a tissue of golden days for Desiree, 
 hung with diamond moments. Her heart danced 
 even when her feet did not. She went here, there,
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 121 
 
 and everywhere. Balls, dinners, receptions, small 
 and intimate dances, concerts, gay little theatre 
 and supper parties, the opera, river-parties, sun- 
 light and moonlight. Ranelagh, Hurlingham, 
 Ascot all imaginable delights were hers. If she 
 did not create the sensation or achieve the triumph 
 which her mother had fondly pictured, she had a 
 very excellent time indeed, and quite as much 
 admiration as was good for her. 
 
 She met scores of men, young, middle-aged, and 
 old. Those in the two latter categories fell instant 
 victims to her charm and freshness: those in the 
 former were more wary, owing to her lack of 
 fortune. She met every possible variety of them 
 the expensive, the dull, the amusing, the rich, 
 the impecunious, the clever ranging as she did 
 in Judith's wake from Society to Upper Bohemia, 
 and back again. The Society young men had a 
 certain sameness which was lacking in the Upper 
 Bohemians, who possessed a variety of type which 
 was refreshing to Desiree as long as she did not 
 remember Leander Wing and the Bluebell Wood. 
 
 A young and fashionable poet wrote a lyric to 
 her sea-blue eyes which an equally young and not 
 quite as fashionable musician set to music and sang 
 at her, with all that was left of his frittered heart. 
 A little train of men always surrounded her, and 
 just before the end of the season she had what her 
 Aunt Monica called "two excellent offers" both 
 of which she refused. 
 
 There was no secrecy about them: no privacy
 
 122 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 even. They had been anticipated and discussed 
 by Lady Monica and Judith in a way that made 
 Desiree's cheeks burn and her heart swell with a 
 sense of outrage and rebellion. It would have 
 taken a veritable passion to surmount such cool 
 dissection, and not even the fringe of the girl's 
 senses had been fluttered. She felt flattered at 
 the tribute and sorry for giving pain, but her head 
 remained unturned, and her heart untouched. 
 There was something lacking in all of them. They 
 fox-trotted. There was no faintest suggestion of 
 an army with banners. Her own little pennon 
 was more awe-inspiring than their feebly fluttered 
 flags of truce. 
 
 "Not even the nicest of them, lambs though 
 they are, is to be compared with my young man in 
 the train, " she told herself. 
 
 It was significant that not in their most intimate 
 moments did she mention him to Judith, who had 
 a knack of pulling things to pieces, and leaving 
 nothing but valueless fragments. 
 
 Her mother wrote often and at length. No 
 word of the loneliness she felt ever crept into the 
 budgets of homely news. One item concerned 
 Leander Wing. 
 
 "Are all geniuses as erratic as he is, I wonder? 
 You ought to know, for you seem to have met 
 several! The moment your father finally gave 
 him the commission for the screen (you know how 
 he has set his dear heart on it) Mr. Wing packed 
 up his things and went off to London! He said
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 123 
 
 that the country quiet was getting on his nerves 
 and that he could work better in an atmosphere 
 of work. Shortly after he left, Tessie Hart, Mrs. 
 Bolton's niece, went away, too. I can't help 
 wondering if there is any connection between the 
 two events. However, the girl lives in London. 
 She is a typist somewhere, I believe. " 
 
 The last few sentences were characteristic of 
 Lady Brigid. Fearing that her deduction may 
 have seemed uncharitable (and who shall say 
 with what intent it had been penned, so complex 
 are the workings of the human mind ?) she has- 
 tened to palliate it with the assertion that the girl 
 had only gone home ! 
 
 Desiree frowned at the thought of Leander Wing 
 being in town, then smiled. A swift longing for 
 her mother's face and the loved home atmosphere 
 came over her, dimming her brightness as mist 
 dims a mirror. In spite of the glorious time 
 she was having there was no place like home, 
 really, and no one in the world like her mother 
 and her dear persistent saint of a dad. For a 
 moment she had an absurd longing to pack her 
 boxes and flee back to Bressy. Then Judith came 
 into the room with an invitation card in her hand. 
 
 "Great rag at the Talbots' on the 2d, " she 
 announced. "Fancy dress, eighteenth century, 
 any country. Mimi fancies herself poudree. 
 That's why she chose such a dear old rococo period ! 
 I shall go as a Spanish dancer. What did Spanish 
 dancers wear in the eighteenth < century, Dede?
 
 124 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 You must go as a Trianon shepherdess. It's 
 just your style. Come along to Anne Silke's. 
 She'll run us up something in a hurry that will 
 have a touch of originality, too. I must say they 
 haven't given us very much time. " 
 
 "I suppose the sailor brother has come home 
 sooner than they expected, " Desiree said, slipping 
 her mother's letter into her pocket, and forgetting 
 all about Leander Wing and her desire for flight. 
 "A Trianon shepherdess sounds perfectly fascinat- 
 ing. I loved the Trianon better than anything 
 else at Versailles. I used to persuade Mile. 
 Pichon to take us there as often as I could while I 
 was at St. Cloud." 
 
 "You'd better get Anne Silke to make you a 
 frock for the Percivals' show while you're about it. 
 You haven't got a decent rag left. " 
 
 ' ' No, " Desiree admitted ruefully. ' ' I was afraid 
 they were all beginning to look distinctly passee, 
 poor things. Is Anne Silke very expensive?" 
 
 "Oh, no, quite reasonable," answered Judith, 
 who had a dress allowance of two hundred a year, 
 and grumbled at it. ' ' You ought to get one of her 
 embroidered muslins, too. She makes a specialty 
 of washing-frocks. One can't have too many, you 
 know, and you'll find them awfully useful at 
 Frayne. " 
 
 "I think I've plenty," said Desiree, in a rather 
 small voice. "If I want any I'll write to Mrs. 
 Brabazon, mother's woman in Churchampton, to 
 send me some country cottons. "
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 125 
 
 "Oh, just as you like," said Judith carelessly. 
 "She's made you some awfully decent things, I 
 must say, and I expect, like myself, you're always 
 hard up. . . . Why don't you play bridge?" she 
 thrust suddenly at her. "At Auction one can win 
 quite a lot, and it comes in pretty useful. " 
 
 "I hate cards," cried Desiree. "They always 
 make me feel sleepy. " 
 
 "If that's your attitude, cut bridge by all 
 means," Judith laughed. "Put on your hat and 
 come and watch my attempts to turn Anne Silke's 
 smooth black hair grey! She hates me like 
 poison, but she likes dressing me, and she knows 
 I always pay her in the end. Or at least father 
 does. He's always having to fish me out of debt, 
 but it's his own fault, when he gives me such a 
 wretched allowance. " 
 
 In the end! Desiree gave a little sigh. She 
 knew that although her mother had paid for her 
 London trousseau, a big margin of debt must 
 remain. She wished she could be like Judy and 
 not mind. Her "wretched allowance" would 
 amply satisfy her, she thought. Of course she 
 would pay in the end, too. Her mother would help 
 her as usual. She thrust away the thought now, 
 determined to enjoy her visit to the full. After- 
 wards ? Afterwards could take care, of itself. 
 She ran away to get her hat, and ordered two frocks 
 at Anne Silke's. She felt a little glow because she 
 resisted the embroidered muslin, which really was a 
 dream.
 
 126 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 For a time she watched nervously for Leander 
 Wing in crowded places, but if his eyes burned on 
 her from gallery or throng she never saw them, so 
 dismissed him from her mind. . . . 
 
 A few days before the Bland family flitted to 
 Frayne, Judith rushed back to luncheon rather 
 late. 
 
 The two young men who kept Lady Monica and 
 Desiree from a solitude ci deux greeted her with a 
 fire of their own particular chaff as she subsided 
 into her seat. 
 
 "I've been at my Greek culture class, " she said. 
 "It would do you all the good in the world if you 
 attended it, too. " 
 
 "I thought the mere male was carefully ex- 
 cluded," said Reginald Bray, a young man de- 
 stined to rise high in the Diplomatic Service. 
 
 "There are special classes for the mere male if he 
 cares to attend, " answered Judith. 
 
 "Does he?" asked Mr. Bray. 
 
 "I've never been sufficiently interested to en- 
 quire." 
 
 "Judy tries to cultivate a Greek body, but 
 I've often thought of cultivating a Greek soul, " 
 put in Desir6e. "It seems to me to be an extra- 
 ordinarily useful possession: a reason and an 
 excuse in one for doing anything that comes into 
 one's head." 
 
 "But does one really need a Greek soul for 
 that?" said Mr. Bray. "One would scarcely 
 think so when one looks round "
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 127 
 
 "Does any one here know Princess Pafnuty?" 
 Judith interrupted suddenly. 
 
 Lady Monica and Desiree looked blank. The 
 two young men exchanged fleeting glances, and 
 Mr. Bray, who prided himself on knowing every- 
 one, asked: 
 
 "What Princess Pafnuty?" 
 
 "There is only one, as far as I know," Judith 
 answered. "She comes to my Greek class. She 
 is the most intensely alive person I've ever met. 
 Not young, but full of the most extraordinary vi- 
 tality. I've asked her down to Frayne for a week, 
 Mother. Do you mind? I don't believe she'd 
 be able to stand more of the country than that. " 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind," answered Lady Monica, 
 with a lymphatic tolerance, "so long as she's 
 respectable. Is she respectable, Judy?" 
 
 '"I'm sure I don't know," Judith answered. 
 "What on earth does it matter if she's amusing? 
 Her husband, Prince Ivan Pafnuty, is cousin of 
 that young man at the Russian Embassy, Boris 
 Ravaloff, whom you considered the most charming 
 creature you'd ever met. " 
 
 "Oh, if she's Russian " began Lady Monica 
 in a relieved tone. 
 
 "But she's not, " said Judy. "She's English. " 
 
 "English?" Lady Monica answered dubiously. 
 "If she's English she must be respectable. For 
 foreigners one has a different standard. " 
 
 "I wonder why?" asked Desiree, bubbling 
 with laughter. Her Aunt Monica was a constant
 
 128 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 source of amusement to her. She was very fond 
 of Desiree and did not in the least mind being 
 laughed at. In fact she would willingly have 
 exchanged Judith for her as a daughter. 
 
 For Gillian she had that feeling of pride and 
 flattered vanity which one has for one's own most 
 pleasing portrait. 
 
 "I can't explain why, but I know it to be 
 true," she answered. "Am I not right, Mr. 
 Bray?" 
 
 "Absolutely, Lady Monica. . . . I have heard 
 of a Princess Pafnuty who was divorced from her 
 first husband, ' ' he went on slowly. ' ' But perhaps 
 this is not the same lady." 
 
 "It probably is, but what does it matter?" cried 
 Judith impatiently. ' ' She's properly married now, 
 at all events. I've seen her husband, a bizarre- 
 looking creature, with a pale face and a forked 
 beard!" 
 
 "You haven't asked him, too?" Lady Monica 
 looked alarmed. 
 
 "No, I haven't. But he quite looks as if he 
 might be the hero of a divorce-suit, intense, pale, 
 and passionate. " 
 
 "Hero?" echoed Desiree, with a curl of her lip 
 that expressed all the intolerant scorn of youth. 
 
 "What else?" Judith laughed rather shrilly. 
 "Even if Princess Pafnuty has been divorced from 
 her first husband I can't see that it matters. If 
 she were an American none of you would think 
 twice about it!"
 
 Desiree Tries her Wings 129 
 
 "Ah, an American!" Lady Monica sighed re- 
 gretfully. "If only she were an American, Judy!" 
 
 "But she isn't," said Judith bluntly. "She 
 doesn't belong to any nationality, really. She's 
 just an electric live-wire sort of person." 
 
 ' ' How very uncomfortable ! " murmured Desiree. 
 
 Lady Monica rose, putting a stop to the dis- 
 cussion.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 JUDITH TALKS NONSENSE 
 
 DESIREE loved Frayne; loved its luxury, its 
 comfortable spaciousness, its general aspect of 
 pleasant living : but not as she loved the barer grace 
 of her own home. Only two generations of Elands 
 had lived at Frayne. It had no mellowness of 
 ancient tradition, as houses go. It had had 
 many owners since its first, Robert Gloucester, 
 commissioned the Brothers Adam in 1764 to 
 build him an house for him and his seed to 
 dwell in for ever. Alas, for the frailty of human 
 hopes! The seed of Robert Gloucester withered 
 away, and the stately mansion passed through 
 several hands before it finally came into the market 
 and was bought by John Eland's father. 
 
 Desiree loved the frieze of stags' heads in the 
 brocade-hung dining-room, the formal garlands 
 and vases of the lovely oval drawing-room, but 
 most of all she loved Jier own bedroom, with the 
 little turret-room off it, which had once been a 
 powdering-closet, and was now a white and green 
 tiled bath-room. 
 
 Still, for all her delight in Frayne, with its 
 130
 
 Judith Talks Nonsense 131 
 
 leagues of gardens stretching through flower- 
 parterres, fruit gardens, and orchards to a purple 
 line of woodland, she never wanted to live there. 
 A visit was a delight, with all the more delight in 
 the knowledge of its impermanence. 
 
 Something of this flashed through her mind as 
 she sat at her old carved dressing-table, brushing 
 her hair on the night of her arrival. It was a per- 
 fectly delightful house to stay in, she summed up, 
 but it had not the feeling, the aroma of a real home. 
 Vaguely she wondered why. 
 
 Judith knocked, and without waiting for an 
 answer, rushed upon her meditations, cigarette in 
 hand. She wore a burnt-orange kimono patterned 
 with dull silver dragons, which seemed to undulate 
 as she moved in the softened light of the electric 
 globes which hung over the dressing-table. 
 
 She threw herself upon the couch at the foot of 
 the old carved bed, one hand behind her head, the 
 other manipulating the cigarette. 
 
 "It's a pity you don't smoke, Dede," she said 
 carelessly. "It'd be much more sociable if you 
 did." 
 
 "But I feel quite sociable without it," Desiree 
 said, brushing her hair until it stood out in a golden 
 cloud around her. 
 
 "Why don't you let Marcjiant do that?" asked 
 Judith suddenly. "I don't believe I've ever 
 brushed my own hair!" 
 
 "Oh, but I don't like people to touch me, " cried 
 Desiree, laughing. "No one has ever brushed
 
 132 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 my hair but mother! I'm not used to having a 
 maid. . I shouldn't know what to do with one. " 
 
 "You're a queer little thing," said her cousin 
 musingly. "Are you people really poor?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't think so. We are what you'd 
 call poor probably, but we have everything we 
 want. We live simply, of course, but everything's 
 really all right. Why don't you come to Bressy 
 and see?" 
 
 "Perhaps I shall some day." Judith fixed 
 gloomy eyes on the ceiling and blew a series of 
 perfect smoke-rings. "At present I loathe the 
 country with a deadly loathing. I'm going 
 to stay here till after the wedding simply because 
 I know I'm a wreck and looking frightfully plain 
 and old. I envy you your freshness, you silly 
 little daisy thing! Your brain doesn't worry 
 you as mine does. . . . Sometimes I feel as if 
 I were possessed of a devil seeking rest and finding 
 none." 
 
 "Oh, Judy. My dear! I am sorry. Have 
 you seen a doctor?" 
 
 "What doctor can cast out devils?" laughed 
 Judith shrilly. "Feel your pulse, look at your 
 tongue, order a tonic or a rest-cure! What's the 
 good of that? Nothing would induce me to take 
 a tonic, and a rest-cure would only drive me more 
 crazy than I am already. I believe it's what I 
 really want, though, " she went on, throwing her 
 cigarette into the wash-basin where it fizzled and 
 went out.
 
 Judith Talks Nonsense 133 
 
 Desiree hastily picked it up and threw it into 
 the fireplace. 
 
 "Why can't you do a rest-cure here? " 
 
 Judith laughed. "How can I when that Paf- 
 nuty woman is coming down tomorrow? She'll 
 never rest unless she's in bed: perhaps not even 
 then. I believe it was my devil that possessed me 
 to invite her. You know how different things 
 seem in town. I was taut as a fiddle-string then. 
 Now it seems as if the string had suddenly slack- 
 ened. " 
 
 She stretched out her arms full length beside 
 her, closed her eyes, and lay an instant in absolute 
 stillness. She did not answer when Desiree spoke 
 to her. For a moment the girl had a horrible 
 impression that the restless spirit had burst its 
 bonds and left its silent sheath behind on the 
 couch. She ran over and shook her cousin's 
 shoulder with hands that trembled. 
 
 Judith opened her eyes and laughed. "Did I 
 frighten you?" she asked. "I was trying to pic- 
 ture what it would be like to lie still in death, brain 
 and body at rest for ever." 
 
 "I don't believe your brain would ever rest," 
 said Desiree rather crossly, for she had been really 
 frightened. ' ' We're not snuffed out like that when 
 we die." 
 
 ' ' You believe we go on ? " 
 
 "I believe we go on. " 
 
 "For ever and ever. " 
 
 "I suppose so."
 
 134 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Judith turned suddenly and hid her face against 
 her arm. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she moaned 
 softly. 
 
 Desiree went to the couch again and bent over 
 her. "Judy, what is the matter?" she asked 
 softly, filled with a sudden pity for this girl, so 
 little older than herself, who was on the rack of 
 some hidden torment. "You seem to me to have 
 -everything one could possibly desire. " 
 
 "Everything except the one thing that makes 
 life worth living," cried Judith in muffled tones. 
 
 Desiree drew back a little. "You mean a 
 man?" 
 
 "Of course I mean a man, you little silly!" 
 Judith sat up suddenly and pulled the pins out of 
 her hair. It fell about her in a dark cloud, touched 
 here and there with reddish gleams. She clasped 
 her hands round her knees and laid her face against 
 them. "Who else could make one surfer the tor- 
 tures of the damned?" 
 
 "Oh, Judy!" Some inner sense felt repelled 
 by the unblushing frankness of Judith's avowal. 
 It was like showing nakedness unashamed. How 
 could one bare such inmost intimate secrecies ? 
 
 "Oh, Dede!" mocked Judith. "You little 
 pink and white folded-up thing, you draw men 
 without effort as the moon draws the sea, caring as 
 little. How should you know what I feel, what I 
 suffer?" 
 
 "But why do you suffer, Judy? Doesn't he 
 care, too?"
 
 Judith Talks Nonsense 135 
 
 "I don't believe he even remembers my exist- 
 ence, " cried Judith bitterly 
 
 "Do I know him?" 
 
 "You've seen him. The Hardy Norseman we 
 used to call him." She mentioned the name of 
 a rising Norwegian explorer whom Society had 
 tried to lionize during the past season : a big, fair, 
 modest man: the very last person whom Desiree 
 would have imagined attractive to Judith. 
 
 "I didn't know- 
 
 "How could you? I only spoke to him three 
 times. I think I frightened him. He was very 
 shy." 
 
 Desiree had a momentary vision of the Hardy 
 Norseman in flight from the pursuing Judith, who 
 was in truth suddenly terrifying in the ruthlessness 
 of her self -revelation. Life seemed full of puzzles. 
 Why, out of all her world of the suitable or the 
 congenial, should Judy have set her wayward heart 
 upon this one apparently impossible man ? 
 
 "What made you care for him, Judy?" she 
 asked, avoiding the word love with the queer 
 reticence of youth. 
 
 "Why? Why? Why? The eternal riddle to 
 which there's no answer. Because he was big 
 and calm and safe and strong Oh, who can solve 
 the puzzle of the attraction of one person for 
 another? It's without reason: beyond argument. 
 It's just a cruel, inexplicable fact, a bitter practical 
 joke of whatever gods there be! . . . Here am I, 
 eating out my heart for a man who doesn't care a
 
 136 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 fig for anything beyond his Polar explorations, 
 and who probably wouldn't remember my name if 
 it were suddenly mentioned to him. ... If he 
 comes back, though, I'll make him remember it!" 
 she said in a low voice. 
 
 "Poor old Judy!" said Desiree softly. "I 
 think it must be much harder to forget you than 
 to remember you. " 
 
 Judith looked up with a queer gleam in her 
 restless eyes. "You think I have a personality 
 then? That I make an impression?" 
 
 "I think you are far the most original person 
 I've ever met, except Cousin Ludlow, " said 
 Desiree frankly. 
 
 ' ' Oh, that old dandy ! " A clock on the chimney- 
 piece chimed half -past eleven, and turned the 
 train of Judith's thoughts. "Here it is, nearly 
 tomorrow, and the Pafnuty will be upon us! 
 What on earth are we going to do with her? It 
 isn't as if we had men to amuse her. There's 
 the doctor. He plays quite a decent game of 
 bridge, and fortunately she's keen on bridge. 
 The Vicar, too. He's another tolerably sporting 
 bachelor. And, of course, Jeremy Vyse. She 
 wouldn't be bothered with him, though. " 
 
 "Who is Jeremy Vyse? I haven't heard of him 
 before." 
 
 "You must have heard us mention the Vyses. 
 Oh, I forgot. It was just after you were last here 
 that they came back. You remember Beaumont 
 Keep, that queer old place about three miles from
 
 Judith Talks Nonsense 137 
 
 this. Margarine magnates had it then. We 
 didn't know them. " 
 
 Desiree nodded. She remembered Beaumont 
 Keep very well, and had often longed to explore it. 
 The place had a strange fascination for her. 
 
 "Beaumont has belonged to the Vyses ever 
 since the Norman Conquest. They are as proud 
 as Lucifer and at one time were fairly well off. 
 The late Papa Vyse's first wife was a penniless 
 beauty, whose chief amusement was making 
 money fly, an art which requires very little prac- 
 tice! She was wildly extravagant, ran up bills 
 everywhere, and lost immense sums at cards. She 
 died suddenly. Charitable people say it was heart- 
 failure, uncharitable suicide. Be that as it may, 
 Papa Vyse married again later on the mother 
 of friend Jeremy. Mother says she was once 
 handsome. I find it hard to believe it. She's a 
 terror, with a steel-trap mouth, and a moustache. 
 She had been married some years and had achieved 
 Jeremy when Papa Vyse broke his neck out hunt- 
 ing. Then she found that he had mortgaged 
 Beaumont up to the hilt. She set herself to pay 
 the mortgage, let Beaumont to one rich person 
 after another, and lived herself in a vineyard 
 near Bordeaux, of all places, which I believe she 
 worked quite successfully. Anyhow, Jeremy went 
 to Winchester and Magdalen, after which he 
 helped her to manage the vineyard. Then, just as 
 the mortgages were nearly paid off, an old Vyse 
 cousin who lived near this the Lodge, you re-
 
 138 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 member died, and left them an unexpected for- 
 tune, so Jeremy and Mrs. Vyse came back to 
 Beaumont with flags flying about two years ago, 
 and have reigned there ever since." 
 
 "How frightfully interesting!" Desiree cried. 
 "What a plucky woman Mrs. Vyse must be! " 
 
 "She may have the usual heart of gold hidden 
 beneath her granite exterior, but I doubt it. She 
 rules poor Jeremy with a rod of iron. I believe 
 she made him swear never to marry any woman 
 who gambles or gets into debt! Poor dog, he'll 
 have a limited choice!" 
 
 "What is he like?" asked Desiree. 
 
 "Oh, he's an ugly devil, big and brown, with a 
 jaw like his mother's. Dull as ditch-water, too. 
 Never a word to throw to a woman. Jill and I 
 used to tease him unmercifully when he came to 
 spend his holidays with old Henry Vyse. We do 
 still. Our chief solace in the stupidities of the 
 country is ragging Jeremy!" 
 
 Desiree leaned against the edge of her bed, 
 stifling a yawn. he felt very sleepy and wished 
 that Judy would go; but under her sleepiness 
 an odd impression lurked, which she wanted 
 to take out and ponder over in solitude. The 
 moment Judith had mentioned Jeremy Vyse she 
 had thought of the young man in the train, she 
 did not know why. 
 
 "Well, I'm off," said Judith, uncurling herself, 
 and rising with swift controlled motions which 
 Desiree supposed were Greek. "I've talked my
 
 Judith Talks Nonsense 139 
 
 devil to sleep for the moment. Good-night, 
 absurd child. Dream of buttercups and daisies, 
 and forget all the nonsense I've talked this eve- 
 ning." 
 
 "Was it really nonsense, Judy?" 
 
 "What else?" laughed Judith, slipping away 
 with a shimmering of orange folds and silver 
 dragons. 
 
 But Desiree knew as she climbed into the old 
 carved bed that never had nonsense rung so true. 
 What pitiful incomprehensibility was it that 
 made people care for those who had nothing to 
 give them Leander Wing for her, Judy for the big 
 Norwegian ? She felt sorry for Judy, but repelled 
 at the same time. Some inner sense of delicacy and 
 reserve was outraged by such frank discussion 
 of what should be absolutely sacred between 
 two only. . . . 
 
 Again her thoughts flashed back to the young 
 man in the train. Was it possible that he could 
 be Jeremy Vyse? It was just the odd old-fash- 
 ioned sort of name he might have. He was big and 
 brown certainly, but though he had a square 
 line of jaw no one could possibly call him an ugly 
 devil. . . . He had such nice eyes. She liked 
 the way they smiled with his mouth. Some 
 people's didn't . . . He wasn't dull either. . . . 
 What a delicious chance if he really turned . . . 
 out .. .to ... be ... 
 
 Desiree fell happily asleep on the conjecture.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PRINCESS PAFNUTY 
 
 NEXT morning's post brought Desiree a letter 
 from her mother, enclosing a cheque for ten 
 pounds. 
 
 "I have been lucky in some recent investments, " 
 she wrote, "and thought my chicken might find 
 this useful. By the way, apropos of money, your 
 father had a letter from poor Tom Herring the 
 other day, enclosing five shillings, the first instal- 
 ment of his debt. He has got a situation in Lon- 
 don and hopes to pay the rest off before long. He 
 says it was Tessie Hart who got him the post, so 
 it shows that the poor little girl must have a 
 conscience!" 
 
 Ten pounds! What a darling she was to think 
 of it! But that it was a mere drop in the ocean 
 Desiree knew only too well ! She had not yet paid 
 Anne Silke for her two ball-gowns. She would 
 send her this money on account. The Trianon 
 shepherdess costume, including all accessories, 
 had cost fifteen pounds. There had been a 
 slight uncertainty about the price of the other, 
 and Desiree, in the face of Judy's nonchal- 
 
 140
 
 Princess Pafnuty 141 
 
 ance, had been ashamed to make too meticulous 
 enquiry. 
 
 But if her mother had been making lucky invest- 
 ments of late she would be able to help her. She 
 would not write and worry her. She would tell her 
 some time when they were alone, and she could 
 hide a hot shamed face against her knee . . . and 
 promise never to do it again. 
 
 With a twist of thought Desiree wondered if her 
 father had remembered to pay back the eighteen 
 and ninepence of Tom's debt. She was sure he had : 
 they were always so scrupulous about little pay- 
 ments, those two : so delicately fastidious in every 
 relation. She had never heard either say a harsh 
 or even petulant word to the other. The nearest 
 approach to a scene which she had ever witnessed 
 was the raised eyebrows of her father at a faulty 
 omelette which he left untasted, and the quick, 
 responsive flush on her mother's face. . . . She 
 had heard Uncle John roar if a dish were not to 
 his liking. . . . 
 
 Judith did not appear until luncheon, when she 
 tossed a letter to her mother across the table. It 
 was written in a large untidy hand, giving Frayne 
 the reprieve of a day from the expected visitor, and 
 signed "Lili Pafnuty." A postscript announced 
 that she was bringing her two baby dogs. She 
 could not live without them ! 
 
 "Pekingese probably," said the Squire, in a 
 tone of deep disgust. "I'd welcome any real 
 dog, but "
 
 142 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Desiree laughed at the look which contorted 
 his wholesome red face. 
 
 "It might have been cats, Uncle John, " she said, 
 knowing that if he had his way no cat would be 
 allowed nearer the house than the stable-yard. 
 Lady Monica's blue Persians were endured only 
 on the "Live and let live" principle. 
 
 "Even cats are better than Pekingese! By 
 the way," the Squire continued. "I met Jeremy 
 Vyse in the village this morning, my dear. I told 
 him you were back, and asked him up to lunch, but 
 he couldn't come. " 
 
 "Wouldn't, " put in Judith, sotto voce. 
 
 "He said he'd pay his respects another day. " 
 
 "We must have him to dinner when Princess 
 Pafnuty is here, " said Lady Monica. "We could 
 ask the Turnour-Bradys and Mr. Mitcham and the 
 doctor. About a dozen quite informal. Judy, 
 will you write the invitations after luncheon, or 
 would tomorrow do?" 
 
 "Always put off till tomorrow what you 
 needn't do today, " answered Judith in her laziest 
 tones. "D6de will be delighted to oblige. I'm 
 going to do a one-day rest-cure in the garden. " 
 
 Desiree glanced quickly at her. She looked just 
 as usual. It was hard to see her as the passion- 
 torn woman of last night. . . . 
 
 So Judith and Desir6e took a rest-cure in the 
 rose-garden, and lounged and dozed and ate 
 strawberries and read novels, and inhaled the 
 sweet pure air with, on Desiree's part at any rate,
 
 Princess Pafnuty 143 
 
 a keen sense of delight. She had not known how 
 she missed the country until she was deep in it 
 again. 
 
 "One doesn't really breathe in London," she 
 said. "You don't notice it at the time, but you 
 never can drink in the air like this. " 
 
 "One doesn't want to, " murmured Judith sleep- 
 ily. "London is the only place where one can 
 really live, and yet I'd chuck it all tomorrow to 
 follow the long trail if I had the chance. " 
 
 Desiree was silent. What strange madness was 
 this which had overpowered the clever, sophisti- 
 cated Judy ? ' ' Terrible as an army with banners, ' ' 
 and as irresistible, apparently. What was it 
 Leander Wing had said? "There is -no armour 
 against Fate?" Was that true? Would her 
 Fate swoop out of the blue upon her one day and 
 bear her away, "like a straw on a torrent"? 
 For a moment all her fluttering instincts rose, 
 armed against the thought of such mastery: then 
 unbidden on the heels of resistance came a swift 
 perception of how sweet submission might be. 
 Such a thought had never come to her before. 
 She had never wanted to submit. She did not 
 now. At once she was Eve Eve in flight from 
 even the thought of pursuit. . . . 
 
 The long scented day ended in a night that 
 seemed short because of its sound, dreamless 
 sleep. Desiree awoke to a vague consciousness of 
 something impending. After a moment she knew 
 what it was: the imminent arrival of Princess
 
 144 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Pafnuty, towards whom she felt a curious rasp of 
 antagonism that was as utterly unreasonable as it 
 was instinctive. 
 
 She wrote the invitations for the forthcoming 
 dinner-party in her Aunt Monica's boudoir, ad- 
 dressing the envelope of "Mrs. Vyse, Beaumont 
 Keep," with a little sparkle of pleasant wonder. 
 Presently she heard the sounds of the expected 
 arrival: the approach of the car, the barking of 
 dogs, voices in the hall, a little bustle of excitement, 
 and then silence. 
 
 The door opened cautiously and the Squire came 
 in with Clough, the Clumber spaniel, at his heels. 
 
 "You there, Dede?" He sank into a chair, 
 mopping a heated forehead. "By Gad, what a 
 woman!" 
 
 ' ' What's she like, Uncle John ? ' ' Desiree swung 
 round to face him, all curiosity. 
 
 "If you can imagine a whirlwind in petticoats, 
 and not many of 'em at that, you have her!" 
 
 "Why, Uncle John, that's an epigram!" 
 cried Desiree, wondering vaguely where and of 
 wh,om she had heard a somewhat similar de- 
 scription. 
 
 "The deuce it is! She'd talk the hind leg off a 
 donkey. In and out of the hall, half-way upstairs, 
 then down again, jabbering three languages at once 
 to Judy, her maid, and the dogs, till I felt as if I was 
 in a parrot-house. I'd prefer it, by Gad ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' The dogs ! Are they Pekingese ? ' ' 
 
 "No, the Lord be praised. They're real dogs, a
 
 Princess Pafnuty 145 
 
 magnificent pair of Borzois. Only decent thing 
 I've seen so far about the woman. Poor old 
 Clough didn't like 'em, though. Did you, old 
 boy?" He pulled the spaniel's ear. 
 
 "You haven't yet told me what she's like. " 
 
 "All eyes, and about the size of a tomtit," 
 grunted the Squire. "What on earth does Judy 
 see in these freaks? Give me a woman who can 
 sit a horse, or a fresh wholesome little girl like 
 yourself." 
 
 Desiree swept him a curtsey. . "Mais, merci 
 bien, monsieur." 
 
 "For the Lord's sake, don't talk French at me, 
 child! I can't stand it. " 
 
 Desiree went up to him and slipped her hand 
 through his arm. "We have half an hour before 
 luncheon. Let's go round the stables and forget 
 all about our exalted visitor. " 
 
 But no such Lethe was to be theirs. As they 
 crossed the hall quietly, with the air of conspir- 
 ators, there was a soft rush and flurry from above, 
 a quick patter down the stairs, and a sound which 
 was imperative though scarcely articulate. 
 
 "Pssttt!" 
 
 They turned quickly to see a picturesque group 
 on the leopard-skin at the foot of the stairs: a 
 tiny person in a white smock-like garment stand- 
 ing between two stately Borzois, with a hand on 
 the collar of each. 
 
 At first glance it seemed to Desiree as if it were a 
 child who faced them, so elfin-small were the little
 
 146 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 figure, the sandalled feet, and the pointed face 
 beneath the big rush hat tied on with a daffodil 
 ribbon. It was only upon nearer view that one saw 
 the fading of the skin from its earlier whiteness, 
 the faint irresistible pattering of Time, the endless 
 desire of the mouth, the hungry darting of the 
 large restless eyes, golden-hazel as those of some 
 predatory animal. "All eyes and tongue" the 
 Squire had called her. It was a good description 
 Desiree thought, as she listened to the torrent 
 loosed upon her Uncle in the Princess's high hard 
 little voice. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Bland, you are going out! I am just 
 in time. Take me, too. I am avid for the country. 
 I want to drink in its green simplicity. But who is 
 this? " She glanced at Desiree, but scarcely waited 
 for the Squire's murmured introduction, and 
 went on in rapid French. "What a wicked child! 
 She kills me. Near her out goes my blonde cendree, 
 pouf, like a candle-flame! What can one do? 
 If it were not for Lady Monica I should put on a 
 red wig, but how can a Greuze compete with a 
 Titian ? Mon dieu, what a world for the eternally 
 young, like me!" 
 
 For a moment Desiree thought that she must be 
 joking, so astounding was the naivete with which 
 she spoke. It was difficult to realize that Prin- 
 cess Pafnuty had spent two thirds of a lifetime in 
 saying whatever happened to come into her head, 
 and doing exactly as she pleased, with a whole- 
 hearted disregard for the feelings or convenience
 
 Princess Pafnuty 147 
 
 of her fellow-creatures, which is vouchsafed to 
 none but those of inflexible will and inexhaustible 
 vitality. She had yet to learn that this tiny, fair, 
 faded body was but the sheath of a personality as 
 tireless as a fine steel spring. 
 
 The candour of her speech tickled Desiree's sense 
 of humour, and eyes and mouth laughed as she 
 answered in her best French. 
 
 "I assure you, Madame, that I am desolated 
 at producing such an effect. I can only suggest 
 that you should enlist Time on your side and get 
 him to turn my hair grey as quickly as possible. " 
 
 The Princess shot a swift glance at her out of 
 eyes grown suddenly suspicious. Was the girl try- 
 ing to be witty at her expense, or was she merely 
 impertinent? She could read nothing but amuse- 
 ment in the charming young face turned towards 
 her, and her egoism was so profound that she 
 brushed the unflattering idea aside, and laughed 
 too. 
 
 "Good! You speak French, then, the only 
 civilized language ! We shall converse in it, if you 
 please." 
 
 "My uncle does not understand it," said Desiree, 
 quietly. 
 
 ' ' English is good enough for me, ' ' murmured the 
 Squire, reddening and moving restlessly towards 
 the door. Clough growled in his throat at the 
 Borzois. 
 
 The Princess laughed. "Ah, now I know that 
 I am truly in England!" she cried. "English is
 
 148 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 good enough for you ! But that, of course, is what 
 makes you all so adorably English!" 
 
 "But I thought you were English," said the 
 Squire, bewildered. 
 
 "I am of no nationality, but all nationalities. 
 I am a citizen of the world, a child of nature, part 
 of the universal, soul. I sometimes think that I 
 am the reincarnation of some untrammelled 
 Greek Atalanta, perhaps. Ah, Mr. Bland, it 
 would be of no use to throw down your golden 
 apples before me now ! Experience has taught me 
 to stoop for nothing, but press on towards the 
 goal." 
 
 The Squire had not the faintest idea what she 
 was driving at. He turned despairing eyes or, 
 Desiree. 
 
 "'Fraid we haven't time to go round the stables 
 before lunch," he murmured. "I must take 
 Clough to the kennels, or he'll fight with your 
 fellows. " He moved towards the door. 
 
 "Ah, my darling baby dogs, they must have a 
 run before lunch. Come along, mes mies /" 
 
 Swift as a swallow she darted out through the 
 hall-door, and was down the steps, and out of the 
 court-yard in a flash, the two dogs racing beside 
 her. 
 
 ' ' Mad ! ' ' said the Squire. ' ' Quite mad ! And a 
 bit of a mbngrel, too,- on her own telling. I'm 
 going to disappear before she gets back. No, 
 Ded6, you mustn't come, too. It would look rude 
 if we all went. "
 
 Princess Pafnuty 149 
 
 He made a bolt for a side-door which opened on 
 a flight of steps leading down to the garden, and 
 vanished. Desiree listened for the sound of foot- 
 steps, but all was still. She had a feeling that her 
 Aunt Monica and Judy were safely immured in 
 the shelter of their own rooms and would not 
 emerge before the summons of the luncheon-gong. 
 For a moment she, too, contemplated flight; but 
 the instinct of hospitality was inherent in her as 
 well as acquired, so she took up Punch from the 
 hall-table and sat down on the couch to await, 
 with as good a grace as she could accomplish, 
 the return of the disturbing visitor. 
 
 ' ' I believe she gets her vitality by draining other 
 people of theirs, ' ' she thought. ' ' I feel quite tired 
 already, and Uncle John seemed exhausted. If 
 she's a reincarnation of anything it's a vampire!" 
 
 The events of the day confirmed her in her 
 fantastic theory. 
 
 Instead of resting after luncheon, as any civilized 
 woman past her first youth should only be too glad 
 to do, thought Lady Monica, Princess Pafnuty 
 declared that she was quite rested, and all that 
 she needed was the country air. 
 
 ' ' I want to drink it in to have a real debauch of 
 it, " she declared. "You know the craving drunk- 
 ards have, Mr. Bland. Well, that's just how I 
 feel. I want to rush [through the air at least 
 sixty miles an hour. That is the only way to blow 
 the London smuts out of my lungs." 
 
 "You can have one of the cars with pleasure,"
 
 150 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 said Lady Monica, "but please remember that 
 Mr. Bland is a magistrate, and that his chauffeur 
 is not allowed to exceed the speed limit. " 
 
 "Speed limits are like men's hearts, made 
 to be broken," returned the Princess, with a 
 flashing smile. "Then that is understood. 
 You will come too, dear Lady Monica. And 
 Mr. Bland?" 
 
 Lady Monica smiled comfortably. ' ' Not today. 
 You young people may imperil your lives if you 
 like." 
 
 "Give me a horse, " the Squire murmured. "I 
 only use a car when absolutely necessary. " 
 
 "Ah, you dear Englishman!" laughed the 
 Princess, pleased at her inclusion among the young 
 people, whose mother she might easily have been. 
 ' ' Lady Monica, do you know that you are married 
 to a typical John Bull?" 
 
 "I've often suspected it," Lady Monica re- 
 turned, smiling. . . . 
 
 Fortunately for Mr. Eland's reputation police 
 traps were unknown in the roads about Frayne, 
 for fast as the chauffeur sent the car, Princess Paf- 
 nuty urged him to yet greater speed. 
 
 Desiree still felt the song of the rushing wind in 
 her ears as she took off her motor-bonnet and 
 brushed back the bright waves of her hair. 
 
 "Surely she will be content to rest after tea," 
 she thought. "I shall, at any rate." 
 
 But the little Princess was tireless. After tea 
 she insisted upon tennis.
 
 Princess Pafnuty 151 
 
 "It is waste of a beautiful lawn not to play," 
 she declared. 
 
 "But we've no men, and there are only three of 
 us, " Judith protested. 
 
 "If you were a woman of resource like me, you 
 would get the chauffeur to make a fourth. " . 
 
 "But I'm not a woman of resource. " 
 
 ' ' I am. I put my hand in my pocket, and pouf I 
 a fourth that will not shock the conventions! A 
 female fourth, and a good player. " 
 
 "Produce your paragon," said Judith. 
 
 "Ring the bell three times and she will ap- 
 pear." 
 
 "Your maid?" Judith raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "Lisaveta is my companion as well as my maid. 
 She is either, neither, or both as I desire. She can 
 fence, skate, play the piano, and is an excellent 
 masseuse. " 
 
 "I did well to call her a paragon," said Judith 
 drily. 
 
 ' 'Come, then. I play in sandals. Go and put 
 on your shoes. I shall play with Lisaveta first to 
 see how we shape. Then we can change partners 
 according to our play. You two have the advan- 
 tage in height, if it is an advantage. One thing 
 more. I cannot do with conventions or titles, I am 
 a child of nature. I shall call you Judy and Ded6, 
 and you must call me Lili. " 
 
 But as Desiree ran upstairs to change her shoes, 
 she felt an absurd resentment at the idea of Princess 
 Pafnuty calling her by her pet name, and vowed
 
 152 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 in her heart that nothing would ever induce her to 
 call her Lili. 
 
 Tennis went on, energetic, well-fought games, 
 in which the Princess leaped from side to side 
 of the court with the agility of a grasshopper, 
 until the dressing-gong sounded in the distance. 
 Desiree thought that she had really never thor- 
 oughly appreciated the quiet of her own home 
 before. 
 
 Princess Pafnuty's tongue never ceased during a 
 meal that seemed unduly long. Conversation was 
 practically a monologue. She darted from topic 
 to topic, from one flight of fancy to another, with 
 the same grasshopper quickness. 
 
 After dinner she insisted on going down to the 
 distant wood to hear the nightingales, though 
 Mr. Bland assured her that they never sang in 
 July. 
 
 "I know I've heard them in July, " she persisted. 
 "Not as full a song, perhaps, but I know I've heard 
 them. The country isn't the country without 
 nightingales, is it, Dede?" 
 
 "You can't expect the poor birds to sing all the 
 year round, " said Desiree. 
 
 "How obstinate you all are!" cried the Princess. 
 "Come with me and be convinced." 
 
 "Yes, you must come, Dede, " said Judith, link- 
 ing her arm in her cousin's. 
 
 "I'll come, but no one will ever convince me 
 that nightingales sing in July." 
 
 After a dewy scramble through silent woods
 
 Princess Pafnuty 153 
 
 they returned to the drawing-room to find Lady 
 Monica and Mr. Bland comfortably asleep. 
 
 "The night is young. How shall we amuse 
 ourselves?" cried Princess Pafnuty, in no wise 
 abashed by her failure to find the nightingales. 
 "Ah, I know! Let's waken your dear, father and 
 mother and give them an exhibition of barefoot 
 dancing. We'll have Lisaveta in to play for us, or 
 perhaps Dede would." 
 
 "We'll be charmed to see you dance, my dear 
 Lili, if you'll be so good," said Judith, with the 
 politeness of determination, "but as for me, I am 
 exhausted. I'm supposed to be doing a rest-cure, 
 you know." 
 
 "PoufI" cried the Princess. "That for your 
 rest-cures ! Stagnation is death. Who ever heard 
 of rest-cures in the country? Besides you can 
 have one when I go. " 
 
 "I think I shall need it, " said Judith. 
 
 The Princess laughed and rang the bell for Lisa- 
 veta, a dark, pale Russian, with black hair and a 
 face like a mask. Desiree wondered what was 
 beneath it. She had never before seen so impas- 
 sive a face. She thought that any one who lived 
 with Princess Pafnuty would need to be made of 
 granite. . . . 
 
 The next day repeated the programme of the 
 preceding one with the fidelity of an echo, save 
 that the Princess fenced with Lisaveta and assidu- 
 ously practised her barefoot dancing in the morn- 
 ing hours. Her coming seemed to galvanize Judith
 
 154 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 to a fresh outburst of energy, but Desiree felt 
 fatigued, as if she had been suddenly caught up 
 into a whirlwind. 
 
 At dinner the Squire, who loved a little bit of 
 gossip about his kind, thrust an item of local news 
 across the monologue. 
 
 "I met the Bishop of Farminster this afternoon, 
 my dear," he said, determinedly addressing his 
 wife. "He had been holding a confirmation at 
 Cottenham, and was going to spend the night at 
 Beaumont. " 
 
 "Where is Cottenham, Uncle John?" asked 
 Desiree, her attention caught by the name of the 
 place to which the young man in the train had 
 been going. 
 
 "About twelve miles from here. " 
 
 "And where and what is Beaumont, and why is 
 the Bishop going to stay there?" cried Princess 
 Pafnuty. 
 
 "Beaumont Keep is a weird old place where 
 dwell a most proper young man and his Gorgon 
 Mamma," answered Judith. 
 
 "Now, Judy, that's a most misleading de- 
 scription. Jeremy's an awfully good fellow and 
 his mother is one in a thousand." 
 
 "Heaven be praised for that!" murmured Judy, 
 wickedly. 
 
 "Eleanor Vyse had a fine character," Lady 
 Monica pursued. 
 
 "Do fine characters go with moustaches?" 
 Judith interrupted.
 
 Princess Pafnuty 155 
 
 "But how intriguing!" cried the Princess. 
 "Does the bearded mamma keep her immaculate 
 son locked up in the Keep lest Judy should steal 
 him? And what does the Bishop do in that 
 galere ? I have always longed to shock an English 
 bishop, but I have never even met one. Cardi- 
 nals I have met in Rome, and popes in Russia, 
 but- 
 
 "Did you succeed in shocking them?" 
 
 "My dear Judy, it would be almost impossible 
 to shock a cardinal! As for the Russian popes 
 they are all married men, so there you are!" 
 Princess Pafnuty bit her lip, and pondered some- 
 thing for a moment with a wicked sparkle in her 
 half-closed eyes. There was a short but appreci- 
 able silence, then the monologue rippled on anew. 
 
 After dinner the Princess lay without speaking 
 in a long cane chair on the terrace, smoking cigar- 
 ette after cigarette. Judith and Desiree glanced at 
 each other, not daring to speak lest they should 
 break the spell ol this brief breathing-space. 
 
 At last the moon thrust a golden shoulder over 
 the dark line of woodland, rising slowly until the 
 upper blue of the evening sky transmuted her to a 
 serene splendour of silver. 
 
 Then Princess Pafnuty clapped her little hands 
 with a suddenness that startled the others, who 
 had w r andered far from Frayne, and were lost in 
 dreams of their own. 
 
 "I was waiting for that, " she cried. "Waiting 
 until the moon, who had seen so many wicked-
 
 156 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 nesses that she has no blushes left, should have 
 lit a lantern for us. Burnt-out old creature, who 
 lives only for herself! Why shouldn't we make 
 use of her?" 
 
 "What mischief are you hatching now?" asked 
 Judith suspiciously. 
 
 "No mischief, but an idyll," cried the Princess, 
 with a laugh. ' ' I have been arranging in my mind 
 a little fete for the Bishop. He shall see the 
 fairies dance!" 
 
 "What fairies?" 
 
 "You and I, my Judy, and the little Dede." 
 
 "I'm not going to dance for twenty bishops," 
 Desir6e declared, ruffling. 
 
 "Not for twenty, but for one, cherie. It is all 
 settled. You must not spoil my p'tite fete. Judy 
 has her Greek dress. You shall have one of mine : 
 my sandals, too, though they will be rather small. 
 You will tell Brett, Judy, not to lock the little 
 garden-door until we return. We shall take the 
 small car. Lisaveta shall drive. She can wait 
 in the road for us, and we can steal up beneath 
 the old Keep, and dance upon its lawn or terrace, 
 or whatever is most convenable." 
 
 Judith's imagination was fired. Here was a 
 chance of teasing Jeremy at the moment of his 
 greatest propriety, the entertaining of a bishop. 
 
 "It would be rather a rag," she said. "We 
 mustn't let mother know, though. She has a 
 strange liking for the Vyses. Come along, Dede". " 
 
 "Oh, no, I'm not going," Desir6e protested.
 
 Princess Pafnuty 157 
 
 "Don't be a little spoil-sport. Of course you're 
 coming," said Judith. "It will be rather fun. 
 We'll let our hair down. No one will know us. " 
 
 "We must have our p'tite fete," insisted the 
 Princess, with her knack of sweeping aside 
 obstacles. "Here am I, the elf, you the fay, and 
 Judy the brown dryad. What a treat for the 
 Bishop! We shall be gone long before they can 
 even guess who we are.' Come, D6de, you and I 
 will dance around our dryad. Our hair will be 
 like a fleece of pale gold and our feet silver in the 
 moonlight. Man dieu, I am a poet! But I shall 
 dance my poems to shock your Bishop. " 
 
 "I don't think that bishops are so easily 
 shocked," said Desiree, yielding reluctantly. 
 
 "That shows how little you know. True art 
 in any form is the one thing, par excellence, to 
 shock a bishop!"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MOON MAGIC 
 
 THE terrace at Beaumont Keep looked across 
 what remained of the old moat to a park, whose 
 wide lawns were interspersed with groups of noble 
 trees. Through their interarching branches the 
 moon shone brilliantly, damascening the dewy 
 grass beneath with a pattern of silver barred with 
 black, and widening in the open to flooded pools of 
 light. Here and there deer browsed, silhouetted 
 against the shining spaces, or moved, small 
 shadows among the masses of deeper shade. 
 
 The Bishop of Farminster sat with his host and 
 hostess on the terrace enjoying the beauty of the 
 night and the fragrance of a good cigar. Like 
 most preachers, he liked to hear the sound of his 
 own voice, and Jeremy and his mother were both 
 adepts in the art of listening. They had been 
 discussing the survival of superstition: the per- 
 sistent belief in omens, even in fairies. 
 
 "It exists, and not only among the ignorant, to 
 a surprising degree," the Bishop was saying. 
 "Extraordinary that it should be found at all in 
 these days of modern science." 
 
 158
 
 Moon Magic 159 
 
 "It simply shows that people must have some- 
 thing outside themselves to believe in," Jeremy 
 answered. ' ' What else is religion after all ? " 
 
 "That's not the point," said the Bishop, with 
 gentle authority. ' ' Superstition in a race is merely 
 a proof of imagination. In an individual it seems 
 to be a survival of fetish worship. In Ireland, 
 incredible though it may appear, the belief in the 
 Good People, as they call fairies, firmly exists. 
 I met an old man who swore to me that his father 
 had seen them dancing round an old fort in the 
 moonlight. ... A farrago of impossible non- 
 sense!" 
 
 "On such a night as this " Jeremy began to 
 quote, but stopped half-way. 
 
 Into the pool of light nearest the moat stepped 
 three figures straight out of the mythical land they 
 had been discussing: a slim brown one, straight 
 as a larch trunk, with a night-black cloud of hair 
 flowing about her bare white shoulders, and two 
 elfin creatures in white and pale blue, on whose 
 ivory limbs and misty fair hair the moon poured 
 down a silver radiance. They paused, flung their 
 arms aloft, and with gestures of infinite grace began 
 to dance, bending to their own shadows, which 
 lengthened or diminished to each motion. 
 
 The Bishop's eye was caught by the moving 
 forms. He bent forward, as if he could not believe 
 the evidence of his eyes. 
 
 "But what are these?" he asked incredulously. 
 
 "These are the Good People come dancing out
 
 160 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 of their fort to give you the lie direct, " answered 
 Jeremy, with a faint chuckle. 
 
 Mrs. Vyse looked, gave a little sniff, and looked 
 away again. 
 
 "It's those mad girls from Frayne, " she said. 
 "I heard that Judith Bland had taken up this new 
 craze for barefoot dancing. That is no reason, 
 though, why they should come here half-naked, 
 and give us an exhibition of it. Disgusting, I call 
 it!" 
 
 "Oh, no, it isn't," said Jeremy quietly. "It 
 really is rather fascinating. Don't you think 
 so, Bishop?" 
 
 "We ell, pretty, perhaps, but er scarcely 
 modest," the Bishop demurred, with a glance at 
 Mrs. Vyse, and back again at the flitting figures, on 
 whom it remained fixed. 
 
 "There's nothing necessarily immodest in bare 
 feet, " Jeremy protested. . . . 
 
 Judith, in defiance of the canons of Greek Art, 
 had insisted upon bringing her castanets, which 
 she clipped above her head, swaying her lithe body 
 in time to their beat. The other two had gathered 
 long fern-leaves on their way through the park 
 and waved them this way and that in swift fan- 
 tastic gesture. The Princess's mood had infected 
 Desiree. She felt touched by the moon magic to 
 impulses of airy fantasy. Round and round the 
 central figure they tripped, white feet gleaming in 
 the moonlight and seeming to skim the dew-hung 
 grass, hair flying in pale mists about snowy shoul-
 
 Moon Magic 161 
 
 ders as they ran, light as leaves blown by the wind. 
 It was as if their feet wove a magic circle from 
 which they could not stir until the spell was broken. 
 Enchantment lay upon them, breathless in its 
 promise of joys unknown. 
 
 They were part of the mystery of the night : one 
 with the dew and the shadows, the silver lucence 
 and the soft whispering air. Desiree felt as if she 
 were dancing upon the edge of some mystic secret 
 to which the heavens 
 
 Enwrought with golden and silver light, 
 The blue and the dim and the dark cloths 
 Of night and light and the half light, 
 
 leaned down to listen. 
 
 Suddenly the spell was broken. The Princess 
 stopped. 
 
 "Pssttt!" she whispered. "Someone conies! 
 We must fly. Run ! Run ! ' ' 
 
 Desiree looked over her shoulder. A dark 
 figure loomed towards them across the moon- 
 washed lawn. The Princess fled with little elfin 
 shrieks of laughter ; Judith ran after her. Desiree's 
 short skirts were no hindrance to flight. She ran, 
 too, but, fleet-footed as she was, she could not 
 overtake the two darting figures in front, who were 
 making for the little gate in the park wall by which 
 they had entered, having left Lisaveta waiting in 
 the car outside. 
 
 She drew quick breaths as she turned to the
 
 162 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 nearest glade, gasps of excitement rather than fear. 
 She paused for a moment beneath a tree and 
 glanced over her shoulder again. The dark figure 
 had emerged from the deeper shadows and stood 
 irresolute. There was a rustle in the bracken 
 behind her, and the sharp sound of a cracked stick. 
 She fled once more, laughing and panting, primitive 
 woman fleeing from primitive man. On and on 
 she ran until the moon went in behind a cloud. 
 Then it was as if the mystery of the night caught 
 her. She did not know which way to turn. She 
 felt lost, frightened. Joy merged into fear. She 
 was alone in a dark wood, running from a strange 
 man. She had an instant vision of Leander Wing, 
 a swift inexplicable horror of the web of trees in 
 which she found herself entangled. Not for 
 nothing had she eaten of the woman's Tree of 
 Knowledge: that goblin fruit which is hot to the 
 mouth and bitter withal. 
 
 Suddenly her foot caught in a knotted root, and 
 she stumbled forward with a little sob. The 
 cracking in the undergrowth grew loud as a roar 
 to her excited fancy. 
 
 She was caught! Strong arms lifted and held 
 her. She gave a little cry and struggled faintly. 
 
 ' ' I've got you at last, you mad thing ! ' ' exclaimed 
 a man's voice, laughing and panting. "No, you 
 don't! It's my turn now after the chase you've 
 led me. " 
 
 She shrank away from him and twisted in his 
 arms. A sudden doubt came to Jeremy Vyse.
 
 Moon Magic 163 
 
 This was not Judith, this slender panting creature, 
 whose terrified heartbeats shook his hand, whose 
 soft contact fired his blood as no woman had ever 
 fired it before. 
 
 Then came the miracle of light upon darkness. 
 The moon sprang, sudden as a silver flame, from 
 behind the cloud, and sent a shaft full upon their 
 faces, revealing each to each. 
 
 "Why, it's you!" cried Desiree, happily, in the 
 sweetest voice he had ever heard. 
 
 Her fear fell from her like a cloak, leaving her 
 robed in radiance. In truth she looked a veri- 
 table creature of dew and starlight, as she stood 
 there beneath the moon's rays in the filmy blue 
 draperies which half-concealed and half-revealed 
 the white wonder of her bare feet and arms. 
 
 ' ' You ! " he echoed, in a curiously changed tone. 
 
 Gently he loosed her, his eyes never leaving 
 the face that had changed so subtly at recognition 
 of him. Only once before had he seen such a look, 
 and that had been frozen into marble by the genius 
 of an unknown sculptor : a group in a Paris exhibi- 
 tion of a nymph who, being clasped as she thinks 
 by a satyr, turns to find it a god. 
 
 Never would Jeremy Vyse forget that living look, 
 with all that it held of trust and confidence. It 
 was his accolade of knighthood, but he felt as if he 
 should have received it at her feet, kneeling. 
 
 "So you are the Elands' cousin, " he said at last. 
 "And I never knew. " 
 
 "Your prophetic bones failed you for once,"
 
 164 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 cried Desiree, rather shakily. The sense of relief 
 was almost too much. Everything seemed to have 
 taken on a strange unreality. She tried to recover 
 her poise. "Now I, with no pretensions to being 
 a sibyl, had a vague idea at the back of my mind 
 that Jeremy Vyse was you. It is, isn't it?" she 
 ended, trembling a little, half with excitement, 
 half with reaction. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' he answered in his ordinary tone. ' ' But 
 you'll catch your death of cold There is a heavy 
 dew. Haven't you got a wrap?" 
 
 "Fairies never catch cold," she answered, smil- 
 ing up at him. Wood or no wood she knew that 
 she was safe with him. "I left my lily-leaf hang- 
 ing on a moonbeam. Let's go and look for it. " 
 
 "I hope your mad companions haven't spirited it 
 away. Where are they, by the way, and how did 
 you come here?" 
 
 "We came in Judy's car," answered Desiree, 
 coming back to normality with a jerk. For the 
 moment she had forgotten the very existence of 
 any one in the world but their two selves. "We 
 left it in a lane outside a wicket-gate somewhere in 
 the park wall. Judy knew her way quite well, but 
 I'm afraid I lost mine when I was running away 
 from you." 
 
 "Foolish, foolish little thing," he said in a low 
 tone which made her heartbeats quicken. "As if 
 you could!" 
 
 A quick surge of emotion left her speechless. 
 What spell was laid upon her in this moon-en-
 
 Moon Magic 165 
 
 chanted world that she, the ready-tongued, 
 should be mute as a shy child? And yet, what 
 had he said? His words could bear the most or- 
 dinary interpretation. What moon-madness was 
 she trying to read into them? 
 
 "Give me your hand," commanded Jeremy 
 Vyse in the most matter-of-fact way. "You're 
 cold and tired. I'll take you a short cut across 
 the park that will bring us to the wicket in a 
 few minutes. " 
 
 She slipped her cold little hand into his with 
 the simple confidence of a child, thrilling him to 
 an ecstatic wonder he had never felt before. How 
 exquisite she was in her absolute trust his star, 
 his moon, his white flower of girls! Oh, that he 
 might be worthy, that he might never fail her! 
 Serene in the royal assurance of his love he strode 
 his world a king. No room for doubts or tremors 
 in this night of iridescent dreams. Uncertainty 
 was for the solitary hours, the pale doubting hours 
 before dawn, not for this shining silver world 
 through which two walked hand in hand in a si- 
 lence that needed no interpretation of speech. 
 
 They crossed the park, coming to where a little 
 stream bubbled between grassy banks fringed with 
 tall spears of purple loose-strife and powdery tufts 
 of meadow-sweet ghost -flowers in the moonlight. 
 
 "Look, " he whispered, with a quick pressure of 
 the little hand he held, now warm as his own. 
 There was nothing disturbing in his clasp ; nothing 
 but a great possessive tenderness which brought to
 
 i66 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Desiree a sense of well-being and comfort. She- 
 had always been fastidious about being touched; 
 had held even her hands sacred. No one had 
 ventured to encroach until Leander Wing, hotly 
 daring, had broken bonds, and crushed their 
 butterfly friendship. 
 
 But this man's touch was unlike any other. It 
 soothed, it stirred, it stilled, it stimulated, all at 
 once. It was, as he was, different, with that magic 
 difference which is only achieved through Love's 
 philosopher's stone, which he lends for a while to 
 all lovers. Some keep it but for a day and fret 
 to find their gold dross, while others cherish it to 
 the end of time, and who knows? perhaps beyond. 
 Where one treasures it and one throws it away, 
 there steps in Tragedy. . . . 
 
 Desiree looked as he directed. A little higher 
 up the stream had widened to a pool. Here some 
 hinds, quiet dappled creatures, stooped to drink. 
 On a knoll behind them a stag, wide-an tiered, kept 
 guard, silhouetted against the blue depth of the 
 sky. The very spirit of romance breathed through 
 the night, exhaling its essence about them as they 
 stood silent till the hinds, lifting suspicious heads, 
 saw them, and trotted off into the shadows, fol- 
 lowed more slowly by the stag. 
 
 They went on through the scented stillness, in 
 the same happy silence, until they came to the 
 wicket in the wall. Desiree sighed as Jeremy 
 opened it. Through its creaking portal they 
 stepped out into a world of reality, to find an
 
 Moon Magic 167 
 
 empty lane. The double curve of swerving tyres 
 lay pressed upon the dust, but car there was none. 
 From the distance came a faint receding sound. 
 
 "They've gone!" she cried flatly. "The car 
 was here. They haven't waited. " 
 
 "It's a trick of that lunatic Judy's," Jeremy 
 reassured her. "They're probably round the 
 corner. They couldn't have gone back to Frayne 
 without you. I'll run and see. " 
 
 "Princess Pafnuty is capable of anything," 
 thought Desiree, watching him as he went. " She 
 thinks of nothing or no one but herself." 
 
 He was back in a moment. 
 
 "Not a sign of them," he said angrily. "It's 
 monstrous, outrageous ! I found this by the road- 
 side as if it had been hastily flung out. Is it 
 yours?" He held out a white blanket coat. 
 
 "Yes. That shows they've gone. Judy must 
 have left it for me. " 
 
 "Put it on. " He muffled the little nymph-like 
 figure unskilfully in its folds. 
 
 "Please take out my hair," Desiree begged. 
 "I hate to feel it tickling against my neck. " 
 
 With awkward fingers, that trembled in spite 
 of his efforts at self-control, Jeremy gently drew 
 out the shining scented masses until they hung, 
 a pale gold fleece, about her once more. She gave 
 a little shiver of delight at the pleasant contact of 
 the silk-lined coat. 
 
 "You're cold," he said in a voice hoarse with 
 anger and suppressed feeling. "What was Judy
 
 i68 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 thinking of to leave you like this ? Did she expect 
 you to walk back to Frayne in your little bare 
 feet, alone?" 
 
 "I don't suppose she thought about it, but I can 
 easily do it. It's only three miles, and remember, 
 I'm country-bred. Besides, I've got sandals 
 on." 
 
 "Sandals?" he echoed, checking a rising torrent 
 of speech. "I'll take you back if I may. Wait 
 here. I shan't be long. You won't be fright- 
 ened, will you?" 
 
 "No, not unless you're very long," she an- 
 swered softly. 
 
 "I shan't waste a moment," he assured her. 
 "This lane leads direct to the yard. " 
 
 He set off at a run which bore him swiftly out 
 of sight. Desiree drew back into the shadow of 
 the wicket, determined not to give way to fear, 
 whatever happened. 
 
 It was still, save for the multitudinous noises of 
 the night. Now and then a rustling in the under- 
 growth of the park made her heart beat and 
 flutter. Once a white owl swooped out of the wood 
 behind her and down into the lane, with a low hoot 
 and a silent sweep of ghostly wings : a cream night- 
 moth blundered against her face: a night-jar 
 churred in the distance: now and then she saw a 
 dance of bats against the silver disc of the moon. 
 A cock-pheasant, frightened by some noise indis- 
 cernible to her, rose from the bracken with a cry 
 and loud beating of wings that startled her almost
 
 Moon Magic 169 
 
 to a scream. She bit her lip. She had promised 
 Jeremy not to be frightened, but she wished with 
 all her heart that he would come. . . . How the 
 minutes thinned and lengthened ! Surely they had 
 already spun themselves to an hour! . . . Would 
 he never come? . . . 
 
 Suddenly she was aware of a new sound, a sound 
 that had nothing to do with the wood or the night. 
 At first she thought that it must be her own heart, 
 beating its drums of fear in her ears. Then, 
 with a swift blush, she realized that it was other 
 drums, drums of conquest: "an army with ban- 
 ners": the beating of hoofs upon an open road. 
 Someone was galloping through the night to her 
 ... to her. . . . 
 
 She hid her burning face in her hands. The 
 galloping hoofs drew nearer, nearer, were upon her, 
 stopped. She lifted her head. Jeremy Vyse 
 reined up his horse and held out his hands, with a 
 swift inarticulate cry. She stepped out of the 
 shadows towards him. He bent down. 
 
 "Put your foot on mine and give me your 
 hands, " he cried in a voice that thrilled her. 
 
 She obeyed. With a swift ease he swung her up 
 in front of him. In a moment she lay cradled 
 against him, with an exquisite sense of safety, held 
 lightly in arms that gave protection and demanded 
 nothing. She had no faintest vision of what such 
 self-control cost the man who held her. 
 
 "Are you comfortable?" he asked a little 
 huskily.
 
 170 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Comfortable?" she echoed, with a low con- 
 tented laugh. "What a tame word! I feel as if , 
 for the first time in my life, I were living in a 
 fairy-tale! I shall wake presently, and pinch 
 myself if it isn't true. " 
 
 "Pinch me instead," he said, with a desperate 
 attempt at lightness. "It shan't be my fault if 
 this fairy-tale doesn't come true. " 
 
 After a little he went on quietly: 
 
 "You're tired. Lean against me as if I were 
 only your chair. You're quite safe. " 
 
 "Of course," she cried, in a tone so warmly 
 indignant, so tinged with varied emotions that it 
 sent fire anew through his veins. "I should feel 
 safe with you anywhere. . . . Isn't it hard to 
 believe that this is only the second time we've 
 met?" 
 
 "Some meetings aren't to be measured by 
 moments," he returned in the same curbed tones. 
 "I feel as if we'd known each other since the 
 beginning of time, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes," she breathed, so low that he scarcely 
 heard more than a sigh of affirmation, but it was 
 enough. 
 
 The great bay horse, Saladin, did not seem to 
 feel his double burden. Perhaps he knew that he 
 was carrying two people through that wonderland 
 of romance which is to be found here and there in 
 the highways as well as the byways of this prosaic 
 old world. Certain it was that no three miles 
 were ever covered in a shorter space of time by
 
 Moon Magic 171 
 
 steed, magic, or mortal, than those between 
 Beaumont and Frayne. 
 
 Who heeds the way when it is spread with tis- 
 sue of moonbeams, canopied with the star-strewn 
 heavens, scented like the hanging-gardens of 
 Babylon and leads to the great quest of Paradise? 
 
 Words which she had once sung with light- 
 hearted lack of understanding floated back through 
 the magic night to Desiree. . . . 
 
 There's a high rose-hedge round Paradise 
 
 With blossoms thickly sown, 
 But never a one may find the way 
 
 If he look for it alone. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware of the muffled beat- 
 ing of his heart beneath her cheek. It leaped 
 like a wild thing struggling to get out of a cage. 
 She listened to it until her own began to throb in 
 response, echoing its indefinable insistence. Here 
 was no thing on a leash, ready to be let slip at a 
 moment's carelessness. She was aware of strength 
 strongly curbed, but still strength unassailable. 
 In her inmost being she knew that it would never 
 be loosed upon her unless she herself turned the 
 key in the lock. 
 
 On the heels of that intuition came another, 
 swift, irresistible: the knowledge that for good or 
 ill her feet were set near his on the highroad to 
 that Paradise which neither could find if they trod 
 the way alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE SEEDING MOMENT 
 
 DESIREE ran up the little flight of steps which led 
 to the garden-door in the hall, to confront Judith 
 at the top. Her cousin started at sight of her. 
 
 "How did you get here?" she cried, in a tone of 
 relief. "I was just going back to look for you. " 
 
 "Much obliged for your consideration," an- 
 swered Desiree drily. There was no place for real 
 anger in her heart tonight, but she felt a little 
 ruffled at Judith's careless desertion of her. "I 
 think you might have waited five minutes. " 
 
 "We did," Judith answered. "Then Lili Paf- 
 nuty got into a panic and said we would wait no 
 more. She ordered Lisaveta to drive on. You 
 know what an insistent little devil she is. She 
 overrode me completely. Then nothing would do 
 her but that we should go for a rush, as she calls it, 
 through the moonlight. . . . 'The roads were 
 free and so were we!' . . . Mon dieu! . . . 
 We've only just got back! I came in to get a 
 warmer coat and was going to look for you. I see 
 you found yours. I threw it out as I was being 
 whirled off." 
 
 172
 
 The Seeding Moment 173 
 
 "Yes. I got my coat, thanks." 
 
 "Look here, Dede, there's no earthly use in your 
 being ratty. It wasn't my fault. " 
 
 "After all, the car was yours, Judy. I do think 
 you might have waited a little longer. " 
 
 "What is 'mine and thine' to Lili Pafnuty? 
 She says the world's her oyster, which is more than 
 half-way to making it so. ... At any rate, 
 you're safely back, so we can go to bed. I'm dead 
 tired. Did you walk back, or what happened?" 
 
 "The unexpected," answered Desiree, with 
 intent to provoke. 
 
 "I believe the Vyses sent you back, but I don't 
 see why you're making such a mystery of it, " said 
 Judith, yawning. 
 
 "Why do people always say they believe things 
 of which they're most uncertain? " 
 
 "Oh, very well, you irritating little thing!" 
 
 "It is I who should be cross, not you, Judy, and 
 yet I have come back with the temper of an angel, " 
 smiled Desiree, slipping into her own room and 
 quietly turning the key in the lock. 
 
 She had no mind for a possible intrusion of 
 Judith on her dreams. She wanted to be alone 
 with them for the rest of the scented hours of 
 this wonderful night. She would never tell any one 
 what had happened. It was too precious, too 
 wonderful to be shared with any other. . . . 
 
 Next morning Jeremy Vyse rode over to Frayne 
 with an acceptance for the dinner and an invitation 
 to tea.
 
 174 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Not that I have any burning desire to see 
 them," Mrs. Vyse told her son, "but I like 
 Monica Bland, and if she has a troublesome house- 
 party it will be a way of filling up one afternoon. " 
 
 "There are only Princess Pafnuty and Miss 
 Hasard, Lady Monica's niece," Jeremy returned. 
 
 "I suppose it was they who gave us that ex- 
 hibition on the lawn last night. " 
 
 "I shouldn't mention it to Lady Monica if I 
 were you," advised Jeremy. "It was probably 
 one of Judy's pranks, of which she knows nothing. " 
 
 "I'm no mischief-maker, " answered Mrs. Vyse, 
 an iron-grey woman with clear shrewd eyes, a close 
 mouth, a square jaw, and a tufted mole on her 
 upper lip which Judith's imagination had dis- 
 torted into a moustache. She gave the impression 
 of being a person of rigid honesty and uncompro- 
 mising ideals : and her love for her son was Spartan 
 in its self-denials. 
 
 It was with leaping pulses that Jeremy drew rein 
 in the courtyard at Frayne. The moments seemed 
 leaden until he saw Desiree again and persuaded 
 himself with the sight of her that last night's 
 events were real, and not some unbelievable mirage 
 of a white night. 
 
 Lady Monica was crossing the hall as he dis- 
 mounted, and came out to the door to speak to 
 him. She liked Jeremy Vyse and would have 
 gladly seen one of her daughters mistress of Beau- 
 mont. 
 
 "I can't answer for any of my party except
 
 The Seeding Moment 175 
 
 myself, " she said, when she read Mrs. Vyse's note. 
 "Tell your mother that I shall be delighted to 
 come. I'll bring my niece, Desfree Hasard, if I 
 can rescue her from Princess Pafnuty, whom John 
 calls a whirlwind in petticoats. She's always 
 rushing here, there, and everywhere. Judy says 
 she's running after her lost youth, without the 
 slightest chance of finding it!" 
 
 "Are they Judy any of them ' faltered 
 Jeremy with unusual awkwardness. He did not 
 know how to frame the question that burned on 
 his lips. 
 
 "Judy and Princess Pafnuty have not appeared 
 yet. It seems they went off for a moonlight ride 
 last night in Judy's car and weren't back until all 
 hours. Desiree has gone for a ride with her uncle. 
 I wonder you didn't meet them. " 
 
 "Which way did they go?" he asked eagerly* 
 "I rather wanted to see Mr. Bland about a a a 
 case of poaching, " he ended lamely. 
 
 ' ' They were going first to the Home Farm. You 
 ought easily to catch them up. " 
 
 With a hasty farewell he was off. . . . The 
 fortune that favours lovers smiled upon him. He 
 found Desiree waiting for her uncle outside the 
 farm gate. She looked up at the sound of Saladin's 
 hoofs, and blushed deliciously when she saw him. 
 
 He approached her bareheaded, with shining 
 eyes. She was there. She was real ; less ethereal, 
 but even lovelier in the golden light of morning. 
 It was no mirage.
 
 176 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "You are all right. I needn't ask. You look 
 like like the very rose of dawn, " he stammered 
 as he drew close to her. 
 
 "And you?" she said, words deserting her. 
 When had she ever felt tongue-tied before ? It was 
 too stupid. What would he think of her? Yet 
 she was shy of meeting the eyes that told all too 
 plainly what he thought of her. 
 
 "I?" he echoed, leaning forward to pat her 
 cob's neck, and laying his hand on her small 
 white-gloved one. "I saddled my hunter, Rufus- 
 and rode until the stars reeled out of the sky. " 
 
 "Where did you go?" 
 
 "I don't know. . . . My thoughts were with 
 my heart. " 
 
 "And where was that ? " she queried softly, half- 
 frightened at her own audacity. 
 
 "You ought to know," he answered below his 
 breath, as the Squire clattered suddenly out of the 
 yard behind them. 
 
 "Hullo, Jeremy, you two been introducing 
 yourselves? That's right! That's right. How's 
 your mother? Too bad," he went on without 
 waiting for an answer, "I've got to go down to the 
 village to see that confounded Johnson. You'd 
 better go back, Dede. Sorry to cut your ride 
 short, but 
 
 "Will you trust yourself to me?" Jeremy broke 
 in eagerly. ' ' There are stretches of turf as fine as 
 a race course in Beaumont Park. Would you care 
 for a gallop there? That is, if the tub you're on
 
 The Seeding Moment 177 
 
 can gallop!" He cast a disdainful glance at her 
 fat cob, all unworthy of such a rider. 
 
 Desiree laughed. "We can but try," she an- 
 swered. ' ' I should like a gallop above all things. " 
 
 "You are coming to see my mother this after- 
 noon, " Jeremy said, when they found themselves 
 alone. 
 
 Desir6e opened her blue eyes wide. She had 
 almost recovered her poise. She felt tongue-tied 
 no more. Something of last night's sensation of 
 ease and well-being returned to her as she can- 
 tered by his side. 
 
 " Am I ? That's the first I heard of it. " 
 
 "Lady Monica said she'd bring you. You will 
 come, won't you?" Entreaty rang in his tones. 
 ' ' I want my mother to see you. I hope you'll like 
 her. " 
 
 "Will she like me? That's more to the point. " 
 
 "I hope Judy hasn't been prejudicing you 
 against her," he said quickly. "Those two are 
 absolutely antagonistic. Let me tell you about 
 my mother. She is a very splendid woman. " 
 
 "So Aunt Monica said. " 
 
 "Ah, then they were discussing her. Judy's 
 tongue tears everyone to tatters, " he said with 
 some heat. Then his voice grew gentle again as 
 he turned to her. "I daresay she told you how 
 proud we are of our old house and our unbroken 
 line; laughed at it probably, but that doesn't 
 matter. Did she tell you how a woman nearly 
 lost it to us? A woman who squandered money
 
 178 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 that wasn't hers, and gambled to buy rubbish she 
 could never pay for. " His mouth and eyes hard- 
 ened : the line of his jaw looked square and ugly. 
 
 Desiree shrank within herself as she glanced at 
 him. She had not thought that that pleasant 
 understanding face could look so stern, so bitter. 
 An unexpected pity for the censured woman welled 
 within her, rushing into words. 
 
 "Oh, don't be so hard!" she cried. "Per- 
 haps she was only foolish perhaps she didn't 
 mean 
 
 "The paltriest of excuses. I suppose no woman 
 deliberately means to steal when she orders things 
 she can't pay for, or even calls it stealing to fling 
 away money belonging to other people, but it's 
 theft all the same. Dishonesty is the meanest, 
 most sordid of vices. For me those whom I can't 
 trust cease to exist. They are snuffed out of my 
 life like a candleflame. . . . But why should I 
 worry your tender heart ? " he cried, softening again 
 at sight of her paling averted cheek. "How 
 should such as you understand such as she ? " 
 
 "It was only only, " faltered Desiree, meeting 
 his eyes with a curious appeal in her darkening 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "Only what?" he asked gently. 
 
 "Only that it was rather a shock to find you so 
 hard, so unforgiving, " she answered with an effort. 
 
 "Perhaps I am unforgiving, but distrust of that 
 type of woman has been burnt into my blood. " 
 
 He was silesit for a moment. Their horses
 
 The Seeding Moment 179 
 
 walked side by side, Saladin towering above her 
 little cob. Suddenly he held out his hand. She 
 looked up at him questioningly as she put hers 
 into it without hesitation. 
 
 "Although we have known each other since the 
 morning of time we are only beginning to learn 
 each other in this life," he said very gravely. 
 "Are you content that it should be so ? " 
 
 Her heart gave a great leap. The whole mean- 
 ing of life lay behind those simple words. She was 
 suddenly aware that for him as well as for her this 
 was their moment: the seeding moment of their 
 lives that would blossom later into fuller and more 
 glorious fruition, or wither into the dust of the 
 "might have been." 
 
 She flushed under his steady gaze, but her 
 eyes never left his as she murmured: "Quite 
 content. " 
 
 Slowly his rugged brown face changed: grew 
 irradiated. His eyes shone. A great light trans- 
 formed him more fully to that difference from all 
 other men which she had only sensed before. He 
 opened his lips as if to speak, but closed them again. 
 
 She was content to wait, to rest, as he did, in the 
 golden glamour of a golden moment. Words 
 would only mar the slowly ripening ecstasy that 
 transformed their world. Here was no conven- 
 tional falling in love, no violent gust of emotion, 
 but a swift irresistible drawing together, lovely 
 and inevitable as the appointed blossoming of a 
 flower. No doubts or tremors cast their forked
 
 i8o The Beloved Sinner 
 
 shadows across its radiance. Each knew, without 
 the pretty preliminaries, the fencings, the flutter- 
 ings of a lesser passion, that Love the almighty 
 "terrible as an army with banners'! had over- 
 whelmed them both. . . . 
 
 They turned in at the park gates and rode under 
 the arching trees. The mystery of "night and 
 light and the half-light" had given place to the 
 compelling glory of day. The deer crouched be- 
 neath a splendour of chestnut trees, or wandered 
 in shy dappled grace across the sunny lawns, 
 cropping as they went the vivid grass, now swept 
 of its dewdrop webs of brightness. 
 
 "Let's see if your roly-poly can gallop," said 
 Jeremy. "Tomorrow I'll bring over a mount fit 
 for you to ride, my little Arab mare, Zuleika. 
 She has a coat of white satin. . . . No, don't 
 spoil it with thanks. It's only part of the fairy- 
 tale. Fairy princesses always ride snow-white 
 steeds. ... I pictured you on her the first 
 time I saw you." 
 
 "You are a dear!" cried Desiree impulsively, 
 touching the cob's fat flank with her whip. 
 
 His smile thanked her : that good smile in which 
 eyes as well as lips took part. Gone were the hard 
 stern lines about mouth and chin. Had she 
 imagined them, she wondered. Was he really so 
 implacable as he had sounded? Ah, not to her! 
 Never to her, s'he told herself happily. Her heart 
 sang. 
 
 They were laughing and breathless when they
 
 The Seeding Moment 181 
 
 drew rein, and let their horses walk over the 
 springy turf. 
 
 "I've spoken to you of a bad woman," said 
 Jeremy after a moment. "Let me tell you of a 
 good one now." 
 
 Slowly, and at first shyly, he opened his heart 
 and spoke as a man speaks only to the one woman, 
 of the things that lay nearest to it : of his childhood, 
 his manhood, and his ideals, of his mother (whose 
 place in the heart of a man no other woman ever 
 really fills) and of all the sacrifices which she had 
 made for him. 
 
 "Only for her Beaumont would have been lost 
 to the Vyses for ever, ' ' he went on. ' ' I wonder if 
 you can realize what the place means to us, how 
 it seems an actual part of ourselves. An unbroken 
 line of Vyses has lived there since the Norman 
 Conquest; a flame of life that has never been 
 quenched has been passed on from one generation 
 to another in that old house, whose smallest stone 
 is dear to us. Only the Keep remains of the orig- 
 inal Beaumont, but none of it is new, and it all 
 has the sanctity of age and tradition. My 
 mother felt it as strongly as I do. She was deter- 
 mined to keep it for me. I can never repay her 
 for her sacrifices, at half of which I only dimly 
 guess ; but I remember well how hard she worked 
 at our little farm and vineyard at Le Tronc, 
 near Bordeaux. " 
 
 "What made her think of such an unusual 
 venture?" Desiree asked, keenly interested.
 
 182 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 ' ' She fell in love with the place on her honey- 
 moon, and when the crash came she thought she 
 would go there and live cheaply. Then she 
 started a poultry-yard, and later rented the vine- 
 yard. I always spent my summer holidays at Le 
 Tronc, and the others at Beaumont Lodge with 
 my cousin Henry Vyse. Mother came too. She 
 wanted me to have as English an upbringing as 
 possible, as she wanted to fit me for being master 
 of Beaumont when the time came. " 
 
 ' ' Did you never think of taking up a profession ? ' ' 
 
 "I rather wanted to be a doctor, but mother 
 wouldn't hear of it. When I went down from 
 Oxford I went to live with her at Le Tronc and 
 managed the vineyard. She said I would learn 
 about land and how to handle men on a small scale 
 later on. ... It was jolly, too. After all, I'm 
 of the earth, earthy. . . . You were glad to come 
 back to the good brown earth, weren't you?" he 
 ended suddenly. "Mother Earth, that is the 
 kindliest of all the elements. " 
 
 "Very glad, " she smiled at him. 
 
 "And the little glittering things ?" 
 
 "Were just little glittering things," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "I knew it all the time," he said happily. 
 ' ' Now tell me things about yourself. Real things, 
 not the nonsense you talked in the train. " 
 
 "If you don't like nonsense you'll never like 
 me," Desiree laughed. Then before he could 
 answer she plunged into an account of her home,
 
 The Seeding Moment 183 
 
 her friends, her father and his obsession for the 
 beautiful old church, Lord Garry and his pleasant 
 humours. 
 
 "And your mother?" he asked softly. 
 
 " Mother is just mother, " she answered with a 
 little sigh. "I can't describe her. She's tall and 
 has fluffy grey hair and blue eyes and the sus- 
 picion of a brogue but none of that gives you the 
 least idea of her really. She's just a darling. 
 Quite indescribable. " 
 
 "It's a way mothers have, " he returned smiling. 
 
 "I wanted her to see you that day in the 
 train," said Desiree softly. 
 
 "You did? Really?" he cried eagerly. "Oh, 
 you " 
 
 But she had whipped up the cob and was well 
 away before his sentence was completed. 
 
 Desiree's pulses fluttered as she followed Lady 
 Monica into the drawing-room at Beaumont. 
 
 Princess Pafnuty had a "migraine''' which 
 left her for the moment only capable of bridge. 
 Judith had gone in her car to kidnap, with or 
 without violence, two other players. Otherwise 
 it would mean Lisaveta and " cut-throat "- 
 a prospect which Judith did not relish. Desiree 
 was glad that they were safely disposed of. 
 Aunt Monica would talk to Mrs. Vyse. It 
 would seem only natural that Jeremy should 
 entertain her. She did not want roving, curious 
 eyes to peer into her precious secret, or careless
 
 184 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 irreverent fingers to poke at and tarnish her 
 golden joy. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Vyse searched the delicate flushing face 
 as she held Desiree's hand for a moment, while 
 Lady Monica poured forth excuses for the others. 
 
 "Aren't you a bridge-player, then, Miss Has- 
 ard?" she asked. Her voice was curiously pleas- 
 ant. 
 
 Desiree shook her head. ' ' I never play. Cards 
 make me sleepy, " she said frankly. 
 
 The simplicity of the avowal provoked a smile, 
 which still further softened Mrs. Vyse's ruggedness. 
 
 "That's not a usual confession nowadays," she 
 said. ' ' Have you none of the modern crazes, Miss 
 Hasard? . . . Barefoot dancing, for instance ?" 
 
 Jeremy, in the background, gasped at the un- 
 wonted raillery in his mother's tone, and waited 
 breathless for Desiree's answer. 
 
 Looking at Mrs. Vyse she saw her lover's eyes 
 in the mother's face and her own twinkled in 
 response. In that moment an odd understanding 
 sprang to life between the two. 
 
 ' ' Only once in my life have I ever done any bare- 
 foot dancing," she asserted, smiling. "And I'm 
 not very likely to do it again. " 
 
 "Oh, there's no harm in it that I can see, " re- 
 turned Mrs. Vyse. "Jeremy, will you take Miss 
 Hasard round the garden ? Bring her back to tea 
 in half an hour. " 
 
 "You've made a conquest of my mother," he 
 said delightedly, as they went out on to the terrace
 
 The Seeding Moment 185 
 
 together. "I've never seen her so charmed with 
 a girl before. " 
 
 "You really think she liked me? I hope so. 
 But I generally get on well with elderly people. I 
 am so used to them. You see, my father and 
 mother, and Cousin Ludlow ' ' 
 
 "The fact is we're quite unmodern, " he broke 
 in happily. 
 
 "Prove it!" 
 
 "We've been praising our mothers when it's the 
 fashion to despise them. . . . Come! I want 
 to show you to Beaumont." His voice shook a 
 little. 
 
 She turned with him, a vision of youth and 
 radiance, to face the ancient stone house, warm in 
 the July sunshine, breathing a living essence of 
 dead hospitalities, opposing the mellow assurance 
 of its lichened age to the fleeting impermanence of 
 their youth, proud in its dignity and the unstained 
 honour of its traditions. 
 
 "There!" he said. "Isn't that a home worth 
 waiting for?" 
 
 "Yes, " she breathed, her heart going out to the 
 old, old house as it had never gone out to Frayne. 
 
 "Could you love it as I do?" 
 
 "I think I love it already, " she answered very 
 softly.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE GOD IN THE GARDEN 
 
 DESIREE'S one fear in the glamorous days that 
 followed was that Judith should discover her 
 secret, drag it into the light of day and fret at it 
 with restless sacrilegious fingers. Her cheeks 
 burned at the thought of her former dissection of 
 men and motives. It had jarred before. She 
 felt that it would half -kill her now. To couple 
 Jeremy's name with hers, to laugh, to tease, to 
 probe, to speculate? . . . She could not bear it. 
 
 But the miraculous happened. The lovers were 
 hidden in a golden mist of non-comprehension, and 
 Judy's only comment on the morning rides was : 
 
 "Are you teaching the bear to dance? I don't 
 envy you your job, Dede. 'But then you always 
 seem to attract such queer people! Do you re- 
 member little Lensky, the musician?" 
 
 Desiree gave a sigh of thankfulness. Judy 
 suspected nothing, saw nothing. Perhaps her 
 own love-affair, instead of sharpening her vision 
 clouded it. . . . 
 
 So the week of Princess Pafnuty's visit sped to 
 the night of the dinner-party. Neighbours were 
 
 1 86
 
 The God in the Garden 187 
 
 rallied for bridge and tennis : cars were ruthlessly 
 commandeered for expeditions: and as yet the 
 great word "love" had not been spoken by the 
 two who lived, breathed, and exhaled it in all save 
 actual speech. . . . 
 
 Desiree dressed early. She was restless, she 
 did not know why. She had no desire to make a 
 public entry. She evaded notice as much as 
 possible in these dream-days that glided by in two 
 distinct divisions : the moments when she was with 
 Jeremy and the epochs when she was not. 
 
 It was the first time that Jeremy would see her 
 in evening dress. She wanted to please him. 
 Certainly it was a sufficiently charming vision that 
 confronted her questioning gaze. 
 
 She wore her mother's filmy lace, out of which 
 her young neck and shoulders rose warmly white. 
 Her fair mist of hair framed a face flushed by ex- 
 citement to an unwonted rose. Her breath came 
 and went flutteringly. 
 
 "Shall I wear grandmother's pearls?" she won- 
 dered. "Or Cousin Ludlow's star sapphire?" 
 
 With trembling hands she tried the effect of 
 each, finally deciding on the jewelled pendant. 
 It matched her eyes, she thought, and made them 
 look brighter . . . for Jeremy. 
 
 She slipped downstairs and into the stately 
 oval drawing-room, fragrant with the scent of 
 sweet-peas in great china bowls. As she bent 
 over the butterfly-flowers to inhale their sweetness 
 she looked not unlike one herself. A rustling
 
 1 88 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 behind her drew her attention. She raised her 
 head to find that Princess Pafnuty had entered 
 and stood in the doorway, posed as if for a 
 portrait. 
 
 Desiree had never seen her in full dress before. 
 It was something of a revelation. Lisaveta had 
 tinted the tiny worn face to a marvellous sem- 
 blance of youth, and dressed the faded fair hair in 
 the very latest mode, thrust through with a high 
 emerald comb. The slight sexless body was 
 swathed in a sheath of golden tissue over which 
 hung a drapery of dark emerald chiffon. Tiny 
 gold sandals peeped from beneath its edge. Lili 
 Pafnuty smiled at the girl's astonished face. 
 
 "You have never seen me en grande tenue be- 
 fore," she laughed. "But I am citoyenne du 
 monde. I can shed the simple life at will. You 
 like me, no ? I see flattery in your eyes. You are 
 afraid I shall take your big bear from you, no? 
 He talks French, Judy tells me. He must talk 
 to me ! Why did I not know before ? ' ' 
 
 She seemed to grow more affectedly foreign 
 with her garb of sophistication, Desiree thought. 
 
 "You look awfully pretty, " she began, but the 
 Princess went on in her usual way without wait- 
 ing for an answer : ' ' My clock is ten minutes fast. 
 That fool of a Lisaveta forgot to alter it. It is a 
 gene to be so early. I think I shall retreat again, 
 and make a grande entree later to astonish the 
 rustics. Shall I?" 
 
 Suddenly her hazel-yellow eyes narrowed like a
 
 The God in the Garden 189 
 
 cat's. With one swift rustling movement she was 
 on Desiree, with outstretched finger. 
 
 "Pssttt! What is that?" she cried, pointing at 
 the girl's neck. "What is that? " 
 
 "What?" asked Desiree, shrinking back. 
 
 "My sapphire! My beloved star sapphire,'* 
 shrieked the Princess. "Girl, where did you get 
 it?" The small face was distorted, ablaze. She 
 looked like a miniature fury. 
 
 "It is my sapphire, my godfather gave it to 
 me." 
 
 "Your godfather? Who is he, and how could 
 he give you my sapphire?" 
 
 "His name is Lord Garry and 
 
 ' ' His name is Lord Garry," mocked the Princess, 
 her momentary anger melting suddenly into peals 
 of shrill laughter. "Is it indeed? And he has 
 given you my sapphire! How like him! Mon 
 dieu, what a droll world it is!" 
 
 "But it could never have been yours," Desiree 
 protested. "It belonged to his mother, he told 
 me. You can't pretend to have been Cousin 
 Ludlow's mother!" 
 
 "Oh, Id,, lei! I shall die of laughter," gasped the 
 Princess. "No, my innocent bebe, Dede, I was 
 never Lord Garry's mother, but I was once his 
 wife; Camilla, Lady Garry, if you please!" 
 
 "You!" Desiree echoed, recoiling. "You were 
 Cousin Ludlow's wife?" 
 
 "Yes, mon dieu, and what a dance I led him! 
 I nearly killed him, poor man. It was as well we
 
 190 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 parted when we did. ... I should like to see 
 him again. How has he worn? As well as I 
 have?" 
 
 The colossal egoism and callousness of the little 
 eager creature roused a wrath in Desiree that 
 choked back speech. So this this "whirlwind 
 in petticoats " as Uncle John had aptly dubbed her, 
 was the "tornado" that had almost wrecked 
 Cousin Ludlow's life and happiness! And she 
 had the effrontery to speak of him with a smile, 
 actually to say that she would like to see him 
 again! This smirched woman whom he had been 
 obliged to divorce! 
 
 "Are you deaf, girl?" Princess Pafnuty said 
 sharply. "I asked you how Ludlow had worn. 
 Why don't you answer me?" 
 
 Desiree faced her. Sparks shot from her blue 
 eyes as bright as the diamond-sparks round the 
 disputed sapphire. True to her sex, she was 
 instantly in arms against a woman who had in- 
 jured a man she loved, all her shrinking aversions 
 now accounted for by that curious instinct which 
 is beyond reason or explanation. 
 
 "I don't answer you," she said, with her fine 
 little head held high, "because I don't want ever 
 to speak to you again. I love Cousin Ludlow, 
 and I think you treated him abominably. " 
 
 She turned to leave the room and an astonished 
 Princess, and ran into Lady Monica, who was 
 entering just in time to receive the first of her 
 guests. Desiree was trapped. She retreated into
 
 The God in the Garden 191 
 
 one of the window-seats where presently Jeremy 
 found her. 
 
 The instant his eyes met hers he knew that 
 something had happened. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked as he held her hand for 
 a moment. 
 
 A quick sense of comfort warmed her at the 
 contact. Everything was all right so long as 
 Jeremy was here: but for the first time her will 
 leaped ahead of her heart. She wished that the 
 intangible had been put into words : that he' might 
 be hers and she his before all the world as they 
 were in each other's inmost hearts. 
 
 "I'll tell you later," she murmured. "I can't 
 here and now. " 
 
 "Let's slip away after dinner. We'll go to the 
 rose-garden, " he said in a voice of curbed longing. 
 
 How was she to know how he had restrained 
 himself all these days lest he should frighten or 
 flutter her by speaking too soon? Now he felt 
 that he could wait no longer. Not that they 
 really stood on any edge of doubt, but with him, 
 as with her, some tremor of uncertainty seemed 
 suddenly to have blown across their golden days. 
 
 "Am I taking you in?" 
 
 Desiree shook her head. "You're much too 
 important a person. " 
 
 He moved impatiently. " It's a false importance 
 if it keeps me from my heart's desire. " 
 
 "Meaning ?" she said, with a tilted eyebrow 
 and a quick happy little smile.
 
 192 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Meaning," he answered with a look that ca- 
 ressed her, "the only thing which it could possibly 
 mean. " 
 
 Then Lady Monica bore down on him. . . . 
 
 During dinner Desiree heard Princess Pafnuty 
 chattering French to Jeremy in high bird-like 
 tones. Once or twice she caught a bright malicious 
 look across the table. Under the thrill which his 
 words had given her lurked an indefinable sense 
 of uneasiness. She wondered vaguely if the 
 rose-garden would dispel it. It would make life 
 more concrete, somehow: settle her place in it 
 definitely and for ever, give her a reason for exist- 
 ence such as her light-hearted days had never held 
 before. Would it break the spell, though, or only 
 transmute it to something still more splendid ? . . . 
 
 After dinner she retired again to her window- 
 seat, where she sat half-hidden by the old-rose 
 brocade curtains. Judith saw her manoeuvre 
 with a somewhat cynical smile. Princess Paf- 
 nuty leaned against the chimney-piece, one gold- 
 sandalled foot held out to the small fire of logs, 
 which spurted blue and orange flames in the grate, 
 and held forth with intent to shock Mrs. Vyse and 
 Mrs. Turnour-Brady, who sat on the couch near 
 her. 
 
 When the men came in Jeremy went straight to 
 the window-seat. 
 
 "I should like to pick you up in my arms and 
 carry you away from all these babblers, " he 
 said very low. ' ' Can't we escape ? "
 
 The God in the Garden 193 
 
 "Wait," she said, instinctively evading the 
 moment she longed for. "Princess Pafnuty will 
 probably dance in a minute, and then we can slip 
 away. " 
 
 As she spoke something white fell at their feet. 
 Jeremy stooped to pick it up. It was a slip of 
 paper, folded into a dart such as small school-boys 
 love to make, and on it was written, "Come and 
 talk more French with me. Lili Pafnuty. " 
 
 "I'll be jiggered if I do, " said Jeremy, showing 
 the slip to Desiree. 
 
 She flushed. "If Dick or Roddy did such a 
 thing as that I shouldn't speak to them for days. 
 She's an impossible person!" 
 
 ' ' Let's forget about her, ' ' he murmured. ' ' Look, 
 Tumour-Brady and the Vicar are closing in on her 
 now. Let us escape while yet we may. " 
 
 There was a movement, an adjustment of 
 groups, under cover of which they slipped to the 
 door. In the solitude of the hall Jeremy held out 
 his hand to her. 
 
 "Desiree," he said. His voice shook. 
 
 She put hers into it with a swift upward look. 
 
 "Let's go out by the garden-door," she said. 
 Her heart-beats sounded in her ears like distant 
 thunder. 
 
 Out of a sudden shyness she broke into hurried 
 speech. 
 
 "I said I would tell you after dinner, " she said 
 quickly. "Princess Pafnuty is Cousin Ludlow's 
 divorced wife. I always felt repelled by her, I
 
 194 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 didn't know why. I do now. She made him 
 very unhappy. She must be quite old as old as 
 mother and yet she goes on like that! Isn't it 
 disgusting? Why can't she accept the inevitable 
 and grow old gracefully?" 
 
 "A divorced woman here with you?" said 
 Jeremy, rising anger in his tones. "I won't have 
 it. You must come to Beaumont tomorrow. " 
 
 The mastery in his voice thrilled and amused her 
 at the same time. She gave a little excited laugh. 
 
 "But she's going tomorrow. At least I hope 
 so. Then Jill comes back and the wedding fuss 
 will begin. " 
 
 They had reached the perfumed space of the 
 rose-garden. The night was cloudy: the moon 
 had not yet risen. Wafts of wind, scented with 
 roses, came gustily now and then with troubling 
 sweetness. 
 
 "Don't let's talk of other people's weddings," 
 said Jeremy rather thickly. ' ' Let's talk about our 
 own. " 
 
 "Our own?" She faltered and stood still, 
 every instinct a-tiptoe for flight. 
 
 In an instant his arms were round her, his cheek 
 on her hair, his whole strong body trembling 
 against hers. 
 
 "Don't play with me," he said hoarsely. 
 "We've found the biggest thing in the world. 
 You won't cheapen it by pretending, will you?" 
 
 His passion made her tremble too. Here was 
 something too great, too elemental to be lightly
 
 The God in the Garden 195 
 
 dealt with. She put up a shaking hand behind his 
 head. 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' she whispered. ' ' No, Jeremy. ' ' 
 
 "My dearest! My loveliest!" he cried. 
 
 Their lips met. . . . Desiree closed her eyes, 
 half -fainting in a timeless ecstasy such as she had 
 never even dreamed of. The heavens might have 
 shrivelled like a scroll, the stars reeled out of the 
 sky, but the two in the rose-garden would have 
 been unaware of anything in the universe save 
 the supreme fact of their love. 
 
 "You are mine! Mine!" Jeremy whispered 
 between his kisses. "Mine, as I am yours, for 
 ever and ever." 
 
 "Yes, " she breathed faintly, feeling as if all her 
 previous life had been but a preparation for this 
 ineffable moment in which he and she drew irresist- 
 ibly together, welded into one in a passion of joy 
 hitherto inconceivable. The darts and rose leaves 
 of her girlhood's god shrivelled into ashes in the 
 flame which burned upon this altar of love. 
 
 Broken sentences came between the silences. 
 
 "Was it from the first ?" 
 
 "The very first. . . . With you, too?" 
 
 "With me too." 
 
 "I wanted to tell you that night ' 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 "I was afraid " 
 
 "Afraid?" she echoed with happy scorn. 
 
 "Of frightening you. " 
 
 "Oh, foolish Jeremy!"
 
 196 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Say sweetheart. " 
 
 ' ' Oh, foolish sweetheart ! ' ' 
 
 "My beloved! . . . Say you love me. " 
 
 She shivered as she lay against him. "Jeremy. 
 . . . I can't. . . . It's too much. ..." 
 
 "To please me, " he whispered. 
 
 "Jeremy ... I ... love you. " She flung 
 her arms round his neck and crushed her soft 
 cheek against his hard brown one, her heart leap- 
 ing like a bird beneath his hand. 
 
 "My very dearest . . . I want to kneel, " he 
 stammered brokenly. 
 
 Then, sharp as a spear-thrust, the world cut 
 across their ecstasy. Somewhere a voice, at first 
 merely questing, then sharpened with annoyance 
 called : 
 
 "Desiree! . . . Dede! . . . Where are you?" 
 
 Slowly she raised herself. Reluctantly his 
 arms slackened. 
 
 "There are other people in the world after all, " 
 he said in a dazed way. 
 
 "Someone wants me," Desiree murmured. 
 
 "All the world wants my Desiree, but I most of 
 all." 
 
 Again the voice called: "Dede! Where are 
 you?" 
 
 "Here! I'm coming!" Desiree answered. "It's 
 Judy. I wonder what she wants. Can it be time 
 for you to go?" 
 
 ' ' Impossible, " he said. "We've only just come 
 out. Kiss me again before she finds us. ' '
 
 The God in the Garden 197 
 
 They clung together for a passionate moment 
 quick with the possibility of discovery. Then 
 Judith was upon them, a pale blur in the half- 
 light : sensing at once a rapture in which she would 
 never share. 
 
 "Why were you hiding?" she asked crossly. 
 "Jeremy, your mother wants to go home. "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 INTERVENTION 
 
 LIGHT was ablaze in the hall when they entered, 
 blinking at the dazzling change from the soft 
 enfolding shadows of the night. Mrs. Vyse sat on 
 the couch near the stairs, impassive in her purple 
 evening-coat, talking to Lady Monica. She 
 looked sharply at the three as they came in. 
 
 "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, " Jeremy 
 said. He wanted to proclaim his joy to all the 
 world, but this was neither time nor place. 
 
 Desiree flitted across the hall to put some space 
 between her tell-tale face and scrutinizing eyes. 
 An orange patch on the marble chimney-piece 
 caught her eye. She glanced at it carelessly. It 
 was a telegram addressed to her. With beating 
 pulses she tore it open. 
 
 "When did this come?" she cried, her face and 
 lips drained of colour, all joy stricken to ashes. 
 
 In an instant Jeremy was at her side. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 Without speaking she put the telegram into his 
 hand. 
 
 "Come home at once mother ill typhoid," he 
 198
 
 Intervention 199 
 
 read. "Your mother? My darling!" he said 
 below his breath. 
 
 "Mother! I must go at once. Can I go now, 
 tonight ? ' ' the girl cried. ' ' Aunt Monica ! ' ' 
 
 In an instant there was a little bustle of con- 
 fusion, incoherent sympathy, scattered sugges- 
 tions. 
 
 "Very unusual for a woman of her age," said 
 Lady Monica. "Of course you can't go tonight, 
 child. There is no hurry. No danger either, 
 probably. Brigid is a woman of unbroken con- 
 stitution. Did she complain at all lately?" 
 
 "She never complains. I must go to her at 
 once at once, " cried Desiree desperately, looking 
 from one to the other. She turned to Jeremy. 
 "Can't you take me to her tonight?" 
 
 "No," he answered quietly. "There is no 
 suitable train tonight, but I'll take you in the 
 morning to catch the 9.20 at Cottenham. Don't 
 you think that is the best plan, Lady Monica? 
 That will get her home about half -past twelve." 
 He took the cold trembling hand in his and spoke 
 for her ear alone. "Go to bed now and try to 
 sleep. Please God you will find your mother do- 
 ing well tomorrow. I'll call for you at a quarter 
 to nine. " 
 
 "You won't be late," she said, * shivering and 
 looking up at him with pitiful eyes. 
 
 "No. I shan't be late. ... I can't bear to 
 leave you, " he breathed passionately. 
 
 "I wish you needn't," she said simply.
 
 200 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Jeremy, I think it is time for us to go," said 
 his mother's voice behind him. "I am very sorry 
 for your trouble, my dear, and hope that you will 
 find your mother better on your arrival. Did I 
 hear my son offering to drive you to Cottenham in 
 the morning?" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Vyse." 
 
 "Would it not be better for him to take you 
 direct to Westleigh Junction? You could get 
 the express there and need only change at Church- 
 ampton. " 
 
 "Thank you. Yes. Whatever you think best. 
 . . . But be sure not to be late." She turned 
 again to Jeremy. 
 
 "You may trust me. " 
 
 "I do, " was all she said, but her look went with 
 him through the night: her pitiful changed look, 
 so quenched of the joy that comes only once in a 
 lifetime, yet so full of infinite trust. With all his 
 heart he longed to stay near her, to comfort her. 
 It was like severing a part of himself to tear himself 
 away. 
 
 His mother forebore to question, but as the car 
 rolled along in the darkness she put her hand on his 
 knee: an unwonted caress. He gripped it. The 
 touch spoke to her. 
 
 "Have you found the one woman, my son?" she 
 asked quietly. 
 
 "Yes, mother, " he answered. 
 
 She pressed the hand she held. She had known 
 long ago that abdication must come one day, but
 
 Intervention 201 
 
 the moment of actual realization is a bitter-sweet 
 one in the heart of any mother. 
 
 ' ' May God give you both joy, Jeremy," she said, 
 with the first pang of renunciation. 
 
 Was this pretty, frivolous little girl good enough 
 for him? Was any woman in the world good 
 enough for him? Would she make him happy, 
 her son of sons? If only she did that, she 
 would love her, gay and trivial as she might be. 
 Desiree Hasard was not the woman she would 
 have chosen for Jeremy (what woman was?) 
 but already a half -reluctant liking for the girl 
 had crept about her heart. She tried to say 
 something of this to Jeremy, but failed. They 
 were no good at putting their feelings into words, 
 these two, but they understood each other all 
 the same. . . . 
 
 Next morning Jeremy's most delicate observ- 
 ances encompassed Desiree. She felt as if he 
 stood between her and the world, wrapping her 
 round in his infinite care. There was something 
 exquisitely restful in his tenderness. Passion had 
 no place in it. She was white and tired after a 
 night of broken sleep, haunted by horrible frag- 
 ments of dreams visions of shattered joys, of 
 vague inestimable losses that awakened her to 
 find her cheeks wet with tears, and set her tossing 
 until exhaustion changed her with another rem- 
 nant of intangible tragedy. 
 
 Now dew-washed morning, sunshine, and rush- 
 ing air, combined with the comfort of Jeremy's
 
 2O2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 presence, helped to restore her to normality and 
 banish the hot, broken torments of the night. 
 
 A letter from her father helped to ease her 
 fears. 
 
 "A mild attack, the doctor calls it," she told 
 Jeremy. "But of course it is a little dangerous 
 at her age, he says. ... I was wondering why I 
 hadn't heard from her. I wrote last week beg- 
 ging of her to come to the wedding. They all 
 wanted her. . . . You'd have seen her then. . . . 
 Jerry, do you know anything about typhoid? 
 Is it is it ?" 
 
 "Not much, I'm afraid. I've heard that a 
 great deal depends on good nursing. It is a long 
 tedious illness, I believe, but most people get over 
 it. You'll tell me when I may come, won't you? 
 I can't bother your father now, but it's all right 
 so long as we know we belong to each other, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, smiling at him. "Jeremy, 
 you're the dearest dear that ever lived ! " 
 
 "Am I?" His eyes sought hers hungrily. 
 ' ' You know what you are ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' No. Nothing impossible, I hope. " Yet even 
 while she deprecated she longed to hear the most 
 impossible dearnesses he could utter. 
 
 The road wound, a white emptiness, before 
 them. He slipped his arm round her and spoke 
 from his very heart. 
 
 "You are my ideal woman, my secret dreams 
 made flesh. Your white soul is as exquisite as
 
 Intervention 203 
 
 your white body. Your lovely spirit shines out 
 of your lovely face. You are as high above me 
 as the stars above the earth and yet, you stooped 
 tome . . . tome!" 
 
 The intensity of his worship frightened her. 
 
 "No, Jerry darling, you mustn't exalt me like 
 that, " she cried. "I'm only a very human, very 
 ordinary girl, full of flaws just like every other 
 girl. Please don't put me on a pinnacle. I'd be 
 sure to topple and then how hurt you'd be ! Keep 
 me down near your side, close, close, and let me 
 have your hand to hold for fear I'd fall." 
 
 But Jeremy smiled at the absurdity of her self- 
 deprecation. "Whether you like it or not you're 
 high on the peaks above me. Give me your hand 
 if you will to help to draw me up to you." 
 
 She slipped it out of her glove and put it to his 
 lips. He kissed her palm, then closed her fingers 
 on it. 
 
 "You hold my heart where I have put my kiss, 
 in the rosy hollow of your little hand. . . . Did 
 you tell any one at Frayne? " 
 
 "No, but I think Judy suspects. She called 
 you ' the god in the car ' and said you liked playing 
 Providence ! Poor Judy ! ' ' 
 
 "Sweetheart, my mother guessed." 
 
 ' ' Did she ? Does she mind ? ' ' 
 
 "Mind? How could she? She wished us both 
 joy and said she would write to you. She is sure 
 to love you, when she knows you better." 
 
 "She may like me, " said Desiree, "but I think
 
 2O4 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 it's too much to expect of human nature that a 
 mother-in-law should love her daughter-in-law." 
 
 "I hate 'in-law'," cried Jeremy. "It has the 
 clanking sound of chains. Mothers can love their 
 daughters, and you'll be a daughter to mine." 
 
 "I'll try. . . . Oh, I wonder how my mother is! 
 I hate to think of her being ill. . . . Perhaps if 
 I hadn't left her she " 
 
 "Wonderful as you are, you couldn't have done 
 battle with a typhoid germ, " said Jeremy consol- 
 ingly. "So don't worry your dear head about 
 that!" 
 
 Westleigh Junction was reached in a surprisingly 
 short time. Desiree's heart sank at the thought 
 of parting from her lover. He was so comforting, 
 such a staff to lean upon, that without him she 
 would feel frail and tottering. 
 
 She fumbled in her pocket and held out her 
 little silver purse to him. 
 
 ' ' Very pretty, ' ' he said, ' ' but what's it f or ? " 
 
 She blushed. "To get my ticket. ' ' 
 
 "Foolish child, don't you realize that you belong 
 to me now? Tickets and such mundane things 
 are no longer your concern. They're mine. 
 Wait here. I shan't be a second. " 
 
 Familiar words flashed through Desiree's mind 
 as she watched her big man walk down the plat- 
 form and disappear into the ticket-office. 
 
 ' ' The shadow of a great rock in a dry land where 
 no water is. ..." 
 
 "And he's mine mine," she thought with a
 
 Intervention 205 
 
 thrill of pride. "Though I didn't know till last 
 night how dry a land it could be." 
 
 Things arranged themselves with magical pre- 
 cision for her comfort. A reserved first-class 
 carriage stopped opposite her, furnished with the 
 newest novels, papers, magazines, chocolates, 
 and a luncheon-basket. Most magical of all, 
 when words of farewell tried to tremble on her 
 lips, Jeremy got in and sat down opposite her. 
 
 "You didn't think I was going to let you travel 
 all that way alone?" he said, in answer to a look 
 from eyes suddenly brimming over. "I'm going 
 to see you into the train at Churchampton. I 
 wish I might come all the way, but I must wait 
 until your mother is better." 
 
 Two big tears of relief suddenly splashed down 
 Desiree's cheeks. 
 
 "My own Jerry!" she cried, holding out her 
 hands. 
 
 The train moved, and gathering speed bore 
 them out of the station. Once more they started 
 on a journey together with a parting looming for 
 each before its end, but this time with what a 
 difference ! 
 
 Jeremy bent over and took her hands in his, 
 holding them tightly. 
 
 ' ' I have a pre-wedding feast in that basket for 
 you," he said in tones as purposely ordinary as 
 he could make them. "You had an early start, 
 and I know you ate no breakfast. Would you say 
 'no' to some chicken-sandwiches and peaches?"
 
 2o6 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Peaches!" she smiled through her tears. "I 
 could never say 'no' to them!" 
 
 He drew her closer, his tone changing suddenly. 
 
 "Do you know you haven't kissed me today? 
 , . . Could you say 'no* to a starving man?" 
 
 "Not to you," she whispered. "Oh Jerry, I 
 didn't know that love was like this. ... I love 
 you so that it that it almost hurts." 
 
 "My love would never hurt you, heart's 
 dearest, " he murmured. 
 
 Yet even as they kissed she thought of his 
 changed face that morning how long ago it 
 seemed and shivered a little.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE FEET OF NEMESIS 
 
 WHEN Desiree reached Bressy she was conscious 
 of change, within and without. Not in the 
 sleepy little town, crowding down to the tidal 
 river, with its grey-towered church watching 
 over it from amidst sheltering trees, but in what 
 made up the sum of her daily life: her hitherto 
 unchanging home, and her hitherto unawakened 
 self. 
 
 It was strange to come back to the Rectory and 
 find no welcoming mother-arms waiting to enfold 
 her: strange to find a jolting routine where life 
 always had run on oiled wheels : strange to find a 
 wandering bewildered father, shaken out of his 
 groove by the suspension from activity of her on 
 whom his days had unconsciously pivoted : strange 
 to find the once happy household brooding under 
 the shadow of illness: strange to find white- 
 capped, capable, but utterly unknown nurses in 
 charge, whose lightest word was law, on whose 
 nod all decisions trembled. 
 
 It was a relief when she was at last allowed to 
 
 see her mother to find Lady Brigid looking, at 
 
 207
 
 208 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 first glance, much as usual if heavier of eye and 
 more flushed of cheek. 
 
 The welcoming arms were stretched out at 
 last. With a little cry Desiree flung herself into 
 them. 
 
 "Gently, gently, Miss Hasard. No excite- 
 ment, if you please, " remonstrated the nurse. 
 
 "Please, nurse," pleaded the dear voice with 
 its touch of brogue. "The sight of my child will 
 do me more good than all your nasty medicines 
 put together." 
 
 "Very well. I '11 give her five minutes, then, Lady 
 Brigid." There was a little rustle of starched 
 garments, and the sound of a softly closed door. 
 
 "Ah, my treasure! My chicken!" crooned 
 Lady Brigid, stroking the bright hair she loved. 
 "It's good to see you again after all these years!" 
 
 "Has it seemed so long?" murmured Desiree 
 conscience-stricken. "Darling! I'd have flown 
 home any time if I thought you really wanted 
 me." 
 
 "Don't I always want you, belovedest? . . . 
 But I hated to bring you back from your fun. 
 Isn't it a nuisance that I should have got this old 
 typhoid ? I thought I was tough enough to resist 
 any microbe! I ought to be at my age. . . . 
 You'll see to your Daddy, won't you? He 
 wanders about like a lost spirit, Jane tells me. 
 . . . Oh, it is good to have you back!" 
 
 "You should have sent for me long ago." At 
 the realization of what it would have meant had
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 209 
 
 she been summoned before she had met Jeremy 
 she flushed hotly and hid her face against her 
 mother's pillow. 
 
 Intuition pierced through Lady B rigid 's fevered 
 senses. 
 
 "Dede, look at me!" 
 
 Half-shyly, half-triumphantly the girl raised 
 her head. The mother's clouded blue eyes looked 
 deep into her young radiant ones. The knowledge 
 of womanhood spoke from each to each. 
 
 ' ' Has it come to you, then, my darling ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 "Tell me." The hot dry hand drew her closer. 
 
 "He is the dearest you'll love him," mur- 
 mured Desiree incoherently. 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "Jeremy Vyse." 
 
 "A good name," said Lady Brigid faintly. 
 "Is he one of the Vyses of Beaumont?" 
 
 "He is the Vyse of Beaumont," Desiree an- 
 swered with a thrill of pride. 
 
 "Now, Miss Hasard, you mustn't tire Lady 
 Brigid, " said the nurse's voice. "You may come 
 in for a few minutes later on if you're good." 
 
 "Haven't I been good, mother?" asked Desiree. 
 
 "Very good, my chicken," said Lady Brigid 
 feebly. She smiled at Desiree, and then closed 
 her eyes as if the lids were too heavy to stay open 
 any longer. 
 
 It gave Desiree a pang to see her so tired, so 
 stricken.
 
 2io The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "When will she be better?" she asked the nurse 
 at the door. 
 
 "The fever has to run its course, Miss Hasard. 
 She was going about with a temperature for days 
 when she should have been in bed." 
 
 "Is there is there any danger?" faltered De- 
 siree, with a horrible clutching at her heart. 
 "Please tell me the truth. I'd rather know. I'm 
 awfully ignorant about illness." 
 
 The nurse looked at her with the first spark of 
 sympathy in her keen eyes. She had been in- 
 clined to blame the absent gadding daughter. 
 She knew what girls were, and how little con- 
 sideration they showed their mothers; but this 
 one wasn't as indifferent as she had assumed. 
 
 "There is always danger in a serious illness like 
 typhoid for a woman of Lady Brigid's age, but I 
 assure you, Miss Hasard, that if careful nursing 
 can pull her through, she'll have it. Typhoid's 
 largely a question of nursing, " she added. "Any 
 doctor will tell you that." 
 
 "Oh, thank you," cried Desiree, relieved. 
 "If there's anything I can do, won't you let me? 
 I promise to do exactly as I'm told. . . . If you'd 
 just let me sit in her room. ... I feel as if I 
 couldn't bear to let her out of my sight." 
 
 ' ' Could you look after Mr. Hasard a bit ? That's 
 on her mind. It'll be an ease to her to know you're 
 with him. She's been worrying about him." 
 
 "She mustn't worry." 
 
 "No, she mustn't worry," echoed the nurse
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 211 
 
 significantly. "It'd be the worst thing possible 
 for her." 
 
 Desiree went downstairs with a sinking heart. 
 Life seemed suddenly to have focussed itself 
 upon the one spot where her mother lay. The 
 world, so full of almost unbelievable joy yesterday, 
 had suddenly chilled and emptied itself of all its 
 wonder, save for that far-off corner where she and 
 Jeremy had lit their flame of love how long ago ? 
 That memory alone had power to warm. Was it 
 only last night that they had stood together in the 
 rose-garden, rapt in a mutual ecstasy? Only 
 last night that she had felt his body trembling 
 against hers with the might of that passion which 
 she alone had power to evoke? Only last night 
 . . . and already what worlds away! There 
 had been nothing searing, nothing repellent in the 
 fire of Jeremy's passion. Some inner force in 
 herself responded to it, flame leaping to flame. 
 The thought of it made a background to the 
 endless day. The knowledge of it lay underneath 
 and permeated everything. . . . 
 
 Her father wandered in and out aimlessly. 
 Even St. Osyth's failed to draw him. 
 
 "Things are at a standstill there, " he told Desi- 
 ree, when she questioned him. "I have not heard 
 from young Wing for weeks. When last I did 
 he told me that he was progressing with the screen. 
 I wish he had not seen fit to go back to London. 
 I should have dearly liked to see its growth from 
 day to day."
 
 212 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Why not ask him to come back? " said Desiree, 
 the suggestion drawn from her half against her 
 will. 
 
 The days when Leander Wing held any menace 
 for her seemed vanished in a mist of time. Poor 
 boy ! . . . She hoped, with that happy blindness 
 which prevents lovers from seeing reality in any 
 love other than their own, that he had got over his 
 fancy for her by this. She was glad personally 
 that he had not returned to Bressy, but if it would 
 quicken her father's days and give him some 
 outside interest in the hours of suspense looming 
 ahead she would welcome his coming. 
 
 "That's quite a good idea," said the Rector. 
 "I think he must have had enough of town by 
 this. Mrs. Bolton's room is still unlet and the 
 barn-studio empty. I'll write to him tomorrow 
 and suggest it." 
 
 "Why not now?" Desiree urged. "We can 
 go together and post the letter." She longed to 
 see him occupied. It pierced her heart to see him 
 sitting still, his head on his hand, a lost bewildered 
 look in his eyes. . . . 
 
 She had her reward later in her mother's smile 
 when she told her what she had done. 
 
 "It's such a relief to my mind to know that 
 you're with him," she sighed. "Everything else 
 is going on well. Cook knows exactly how he 
 likes things done. Jane has promised to see to 
 the fowls. Bunt is quite safe in the garden, but I 
 was worrying about your poor Daddy's loneliness."
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 213 
 
 "You mustn't worry any more, darling. I'll 
 look after him." 
 
 ' ' That's my own chickie ! ' ' 
 
 Desiree stroked the hot hand she held. ' ' Don't 
 you hate lying here and being tyrannized over?" 
 
 Lady Brigid smiled. "I don't know that I do. 
 It's rather a nice change to lie still and feel that 
 other people are doing all that they ought to do, 
 without my having to tell them. Nurse is so 
 kind, too." 
 
 "Don't let her bully you too much. She 
 makes me feel a worm. All you've got to do now 
 is to hurry up and get well. ... I hope Mr. 
 Wing will bring the screen. I shan't look at it 
 until you're able to come too." 
 
 "Oh, that screen! ... I can smile about it 
 now, because your father had a cheque this morn- 
 ing from Ludlow for it. Isn't he good? " 
 
 "He's a darling!" cried Desiree. "Oh, mother, 
 
 ' ' she bit back the words. There was no use in 
 exciting her mother now by telling her about 
 Princess Pafnuty. That must keep until she was 
 better. 
 
 "Oh, daughter!" mocked Lady Brigid weakly. 
 "I know you're simply bubbling to talk of your 
 Jeremy. Tell me about him. ... If only I could 
 see him I believe I could say my Nunc Dimittis 
 quite happily." 
 
 "Mother, don't!" 
 
 "Foolish child! I haven't seen him yet. Are 
 you sure he's good enough?"
 
 214 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Good enough! Mother! It's I who am not 
 good enough!" 
 
 It was impossible to believe that she was really 
 ill, so unchanged was she alone amid the changes. 
 
 The days dragged in an endless dreamlike 
 routine: everything subordinated to the needs of 
 the invalid. The infinitesimal assumed profound 
 importance: previous magnitudes dwindled to 
 molehills. The silent house seemed peopled with 
 shadows and footsteps. The old oak 'stairs, the 
 winding corridors, were full of a waiting silence. 
 The slow ticking of a clock seemed a menace : the 
 sudden chink of a spoon an alarm. Daily the 
 fever took its toll of Brigid Hasard, wasting her to 
 fragility: thinning hands for the first time idle, 
 and body for the first time resting from ministering 
 to others. Her eyes looked bluer and larger in 
 the white wanness of her face : but her smile was 
 as frequent and her gratitude as gracious as ever 
 to those who served her. . . . 
 
 Then, through the numb anxiety of her days, a 
 bolt fell upon Desiree : a sordid awakening to for- 
 gotten responsibilities in the shape of a bill from 
 Mrs. Brabazon. 
 
 It was accompanied by a letter which she read 
 first : an apology for troubling her, and an appeal 
 for immediate payment of the money due. Her 
 daughter Doris had been obliged to have a serious 
 operation and was now in a nursing-home in 
 Churchampton. She was reluctant to press Miss
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 215 
 
 Hasard, but the bill had been running on for over 
 two years, and she would be obliged if she would 
 make it convenient to pay her as soon as possible.. 
 
 " As soon as possible!" And Desiree did not 
 possess a five-pound note ! 
 
 With trembling fingers she took up the bill and 
 unfolded it, afraid to look at the amount at its foot. 
 
 It totalled 198. She let it fall into her lap 
 with a little cry of dismay. 
 
 "Impossible! Quite impossible!" she cried, 
 with suddenly whitened lips. How could the few 
 little things she had got mourt up into such a 
 sum ! She snatched up the bill to look at it again. 
 There must be some mistake. Mrs. Brabazon 
 must have included her London outfit in it. She 
 knew her mother had paid for that. . . . Mother 
 hated to let bills run on. ... 
 
 The items were relentlessly set down. The 
 frocks and frills for her visit were not among them : 
 but here were half-forgotten fripperies ordered 
 on the spur of the moment: all the accessories 
 which seem to cost more than the gowns them- 
 selves; silk stockings, suede shoes, lingerie, para- 
 sols, corsets, petticoats, gloves, hats. No. There 
 was no mistake. She had had all these things, but 
 she never dreamed that they could have amounted 
 to so much. . . . Then there was Anne Silke's 
 bill as well. She had not paid that yet. About 
 twenty pounds still remained due to her, perhaps 
 more. . . . What was she to do? 
 
 She stood appalled on the brink of the abyss
 
 216 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 to which her careless feet had led her. She, who 
 prided herself on her fastidiousness, her punctilio 
 in dealing with those beneath her, had ordered 
 clothes to the amount of over two hundred pounds 
 for which she had not two hundred pence to 
 pay! . . . 
 
 And yet it must be paid. How could she keep 
 a woman like Mrs. Brabazon out of her money? 
 The extras she had had must have been paid for 
 out of Mrs. Brabazon's own pocket. Her cheeks 
 burned at the thought. Oh, why, why, had she 
 been such a fool! Why had not Mrs. Brabazon 
 sent in her bill sooner? Why had she let it run 
 on to such monstrous proportions? It was un- 
 fair of her. She should have made some protest, 
 and opened Desiree's eyes earlier to the path she 
 was treading. Yes, she blamed Mrs. Brabazon 
 bitterly. She had no right to let the bill run on 
 like that. 
 
 In the shock of the revelation she could see no 
 other point of view than her own. 
 
 Two hundred pounds! No crock of gold at 
 the rainbow's foot was ever more unattainable! 
 . . . And her mother, the only one who could 
 possibly help her, was seriously ill, and must on no 
 account be worried. . . . She felt like a trapped 
 animal, seeing no way of escape. 
 
 To whom could she appeal. Lord Garry was in 
 Russia, but even if he had been available she could 
 not ask him for money. Every instinct rejected 
 the idea.
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 217 
 
 Jeremy? Jeremy! Never! She thought of 
 how his face had changed and hardened that day 
 when he spoke of his father's first wife, the foolish, 
 frivolous creature who had frittered away his 
 patrimony. What was it he had said? The 
 words sprang across her vision as if they had 
 been burnt on her brain. 
 
 ' ' / suppose no woman deliberately means to steal 
 when she orders things she can't pay for, but it's 
 theft all the same. Dishonesty is the meanest, most 
 sordid of vices. For me, those whom I can't trust 
 cease to exist. They are snuffed out of my life like 
 a candle-flame." 
 
 She had felt a pang of premonition when she 
 had heard them, not realizing that they had 
 stored themselves in some receptive brain-cell to 
 leap out upon her later. No, Jeremy must never 
 know. It was the one thing he would not forgive. 
 "Dishonesty, the most sordid of vices." 
 
 But she had not meant to be dishonest. . . . 
 She shivered and hid her burning face in her hands 
 as she remembered how she had advanced that 
 plea for the other woman, and what Jeremy .had 
 answered. He had called it "the paltriest of 
 excuses." . . . No, Jeremy must never know how 
 weak, how foolish she had been. She could not 
 bear to be shut out of his life just when it had 
 opened to enclose her within it for ever. If she 
 were snuffed out of his heart like a can^e-flame 
 life would lose all its meaning, all its colour. She 
 might just as well die. She would die, she felt
 
 2i8 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 sure, with all youth's pathetic belief in the fatality 
 of loss of love. 
 
 It was characteristic of their relations that the 
 last person to whom she thought of applying was 
 her father. Like most young people she had 
 never worried her head about financial affairs. 
 She had taken things for granted. She had 
 everything she wanted, and when she occasionally 
 cried for the moon or its equivalent her mother 
 had miraculously got it for her. She had always 
 obeyed the tenet. ''Your father must not be 
 worried" to the very letter. She never con- 
 nected him with money or its management. 
 It was Lady Brigid who had held the purse-strings, 
 to whom everyone went in their more mundane 
 needs. 
 
 She thought of him now, but it was as the drown- 
 ing man who catches at a straw. It seemed a 
 forlorn hope, but perhaps he would be able to help 
 her. She knew that he would at once see the 
 pressing human side of it, the injustice of keeping 
 a woman in need out of the money she had earned, 
 but would he be able to help in a practical way? 
 ... It was a shame to worry him, especially 
 now, but what was she to do? ... Suddenly a 
 thought smote her. Would he be angry with her ? 
 He had never been angry with her in his life. . . . 
 She could not imagine him angry now, somehow, 
 when t 1 " one thing that mattered was that her 
 mother should get better. No, he would not be 
 angry. He would be grieved, disappointed in
 
 The Feet of Nemesis 219 
 
 her, which would be far worse. Anger she could 
 bear : it was the just need of her folly, but to see 
 pained disappointment in the eyes that had always 
 looked loving indulgence would cut her to the 
 heart. Dimly she began to see that no one can 
 do wrong and alone suffer the consequences. All 
 those she loved best had to be hurt by what she 
 had done. She could not bear it alone: others 
 must suffer too. She felt a wave of humiliation 
 that it should be so : the first pang of real repent- 
 ance. 
 
 She drew a long breath, bracing herself to meet 
 the inevitable. She would confess her folly to her 
 father and beg him to forgive her. She would 
 bear anything, suffer anything ... so long as 
 she need not tell Jeremy. 
 
 She rose and with lagging steps and quickly 
 beating heart went to the study-door and knocked, 
 bill in hand.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CLEAN HANDS 
 
 THE Rector was sitting by the table, head on 
 hand, as she entered. He looked up quickly. 
 
 "Any news?" It was his invariable question. 
 
 "She was alseep when I was in last," Desiree 
 answered. "Her temperature had gone down a 
 point when nurse last took it." 
 
 "Ah, that's good, " he gave a deep sigh of relief. 
 "How endless the days seem ! I miss her at every 
 turn. I am always wanting her." 
 
 "Poor Daddy!" Desiree drew a stool forward 
 and sat near his knee. She took one of the veined 
 scholar's hands in hers, noting with a fresh pang 
 how thin and frail he looked, how suddenly old. 
 
 But he was not really old. Only sixty. No one 
 nowadays was old at sixty. He must not, should 
 not be old ! . . . And here was she, going to give 
 him infinite pain and disappointment. How 
 could she do it ? Where was she to begin ? How 
 put it into words ? 
 
 ' ' I had a letter from young Wing by the second 
 post," the beautifully modulated voice went on. 
 "He is coming down at once, today. He wrote 
 
 220
 
 Clean Hands 221 
 
 a very proper letter, full of sympathy for our 
 trouble. Like everyone else he loves your dear 
 mother." 
 
 "You told him about her?" 
 
 "Yes. I wrote him a friendly letter. I like 
 the lad and admire his genius beyond words. I 
 told him that you were back. In fact I said that 
 it was you who had suggested his return here." 
 
 "Oh, Daddy, I wish you hadn't!" She was 
 sorry the moment the words had been spoken, but 
 they had flashed out upon one of her old impulses. 
 
 "Why, my dear? Surely there was no harm in 
 that?" 
 
 "No but perhaps he will think that I ' 
 
 Her father smiled and pinched her cheek. ' ' You 
 are hyper-sensitive, my Dede. Young Wing is a 
 modest lad. He would never misinterpret your 
 interest in his art." 
 
 "Oh, wouldn't he?" thought Desiree, with a 
 quick revulsion of feeling. She had intended 
 only kindness towards her father in her hasty 
 suggestion. Did well-meant impulses always re- 
 coil upon oneself, she wondered. Human rela- 
 tionships were very puzzling in their many facts. 
 One never knew what unexpected aspect might 
 not suddenly flash up from the ordinary. . . . 
 Then her mind swung back to her own particular 
 trouble, the dreadful disturbing confession that 
 she had to make. Leander Wing vanished. 
 
 "I had a letter, too, Daddy, " she said in rather 
 a stifled voice.
 
 222 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Had you, my child?" Gentle interest pene- 
 trated his tones. 
 
 Desiree plunged incoherently. "An unpleasant 
 letter. A dressmaker's bill. . . . Daddy, I've 
 been mad . . . idiotically foolish ... it's an 
 awful bill. I I don't know how " her voice 
 trailed away. She hid her burning face in her 
 hands. 
 
 The Rector sat up at her faltering words, swiftly 
 quickened to attention. He was used to dealing 
 with the penitent, but here was an amazingly 
 unexpected one. His own child. His little girl. 
 His Dede. Had he heard aright ? Was it possible ? 
 
 "What is it? Tell me all, my child. Don't be 
 afraid." The priest spoke through the man. 
 
 Tremblingly she told him all, hiding nothing, 
 sparing herself nothing, looking up humbly at 
 the end for disillusionment in the clear eyes. She 
 saw only a profound sadness, a pained wonder. 
 
 "And we trusted you, Dede, " was all he said. 
 
 "I know. That's the worst," she cried on a 
 choking sob. "I never meant I never realized." 
 
 "Give me the letter." 
 
 She gave it to him. He read it through in 
 silence, then glanced at the bill, conscious all the 
 while of an intense bewilderment at the thought 
 that his child, Brigid's child, should have done 
 this incredible thing: that she, to whom nothing 
 had been denied, whom they had loved and trusted 
 and indulged, should deliberately have deceived 
 them and run into debt for over two hundred
 
 Clean Hands 223 
 
 pounds! Why had she not come to them sooner? 
 Why had she allowed the sum to assume such 
 gigantic proportions ? Paid it must be : but how ? 
 All his delicate fastidiousness revolted from the 
 idea of owing money to any one, but to trades 
 people above all ! 
 
 ' ' Is this bill correct, Desiree ? ' ' 
 
 ''Yes, Daddy." Sobs choked her utterance. 
 
 "Does your mother know anything about 
 it?"' 
 
 "No. I meant to tell her when I came home, 
 but Oh, please, please believe that I was horrified 
 when I saw how much it was. I had no idea. 
 I thought it was only a few pounds, and that 
 mother would lend it to me, and that I could 
 retrench, and pay it back to her out of my allow- 
 ance. I never dreamed of its being so much." 
 
 "I suppose not, " her father answered wearily. 
 "Did it never occur to you how gravely you were 
 deceiving us in running into debt like this. Did it 
 never occur to you what a dishonest thing you 
 were doing in ordering clothes you had no money 
 to pay for?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . No. ... I didn't really think 
 much about it. . . . You see, I didn't know. . . . 
 I I used to pay something on account now and 
 then. I thought it was all right. I never dreamed 
 I didn't mean to deceive you. Truly, truly I 
 didn't. You must believe me, Daddy." 
 
 "Of course I believe you, my child. I only 
 wonder. ... It seems inexplicable. . . . How
 
 224 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 have we failed towards you that you should do a 
 thing like this? 
 
 "Oh, you haven't failed. You haven't failed. 
 It's I who have failed!" she cried passionately, 
 flinging herself at his knees and crying bitterly. 
 "You mustn't blame yourselves. It's all my 
 fault, my wicked folly. ... I never meant ! 
 the words choked her. Here was "the paltriest 
 of excuses ' ' again ! 
 
 The Rector stooped and put his arms round her, 
 soothing her as if she were indeed the child she 
 seemed to him. "Don't cry, my darling, don't 
 cry. There, there. We'll think what's best to 
 be done. . . . That poor woman must be paid at 
 once, of course. . . . Oh, if only your mother! " 
 
 "Mother would manage everything," sobbed 
 Desiree. "I know she would lend me the money 
 and I could pay it back by degrees." 
 
 ' ' There is no question of lending between parent 
 and child. What's ours is yours. Our good 
 name is mutual. It mustn't be tarnished by 
 debt. We stand or fall together, we three. . . . 
 That's what fatherhood and motherhood mean, 
 my Dede. If you had realized that, you would 
 have come to us at once, wouldn't you? " 
 
 "Yes, " murmured Desiree, feeling very humble, 
 very young, and withal very ignorant of the big 
 vital forces of life. Here was another side of 
 love, all-pervading, all-protective, which she had 
 taken carelessly for granted all her days without 
 in the least realizing its magnitude. Her heart
 
 Clean Hands 225 
 
 swelled. "What can I do to show you how very 
 sorry I am?" she whispered childishly. 
 
 "There is One whom you have sinned against 
 more than your earthly parents," murmured 
 her father, with that curious shyness which he 
 experienced only when touching upon religion 
 with this one loved child of his. "Ask His for- 
 giveness, my Dede. . . . Now leave me while 
 I think how to pay this money. ... If only 
 your mother were accessible it would be all right, 
 but she must not be worried on any account. 
 She told me lately that she had changed some 
 investments with the most happy result. She 
 gave me a donation towards the screen, as a 
 thank offering, she said." 
 
 ' ' She told me too, and sent me ten pounds. . . . 
 She is wonderful." 
 
 "She is indeed." He called Decree back as 
 she turned to go. ' ' You have told me all ? There 
 are no more revelations ? " 
 
 Desiree shook her head. "There are only the 
 two bills, Mrs. Brabazon's and the woman in 
 London, who hasn't sent hers yet." 
 
 "Write to her today and ask for it." 
 
 "Yes. I'll write at once." She reached the 
 door and hesitated as she turned the handle. 
 Her father had asked if there were any further 
 revelations. Now was the moment to tell him 
 about Jeremy. Then her newly-found soul would 
 feel clean -washed of even the shadow of deceit. 
 
 She came back towards the figure in the chair, 
 is
 
 226 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 It seemed to her that his shoulders were more 
 bent, his figure shrunken from its former proud 
 bearing. Was it she who had done this? Her 
 heart ached and her throat swelled. 
 
 "Daddy, there ^something more, " she faltered. 
 
 He looked up apprehensively. The expression 
 in his eyes cut like a knife, though it held no 
 reproach, no rancour. She winced. 
 
 "It's nothing unpleasant this time," she went 
 on quickly. "It's only only that there is a a 
 man who wants to marry me." 
 
 Blank amazement chased the sadness from his 
 eyes. Here was a revelation indeed ! 
 
 "To marry you? But you're only a child, 
 Desiree!" He could not vision her a woman, 
 desirable of men. To him she was still the golden- 
 haired child, fruit of his love and Brigid's. 
 
 "I'm twenty-one," she said, smiling through 
 her tears. 
 
 "Twenty-one! I had not realized it. ... 
 Who is this man, my child, and do you want to 
 marry him ? ' ' 
 
 "Above all things, " she answered. 
 
 The note in her voice told him that she was 
 indeed a woman. He held out his hand. 
 
 "Come and tell me about him." 
 
 As in bygone childish days he took her on 
 his knee, and, with his worn cheek resting 
 against her round one, listened to the story 
 that is at once the oldest and the newest in the 
 world.
 
 Clean Hands 227 
 
 "Are you pleased about it?" she whispered 
 at the end. 
 
 "Pleased at an act of piracy and highway 
 robbery ? " he echoed, with a flash of his old gentle 
 humour. ' ' No, but I am happy in your happiness, 
 my Dede. Tell your Dick Turpin to come and 
 see me when this shadow has been lifted from us." 
 
 She kissed him and went to begin her daily 
 letter to Jeremy with a lighter heart than she 
 thought she could own an hour ago. . . . Who 
 could not believe in the unbounded goodness of 
 God when a human father could be so loving and 
 forgiving? . . . 
 
 The Rector sat motionless for a long time after 
 Desiree had left him. The little angels in the 
 triptych looked sweetly down at him from their 
 golden background, but he never glanced at them. 
 The sight of them usually gave him intense plea- 
 sure, but this morning his thoughts were too heavy 
 to lift themselves to things spiritual. They were 
 weighed down, groping about ' ' the root of all evil. ' ' 
 He felt oddly tired and shaken. His mind seemed 
 to have become disorganized in the sudden jolt- 
 ing from his groove of contentment. More than 
 ever he longed for his wife. Troubles always 
 disappeared when he took them to her. Tangles 
 smoothed themselves out at her unfailing smile, 
 and her "Well, now, let's see what we can do ! " 
 
 If only he heard the familiar sentence now in the 
 dear soft voice all would be well. The jumbled 
 pieces of his puzzle would fit themselves together
 
 228 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 into a coherent whole. When would that be? 
 Her illness seemed endless. It appeared to have 
 gone on, to be continuing throughout eternity, 
 not time. He felt lost, disintegrated, without 
 her. He had never realized how entirely he leaned 
 upon her until this shock about Desiree opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 How was he to cope with the matter? What 
 was he to do ? Borrow the money from the bank? 
 He doubted very much if Mr. Masters would lend 
 him two hundred pounds on the very slight 
 security he had to offer. Perhaps if he went to 
 him and made a personal matter of it, but he hated 
 asking favours. He had never asked a favour of 
 any one in his life. He conferred favours. He 
 did not solicit them. His "lilies-of-the-field" 
 theory fell away from him and failed him now. 
 It would take a very profound act of faith to 
 evolve two hundred pounds out of nothing, or to 
 assume that Desiree's bills would be paid with 
 anything but actual coin of the realm. 
 
 Paid they must be. Every hour that failed to 
 do so was a further hour of dishonesty. He had 
 owed no man anything all his life. Debt was pe- 
 culiarly abhorrent to him. One could not have 
 clean hands with debt, and clean in every fibre he 
 had always been. Strange that his child should 
 not have inherited this fastidious repugnance. 
 But she was only a child in spite of her twenty- 
 one years and her lover. She had not thought. 
 She had tripped, blindfolded by her carelessness,
 
 Clean Hands 229 
 
 along that miry path, not realizing to what a slough 
 it led. She would be wiser in future. It had never 
 occurred to him to exact any promise from her 
 to that end. He trusted her, trusted to her race 
 and instincts, in spite of the rough shaking he had 
 got. . . . 
 
 Wearily his mind spun round to the money 
 problem again. How was he to get it, and where? 
 If he could only put his pride in his pocket and 
 go to the bank. He knew that the loan would be 
 only for a few weeks, until Brigid was well enough 
 to be troubled with mundane things again. She 
 would sell out some of her securities. ... It 
 was merely a matter of form. He would go and 
 see Mr. Masters. It would not be much of a 
 favour, after all. . . . 
 
 As .he was nerving himself to this decision his 
 eye fell upon a pile of letters under a bronze lotus 
 paper-weight. The topmost one bore an un- 
 familiar stamp with a Russian postmark. He 
 drew it absently out from under the lotus-cup. 
 It was Lord Garry's letter enclosing the promised 
 cheque towards the screen. Mechanically he 
 opened the envelope and drew it out. It was 
 filled in for 250 and was made payable to him, 
 Noel Hasard. If he were going to the bank he 
 might as well sign it and pay it in to the Restora- 
 tion Fund, whither B rigid 's five pounds had al- 
 ready gone. He went to his desk, cheque in 
 hand, and signed it, looking at the clear familiar 
 signature as if he had never seen it before.
 
 230 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Suddenly an idea came to him. If Lord Garry 
 were here he might have borrowed the money 
 from him instead of from the bank. Why, there- 
 fore, not borrow by proxy as it were? Pay this 
 cheque into his own account and use it until 
 Brigid was well enough to settle the matter? He 
 knew that Ludlow Garry would willingly lend 
 him the money if he asked him but there lay the 
 crux. 
 
 Would he ask him? Deep in his inmost heart 
 he knew that he would not. Yet why not ? He 
 was Brigid's kinsman and Desiree's godfather. A 
 generous man, if completely worldly; a man who 
 took broad views. He could have no possible 
 objection to his, Noel Hasard's, borrowing for a 
 week or two the money he had sent for another 
 purpose. The screen was not yet finished. The 
 money would only be lying fallow in the bank. 
 He would calculate the amount of interest that 
 might accrue in the interval and double it. No 
 one would be at a loss, and the Fund would indeed 
 be the gainer. Above all, he need ask no favours. 
 His sensitive spirit shrank at the thought of going, 
 hat in hand, to Mr. Masters, good fellow as he 
 undoubtedly was. He hated being involved in 
 money matters. 
 
 Ludlow Garry would be the first to understand 
 when he told him : if indeed there were any neces- 
 sity for telling him. The money would be paid 
 into the Restoration Fund long before his return 
 from Russia, and he need say nothing about it. . . .
 
 Clean Hands 231 
 
 Then he checked himself, shocked by the shadow 
 of deceit. How could he palter with the thought 
 of concealment? He must tell Garry, of course. 
 That should be his punishment for having bor- 
 rowed the money without permission, s How could 
 he keep clean hands otherwise? Of course he 
 must tell him. If he were here now. . . . 
 
 He went down to the bank, forgetting all about 
 his waiting luncheon. When he came back he 
 gave Desiree a cheque for 198. He looked so 
 white and tired that her heart smote her anew. 
 She said nothing, but with tears in her eyes stooped 
 and kissed his hand. 
 
 He looked at it strangely for a moment. 
 
 ' ' Yes, it is clean, ' ' he said in a detached way. 
 
 She wondered what he meant.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 LEANDER'S LOVE 
 
 IT seemed to Desiree as if her visit to Frayne, 
 with its brief glimpse into the Garden of Paradise, 
 were but a mirage. Only Jeremy's daily letters 
 prevented her from believing it all to have been 
 some impossible golden dream. Even so, it 
 seemed far enough removed from reality. The dark 
 shadow that brooded over the Rectory blotted all 
 other brightnesses from the world. 
 
 As the days of crisis approached everyone stole 
 about the house, light of foot as they were heavy 
 of heart. All Bressy came daily to enquire, im- 
 portunate in its anxiety. . . . 
 
 Lady Brigid talked but little. It seemed an 
 effort to her to speak. On the afternoon of De- 
 siree's confession she opened her heavy eyes sud- 
 denly and said to the girl : 
 
 ' ' I hope the house is full of flowers as usual. " 
 
 Desiree was startled. Her thoughts had wan- 
 dered far from flowers. ' ' Yes, darling. I arranged 
 them freshly yesterday. " 
 
 "That's right. . . . Flowers are the thoughts 
 of God," she murmured, closing her eyes again. 
 
 232
 
 Leander's Love 233 
 
 Her lashes lay darkly on the flushed sunken cheeks. 
 She dropped into an uneasy sleep. . . . 
 
 Desiree stole away. She would get some water 
 to refill the vases. Flowers were thirsty in hot 
 weather. She went to Jane's pantry. Instinc- 
 tively she put out her hand for the silver milk-jug 
 which she generally used. Her mother always 
 laughed at what she called her expensive tastes, 
 saying that nothing but a silver jug would suit 
 her for replenishing the vases! Desiree used to 
 answer that she liked it because it had such a nice 
 pour ! but she knew also that she had a sensuous 
 pleasure in the lovely shape of the old jug and 
 the smooth touch of the thin silver. . . . Now 
 expensive tastes must be curbed. Her spirit 
 walked in sackcloth and ashes. She took an 
 ordinary little china jug instead and filled it at 
 the tap. 
 
 In spite of the masses of roses and sweet-peas 
 the drawing-room shared the general emptiness of 
 the house. It was, to all outward appearances, 
 just the same as usual, with its fresh chintzes, 
 its few but beautiful bits of old furniture, and its 
 general air of gracious restfulness : but something 
 was lacking. 
 
 It was as if the flowers in the old china bowls and 
 clear vases had been artificial, Desiree thought : as 
 if the vital essence which had pervaded the place 
 had been withdrawn, leaving a dry, unperfumed 
 atmosphere where one instinctively expected fra- 
 grance.
 
 234 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 She went to the chimney-piece to refill a vase of 
 drooping pink roses. The china jug was inade- 
 quate : she spilled some water. 
 
 "Bother ! " she exclaimed with sudden petulance. 
 "The best is always best in the end ! " Then she 
 bit her lip that such a triviality should have power 
 to annoy her in the midst of real trouble. After 
 all she had been through today how could she be 
 upset by merely spilling some water ? She did not 
 realize how the strain of the past days had frayed 
 her nerves: how the suspense in which she lived, 
 and the sudden shock of Mrs. Brabazon's bill had 
 strung her up to a very high tension . It was with a 
 start that she heard the door open behind her and 
 Jane announce: 
 
 "Mr. Wing!" 
 
 She turned to greet him, forgetting latent possi- 
 bilities in her own absorption, but stopped half- 
 way across the room. The moment she saw him 
 she realized what she had done when she had sug- 
 gested to her father to bring him back. He had 
 misunderstood. He had thought that it was she 
 who wanted him. She read the belief in his ra- 
 diant glowing face, his outstretched hands, his 
 whole triumphant bearing. His queer eyes were 
 wide open and ablaze with the passion she had 
 seen in them once before. He almost ran towards 
 her. 
 
 "You sent for me, World's Desire!" he cried. 
 "And I've come. You'll never send me away 
 again, will you?"
 
 Leander's Love 235 
 
 She shrank back, putting out both hands as if to 
 fend him off. She knew now that she must in- 
 evitably hurt him, and her wearied spirit quailed 
 before the necessity. 
 
 "No, no!" she cried. "It was all a mistake. 
 It wasn't I." 
 
 "But your father said " he began, the light 
 dying from his face. "He told me that it was 
 you who suggested my coming back. " 
 
 "Yes, it was I," she faltered, "but I never 
 meant him to tell you. I was distressed when I 
 heard he had done so. I was afraid you might 
 misunderstand. " 
 
 "I'm afraid I did misunderstand," he returned 
 
 fc 
 
 slowly. ' ' I thought your summons could mean 
 only the one thing. " 
 
 "I'm very, very sorry. " 
 
 "Then you didn't want me? " 
 
 "No. Not personally. " It had to be said. 
 
 "Why did you send for me, then ? " 
 
 ' ' I it was my father who put the idea into my 
 head. He was so changed, so lost to all interest 
 in the shock of mother's illness that I would have 
 done anything to rouse him. I asked about the 
 screen and he said you had told him it was getting 
 on. When he said how much he wished that you 
 had remained here so that he could see its pro- 
 gress from day to day I suggested his asking you 
 to come back. That was all. " 
 
 "So that was all," he said, stiffening. He 
 seemed to tower over her. "You used me. You
 
 236 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 used me just to gratify a whim without thinking 
 of the cost to me. ' ' 
 
 "Please don't be angry," she said, suddenly 
 sinking into a chair. She felt as if she could stand 
 no longer. "I didn't mean it that way. I had 
 no intention of using you, as you call it. It was 
 only " 
 
 Suddenly his mood changed at sight of her white 
 quenched face. With one of his swift unexpected 
 movements he dropped on his knee by her side 
 and took her hands in his quite gently. 
 
 "After all, why shouldn't you use me? I am 
 yours to use as you will. I gave you the right 
 that day in the Bluebell Wood when I prostrated 
 myself before you, body and soul. What other 
 use have I but to be of service to you? " 
 
 Desiree straightened herself, flushing. 
 
 "You humiliate me," she said faintly. "You 
 give me so much while I can give you nothing. " 
 
 "Nothing?" he echoed, looking deep into her 
 eyes. "Is that final?" He read her answer before 
 she spoke. He dropped her hands and sprang to 
 his feet. 
 
 She bent her head. "Nothing but my friend- 
 ship, and I suppose you wouldn't care for that, " 
 she said humbly. She ws learning the lessons 
 of womanhood very quickly. 
 
 He wheeled to the window and stood looking 
 out for a moment with unseeing eyes. 
 
 ' ' Is there another man? " he shot at her, without 
 turning round.
 
 Leander's Love 237 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He thrust his clenched hands into his pockets 
 with a curious fierceness. His shoulders hunched 
 up to his ears. Desiree drew a long breath of dis- 
 tress at sight of the stiff implacable-looking back. 
 Suddenly he turned round and dropped on his 
 knees by her side once more, burying his face in 
 her lap. 
 
 "Give me anything you will stones for bread, 
 friendship for love, crumbs for a feast and I'll 
 try to be grateful, " he murmured hoarsely. 
 "After all, you've given me the light and colour, 
 the passion and the despair of love, and now you've 
 set my worship high in the starry girdle of the 
 spheres. I'll adore from afar, as better men than 
 I have had to do. Your stones shall be pearls 
 a splendid tear for me in each!" 
 
 A lump rose in Desiree' s throat. Her eyes 
 dimmed. She put a gentle hand on his head, 
 smoothing back the unruly red locks with that 
 mother's touch which true women give even to 
 their lovers. 
 
 "I'm terribly sorry if I've hurt you," she said 
 very low. "Please forgive me, and believe that 
 I didn't mean it. I know that's no real excuse, 
 but it's my only one. " Her voice trembled. 
 
 He rose again and taking her face between his 
 hands kissed her gently on the forehead. 
 
 "I kiss you as my saint, " he said in his queer 
 abrupt way. 
 
 His eyes glowed with the fire of renunciation.
 
 238 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 He was swung to high exaltation in this new phase 
 of his passion its enshrinement among the glo- 
 rious hopeless loves of romance. He visioned him- 
 self a Dante, a Cino da Pistoia, as he paced the 
 long cool room, jerking out abrupt sentences as 
 he went. 
 
 "After all, you've given me something else I 
 didn't enumerate. Twenty-four hours of such 
 iridescent, magical madness as few men know. 
 'Great hopes, gold-armoured ' God, they kept 
 me company to this very door! . . . Don't tell 
 me about the other man. I couldn't bear it. 
 I'd see red if I saw him, or heard you speak of 
 him. . . . Tame your beast to his new ways. 
 ... Be gentle with me till I cool. ... I tell 
 you I am on fire here. . . . Here!" He struck 
 his heart. 
 
 Desiree lay back in the chair, numb as she 
 watched him. She was incapable of further feeling 
 now. All her emotions had been drained from her 
 by the events of the day. She felt as if she were 
 looking on at something that was not really hap- 
 pening: as if Leander Wing and his picturesque 
 ravings were part of a dream from which she would 
 presently awaken. It was a curious echo of her at- 
 titude on that long-ago day in the Bluebell Wood. 
 Now, as then, he had no power to strike a respons- 
 ive chord. 
 
 At last he stopped in his pacings and anchoring 
 near her became suddenly ordinary. 
 
 44 1 am a brute to worry you like this when you
 
 Leander's Love 239 
 
 are in such trouble. It seems so strange to think 
 of Lady Brigid being ill. She was the mainspring 
 of everything here, wasn't she? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Desiree with quivering lips. 
 
 "I saw Mrs. Howard on the hill, " he went on. 
 "She told me that she was doing well. " 
 
 "They come in shoals. Jane is tired of opening 
 the door. Sometimes they insist on seeing me. 
 They mean well, but I wish they didn't. " 
 
 ' ' The most boring people in the world are those 
 who mean well. Why don't you put a daily 
 bulletin on the door, and then people would read 
 it and go away without knocking?" 
 
 "What a good idea! I never thought of that. 
 But I'm afraid Daddy wouldn't like it. He would 
 think it discourteous. " 
 
 "Don't say anything about it and he'll never 
 notice it." 
 
 The truth of this statement brought a smile 
 to Desiree's lips. 
 
 "Ah, now I've made you smile ! That ought to 
 be accounted to me for righteousness. . . . You're 
 tired out, you little golden thing! . . . Why 
 isn't your man here to take care of you? " Then 
 an incredible thought smote his wild brain. 
 "My God, it isn't possible that he doesn't 
 care?" 
 
 "No, no. He cares as much as I do," De- 
 sir6e answered quickly, trying to choose the words 
 that would hurt least. "But this is no time for 
 him to come here. He only knows me, you see. "
 
 240 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I may come? You won't deny me?" Lean- 
 der cried hastily. 
 
 "Yes. You may come sometimes. . . . You're 
 being very good to me now. ' ' 
 
 " I'm a human being, after all, ' ' he said. ' ' Can't 
 you be a human being too and call me Leander 
 once in a while? It wouldn't hurt you and it 
 would be a crumb for me! " 
 
 "Poor Leander!" 
 
 "Rich Leander!" he said, throwing back his 
 head. "In having you just now I'll have some- 
 thing that he'll go lacking all his days." 
 
 Desiree had a swift wish that Jeremy should not 
 lack this particular thing, but she forebore to rob 
 poor Leander of his crumb. 
 
 "When did you come? " 
 
 "Just now. I sent my things to Mrs. Bolton's 
 and came straight here. ... I couldn't wait. 
 . . . The 'Great Hope' you see ..." He 
 checked himself. "I met that old ferret, Mrs. 
 Mawson, on the way up. She had the cheek to 
 accost me and ask what I had done with Tessie 
 Hart ? Did you ever hear such damned imperti- 
 nence ? Fogive me. ' ' 
 
 "What are you supposed to have done with 
 Tessie Hart?" The episode seemed to Desiree 
 to belong to some bygone era. 
 
 "That's what I asked her. I called her a 
 foul-minded old well, something one doesn't 
 usually call a lady, but she's not a lady. 
 She's an evil-minded old beast. I haven't
 
 Leander's Love 241 
 
 seen Tessie Hart since I left Bressy, and so I 
 told her." 
 
 "Did she believe you?" Was it possible that 
 she could ever have felt even a prick at the thought 
 of his admiring the girl ? 
 
 "Obviously not. . . . You do, don't you?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 With this final crumb of her trust in him Leander 
 Wing took himself off, more sober of gait than in 
 his coming, but upborne by a waft of that exalta- 
 tion which is the meed of those who set their feet 
 upon the upward path of a selfless love. Passion 
 he had known: desire had burned within him, but 
 this was something absolutely different; some- 
 thing which might ultimately enshrine his love, 
 as he put it in his romantic way, "in the starry 
 girdle of the spheres " . . . 
 
 Desiree, too, was trying to mount the same path 
 in these days of trouble. One by one, she was 
 learning to shed the little easy selfish ways of love 
 which were all she had given her world in her 
 happy spoilt girlhood. Pretty ways, caresses, lit- 
 tle attentions and appreciations had always come 
 without effort to her sunny disposition, but now 
 each endless- seeming day made fresh demands 
 upon the deeps of her nature. Patience, courage, 
 endurance, hope: each was called upon in turn. 
 Of them all hope answered most readily. ' ' White- 
 handed Hope," the gift of the fabled Pandora, 
 lingering to the last in poor humanity's casket of
 
 242 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 miseries, and striking her lyre for "grief's best 
 music" while yet a single string remains! With 
 her flight the horizon is dark indeed ! 
 
 Desiree was her father's unobtrusive shadow in 
 these dragging days of suspense. She read to him, 
 while he sat unheeding, yet unconsciously soothed 
 by her clear young voice ; she devised occupations 
 for him, coaxed him out into the garden, and 
 simulated enthusiasms whicn her heavy heart 
 was far from feeling. She learned when to leave 
 him to the solitudes he craved and when to be 
 near at need. She sped him upon his parochial 
 duties, and watched over his comings and goings 
 as carefully as her mother could have done. But 
 it was hard work. Though a labour of love it 
 was a constant strain, and the girl grew thin and 
 pale under it. She never thought of that though. 
 She was learning to give where she had hitherto 
 taken. Her mother's whispered thanks were re- 
 ward enough. 
 
 "Your father says you are wonderful, my 
 Dede, " she murmured once. She did not quote 
 the end of his sentence "but she is not you!" 
 That had been for her ear alone! 
 
 Lady B rigid drifted on a tide of semi-oblivion 
 towards the time of crisis, her senses dulled to 
 what had once been all-absorbing. She seemed 
 to come back to reality with an effort. 
 
 Desiree resented this gradual detachment with 
 all the fierceness of love and youth. Daily she 
 strove against it, but in silence. She put forth
 
 Leander's Love 243 
 
 all the powers of her will to hold her back, trying 
 to bind her to earth with every filament of love 
 and longing. Outwardly she was the quietest, 
 most obedient assistant that nurses ever had. No 
 one guessed at the fierce passion of rebellion which 
 burned within her, as gradually more and more of 
 her mother seemed to be taken from her. 
 
 She had no outlet. She could not talk of her 
 inmost feelings to Molly Howard or Gwen Chal- 
 loner during their brief visits. They were outside, 
 far outside the core of her narrowed, absorbing 
 world. They seemed to belong to a past era of 
 trivialities in which nothing that had mattered 
 then mattered now. 
 
 Even her letters to Jeremy were not satisfying. 
 He, too, seemed to belong to a different world. 
 He knew nothing, no one in her real life. Some- 
 times she could not properly recall his face. 
 Then she felt as if she had indeed lost him. It 
 seemed as if they had been rapt apart to dwell 
 in different planets. . . . 
 
 One sultry afternoon in the end of July she came 
 out of her mother's room with a heavy heart, leav- 
 ing her flushed and in a drowse of semi-conscious- 
 ness. It hurt her to see her like that, though the 
 moment had never yet come when Lady Brigid was 
 too far away to murmur "Yes, my chicken" in 
 response to some whispered appeal, or to press her 
 hand when, as she said, she felt too lazy to talk. 
 
 The girl wandered from room to room like a 
 little restless ghost, at last finding herself in her
 
 244 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 mother's den, without knowing why she had 
 strayed there. 
 
 There was something aloof and chilling in its 
 aspect of formal tidiness, its closed desk, its unused 
 air. Desir6e's heart swelled as if it would burst 
 when her eyes fell 'upon the array of her own 
 photographs. How her mother loved her ! What 
 had she ever done to repay that love ? Nothing, 
 it seemed to her in that bitter moment, except 
 take, take, take, with greedy outstretched hands. 
 What had she given except worry? Her white 
 cheeks flamed at the remembrance of what she had 
 done, of how she had often bothered her mother 
 for money which she could perhaps ill afford. 
 That point of view had never struck her before. 
 Had she ever thought of anything, of anyone save 
 herself ? Her eyes opened wide upon womanhood 
 at last. She was a careless girl no longer. In her 
 inmost heart she knew that the aching smart of 
 her conscience would never be eased until she had 
 made full confession to the mother she adored and 
 had wilfully deceived. Yes, now that she saw with 
 clearer vision, she knew that she had deliberately 
 deceived Lady Brigid, postponing the day of con- 
 fession until too late. 
 
 Not too late for ultimate forgiveness, though. 
 She must wait as best she could until the fever had 
 abated, until the dear invalid was really well 
 again. She would risk nothing. But to the im- 
 patience of youth waiting is hard. Desiree felt 
 that she would give her very heart's blood for her
 
 Leander's Love 245 
 
 mother, and all she could do was to stand aside 
 while strangers ministered to her. The intrusion 
 of strange women upon the intimacy of their home- 
 life irked the privacy-loving Hasards more than 
 any one suspected. Desiree longed for the day 
 when she would have her mother once more to her- 
 self, when life would be real and normal again, 
 not a nightmare of suspense and watching. . . . 
 When would it be? 
 
 Doctor and nurses were placid and non-com- 
 mittal. They told little, spoke in guarded sen- 
 tences of a lack of complications, of slight cardiac 
 weakness, of some deficiency of reserve-power, and 
 so on. Desiree felt very helpless, very ignorant. 
 The age-old resentment of love versus skill welled 
 anew within her. These hirelings could do for her 
 mother what all her devotion could not. She felt 
 grateful for that even while she rebelled. 
 
 The brooding atmosphere of the house became 
 suddenly oppressive. She turned from the table 
 with her photographs and went out into the Yew 
 Garden. The lavender-bushes thrust mauve-grey 
 spikes towards her: the roses round the French 
 window nodded pink blossoms ; the lemon-scented 
 thyme on the flagged path gave out its fragrance 
 as her foot touched it, but she walked to the lily- 
 pond with bent head, unseeing, unheeding all save 
 the ache in her own heart. 
 
 The fat red carp moved lazily beneath the 
 brown-tinged leaves. Here and there great water- 
 lilies opened blossoms of silver and hearts of gold
 
 246 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 to the sun. All round her the clipped chessmen 
 stood, black-green and stiff, watching as they had 
 watched the ephemeral griefs of short-lived humans 
 from one generation to another. The place was 
 redolent of Lady Brigid. It was here that Desiree 
 could see her most clearly, weeding, transplanting, 
 watering. . . . She might have helped her 
 there. She had never done so. Could she ever 
 make up for all her shortcomings ? 
 
 With a heavy heart she turned to leave the 
 haunted place. In one of the square openings of 
 the yew hedge stood a figure, tall, broad, unbe- 
 lievable: the impossible come true! 
 
 "Jeremy!" she cried, stumbling towards him. 
 In a moment she was in his arms, sobbing as if 
 her heart would break.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JEREMY ON RUDDERS 
 
 "You'RE not angry with me for coming?" 
 "Angry? Oh, Jeremy!" She clung closer to 
 him. 
 
 "I couldn't stay away any longer. I thought I 
 might be of some use to you if I came, run messages 
 or something. I couldn't bear to think of your 
 going through it all alone." His hand on her 
 hair shook a little. "I should have come long 
 ago." 
 
 With a blessed sense of relief Desiree realized 
 that although there are some burdens which every- 
 one must bear alone there are few which are not 
 the easier to carry if there is someone to lift the 
 other end. 
 
 "It is like a heavenly dream to see you. " 
 "My poor little girl, has it been very bad? " 
 ' ' Very. ' ' Her lips quivered. ' ' Please don't be 
 too good to me, Jerry. I don't want to make a 
 fool of myself again. Oh, the comfort of you!" 
 ' ' You're overwrought and absolutely unstrung, " 
 he said, drying her tears with his big silk handker- 
 chief. ' ' It was high time I came to look after you. 
 
 247
 
 248 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 The days have been endless since you were spirited 
 away from me." 
 
 "That's how I felt too, as if you had been 
 spirited away. ' ' She sighed as she lay against him 
 with closed eyes. 
 
 "My own little girl!" 
 
 His tenderness warmed and comforted her. His 
 presence seemed, as before, a buttress between 
 her and the outer world. He wrapped her round 
 with a love that was eloquent even in its very 
 silence. She was content to rest in it, drawing 
 strength from it as from a deep inexhaustible well. 
 
 "The maid told me you were in the garden. I 
 said I'd come and find you. I had almost given 
 you up when I caught sight of this little secret 
 pleasance through the yew hedge. " 
 
 "You were here and I didn't know. I never 
 felt you. " It seemed a flaw in her love for him. 
 
 "You feel me now," he said. "We're still in 
 the learning stage. We're not properly welded 
 yet. Wait until we are really one. . . . Desiree!" 
 
 At his cry their lips met. All their lost Paradise 
 sprang into new being at that kiss. . . . 
 
 When at last they returned to earth Jeremy 
 spoke again of his coming. 
 
 "I hope your father won't think me intrusive, 
 but I simply couldn't keep away. You are to 
 make use of me in any way you can. Nothing 
 will be too little or too great for me to do if only 
 it spares you. Remember I am yours for now and 
 always."
 
 Jeremy on Rudders 249 
 
 Again Desiree felt humbled. Here was another 
 offering himself for her use, putting himself wholly 
 at her service ! What had she done to deserve this 
 outpouring of love? How could she repay it? 
 
 "Jeremy, you make me feel very small and un- 
 worthy, ' ' she whispered. 
 
 "You?" All the incredulous wonder of his 
 adoration was packed into the one word. 
 
 "I'm afraid you idealize me too much, my own 
 man. I'm very, very human, full of flaws and 
 faults. Look out for them, Jerry dearest, instead 
 of shutting your eyes to them. Love me in spite 
 of them, or perhaps because of them, and I shall 
 feel safer and happier. " 
 
 "You must feel as safe and happy as possible, " 
 he said with an obvious humouring of her dear 
 folly that made Desiree want to cry and laugh at 
 once. "From this day forth I shall be Argus- 
 eyed in my search for your flaws. I warn you that 
 I shan't find any, though, my pearl of girls ! " 
 
 "Jerry! I'm really in earnest, though." 
 
 "So am I. ... What an enchanting place 
 this is!" he said, looking round. 
 
 ' ' You like it ? It's mother's favourite bit of the 
 garden. She is always improving it. There were 
 no flowers in it before she came here, only the 
 chessmen and the lily-pond. I think it's rather 
 gloomy, but she loves it. ... I'll always love 
 it now, after today," she ended with a swift 
 upward glance. 
 
 "I also," he said. "Come sit by the lily-pond
 
 250 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 and tell me things. That water-lily looks as if 
 she would be a good chaperon." 
 
 They sat side by side on the grey lichened stone, 
 hand in hand like children, forgetful of possible 
 witnesses, in their newly recaptured joy. 
 
 "Tell me about your mother. The maid says 
 she is going on fairly well. " 
 
 "Her temperature is up today," Desiree an- 
 swered. "Nurse and Doctor Clements don't 
 seem quite so pleased. " 
 
 "I'm sorry for that, but one must expect these 
 fluctuations in any fever. Are you on the tele- 
 phone?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' ' Then how do you get at the doctor at night ? " 
 
 "We haven't been obliged to send for him at 
 night so far. " Desiree's glance held quick alarm. 
 
 ' ' But how would you get him if you happened to 
 want him?" Jeremy persisted. 
 
 "I don't know," Desiree faltered. "I never 
 thought of that. There isn't any one to send 
 except Cook or Jane. Bunt, the gardener, goes 
 home at night. I suppose we could keep him if 
 it were necessary. " 
 
 "Keep me instead. There's something I could 
 do." Jeremy felt that he had come to Bressy 
 none too soon to look after this helpless household. 
 
 "But- 
 
 ' ' There are no possible buts, ' ' he said firmly. ' ' I 
 don't want you to have a room made up for me, or 
 any bother of that sort. I've left my bag at the
 
 Jeremy on Rudders 251 
 
 'Crown. ' Just let me sit up in one of the sitting- 
 rooms for the next few nights. Then you can go 
 to bed with an easy mind knowing that your 
 errand-boy is on the premises. " 
 
 "Jerry!" She gave him a wonderful look. 
 ' ' How do you think of things ? I didn't know that 
 men could be so thoughtful. I thought one had 
 to " she stopped abruptly. 
 
 "We're queer animals," Jeremy returned, "but 
 we have our uses. My present mission in life is 
 to save you trouble. Kindly remember that. " 
 
 "Here's Daddy," exclaimed Desiree, rising. 
 "I wonder 
 
 Her face was flushed with excitement as she 
 went across the grass to meet her father with 
 outstretched hands. He looked more alert than 
 he had done for days. He held himself with 
 something of his former distinction of bearing, the 
 new distressing shoulder-droop momentarily cast 
 off. 
 
 "Your mother is awake and wants me, " he said. 
 "Nurse is to come for me in ten minutes. I 
 thought I would tell you lest you should wonder 
 where I was. I look on it as an excellent sign, 
 don't you?" 
 
 "Splendid, darling. " Desiree slipped her hand 
 through his arm, and laid her hot cheek against his 
 shoulder. ' ' Daddy, this is Jeremy Vyse, the man 
 I want to marry. Be nice to him. " 
 
 In his excitement Noel Hasard had scarcely 
 noticed the stranger. Now he looked keenly at
 
 252 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 the tall young man who wanted to marry his 
 child. 
 
 He held out his hand. The result of his scrutiny 
 pleased him. Here was a man with frank eyes 
 and a firm mouth: a man to whom one might 
 safely entrust a woman: no boy to be swayed by 
 any follies of his pretty girl. Brigid would like him. 
 It was almost his first thought. Only since her 
 detachment from his daily life had he realized how 
 intimately she was bound into the very fibre of his 
 being. He missed her at every turn. 
 
 ' ' I am glad to see you, " he said, with a touch of 
 his old charm. ' ' I only wish that we could have 
 welcomed you under happier auspices. But you 
 understand, of course. " 
 
 "Of course, sir," answered Jeremy. "I know 
 that this is not a time to intrude, but I simply 
 couldn't stay away any longer. I shan't obtrude 
 myself on you in any way. I want you to feel that 
 I am here solely to be of use to you. " 
 
 "Thank you. You are very good. You will 
 stay here of course. " The Rector waved all pro- 
 tests aside. "No, no, it is no trouble. Desiree 
 will arrange it all. Send Bunt for Mr. Vyse's 
 things, dear. You must not dream of staying 
 anywhere else. My wife would be distressed " 
 he broke off. 
 
 "She mustn't be distressed on my account. If 
 you're sure -it's no extra trouble. ..." To be 
 under one roof with Desiree! What a joy that 
 would be ! "I lost my father when I was quite a
 
 Jeremy on Rudders 253, 
 
 / 
 
 little chap," Jeremy went on boyishly. "I 
 should feel awfully proud if you'd try to look on 
 me as a son, sir." 
 
 "I had grown used to looking upon you as a 
 highway robber, " said the Rector, with one of his 
 rare smiles. "I must try to change my point of 
 view. I'll see you again later, but I must go to 
 my wife now. Nurse is beckoning to me. " He 
 turned back as he went. "Dede, I had a letter 
 from Tom Herring by the second post. He has 
 paid in full. Your dear mother will be pleased to 
 hear that. " 
 
 "She will," Desiree answered a little flatly. 
 
 "Who is Tom Herring?" asked Jeremy, as Mr. 
 Hasard disappeared through the French window, 
 more to distract Desir6e's attention than from 
 any curiosity. 
 
 Desiree told him the sordid little story, flushing 
 at the shadow of resemblance it bore to her own 
 misdoing. 
 
 ' ' Silly fool ! ' ' Jeremy commented. ' ' Like many 
 another he thought the intention outweighed 
 the action." 
 
 "And doesn't it? . . . Ever?" asked Desiree 
 tentatively. 
 
 "I don't think so. I can't believe that we're 
 ever forgiven for sin or even folly on the grounds 
 of lack of intention. After all, we're reasoning 
 human beings, with brains and will and heart. 
 There are essential rules laid down which we 
 mustn't transgress. It's no excuse for us if we do
 
 254 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 so without meaning to. We should mean. We 
 should control our actions, our impulses. We're 
 given our powers of reasoning and free will for no 
 other purpose. It's as if one deliberately let go 
 a rudder, and then excused oneself for allowing the 
 ship to dash upon the rocks by saying one didn't 
 mean it! We all have rudders if we care to use 
 them. We must use them if we mean to steer 
 through life with any success." 
 
 "Yes, I quite see that," said Desiree slowly. 
 "But many of us aren't taught how to use our 
 rudders. Our ships are steered for us by someone 
 else. When we are set adrift by ourselves we 
 sometimes forget that we own a rudder until our 
 poor little bark gets into trouble. " 
 
 "We don't forget after that," Jeremy smiled 
 grimly. "No one learns anything easily I sup- 
 pose. But I wasn't thinking of your little white- 
 winged yacht," he said with a sudden change of 
 tone. ' ' I was thinking of the older, more worldly 
 prototypes of that young ass. The men and 
 women who drift into debt, ordering everything in 
 the world they want without an intention of paying 
 for it: the people who look upon gambling debts 
 as debts of honour and think nothing of owing their 
 trades people for the luxuries or even the necessities 
 of life. What is a debt of honour if not the latter 
 I should like to know? I suppose I'm horribly 
 old-fashioned, bourgeois, Judy would call me, but 
 it's a subject on which I feel very strongly indeed. ' ' 
 
 Jeremy's face had taken the stern lines once
 
 Jeremy on Rudders 255 
 
 seen and only half -forgotten. What would he 
 say if he knew of her transgression, Desiree won- 
 dered. She shivered a little at the thought. For 
 the moment it seemed as if it were a stranger who 
 sat beside her, not the one dear man whose coming 
 had suddenly warmed her w r orld. The warmth 
 cooled a little : the transient brightness of the day 
 faded. She forced herself to speak. She hoped 
 that he had not noticed the instant's pause before 
 her answer. 
 
 "That is how my father and mother feel, too. " 
 
 "And you? Isn't that how you feel?" He 
 tried to look into her averted face. 
 
 "Yes, of course," she answered tonelessly. 
 
 Then, with a passion that obliterated the faint- 
 ness of her avowal, she cried : " I think that debt is 
 despicable ! Despicable ! ' ' 
 
 She trembled suddenly. He slipped his arm 
 round her. In the secluded garden they were free 
 from observation. She leaned against him and 
 closed her eyes again upon mundane things. 
 
 "Why should we worry ourselves with problems 
 that don't concern us?" he murmured. "We are 
 together once more, and that's all that matters, 
 isn't it? . . . How splendid your father is! 
 No wonder you are proud of him. " 
 
 The sun shone once more: the world warmed. 
 They were together again and that was all that 
 mattered, as he had so truly said. He need never 
 know of her transgression. After all, it was not 
 a sin against him. It had all happened before he
 
 256 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 came into her life. She need not wilfully dethrone 
 herself. She would try to be really good in future. 
 
 She would never let go her rudder again. . . . 
 
 It was sweet to be worshipped, but why had he 
 set her upon so high a pinnacle ? It was delicious 
 to breathe the incense of his adoration, but what 
 if he found that his idol had feet of clay? 
 
 Desiree glanced down at her little white shoes. 
 They were of clay, in her figurative use of the 
 phrase. They were literally of human flesh and 
 bone, prone to stumble, prone to stray, as are the 
 feet of all humanity without some guiding light 
 to direct their steps. . . . 
 
 "Look at what I've brought you, " Jeremy was 
 whispering in her ear. ' ' The outward and visible 
 sign of the inward and spiritual grace that you are 
 mine, mine, mine! ... I wonder if it fits." 
 
 Desiree opened the little white velvet case to 
 discover a magnificent sapphire ring. 
 
 ' ' Jerry ! How exquisite ! ' ' she breathed. ' ' Sap- 
 phires are my favourite stones. Please put it on. " 
 She held out a slim white hand. "You are the 
 very dearest. . . . " 
 
 "I got it to match your eyes, " he said with all 
 the dear immemorial unoriginality of lovers. . . . 
 
 Then the world of every-day faded for a little, 
 and once more two wandered in that garden of 
 Paradise into which most people stray from the 
 dusty highway of life at least once in their al- 
 lotted span.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 AMARANTH OR ASPHODEL? 
 
 FOR two nights Jeremy slept at the Rectory un- 
 disturbed. On the third Desiree was awakened 
 from broken dreams by the touch of a hand on her 
 shoulder. She started up to find the night-nurse 
 bending over her, candle in hand. 
 
 "What is it?" she cried, sleep scattered by an 
 instant dread that left no room for any other feel- 
 ing. 
 
 "Lady Brigid is not so well. I should like the 
 doctor to see her. Can you send for him at once ? 
 I have called Nurse Maynard. She is with your 
 mother." 
 
 Desiree sprang out of bed. "I'll send at once. 
 Mr. Vyse will go," she said, scrambling into 
 dressing-gown and slippers. "But what is it? 
 Is she worse ? Are you do you ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't like her look at all. I think perhaps 
 I had better rouse Mr. Hasard while you call Mr. 
 Vyse." 
 
 "You don't think " a fear which she could not 
 put into words pierced Desiree's heart. 
 
 "I don't know what to think," answered the 
 17 257
 
 258 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 nurse in a tone quite bereft of its usual brisk 
 decision. "I only know that we should both 
 like Dr. Clements to see her as soon as possible. " 
 
 Desiree ran downstairs to Jeremy's room, with 
 loudly beating heart. In the chill grey dusk of 
 early morning the familiar loomed unfamiliar. 
 Shadows lurked everywhere. The well-known 
 furniture had almost an inimical look. Her foot- 
 steps thudded like the echo of her heart-beats on 
 the old oak stairs, the polished landings, and the 
 twisting passages. It seemed as if something kept 
 pace with her which she could not outrun, the 
 blackest of all the shadows, creeping, growing, 
 deepening. . . . She felt as if she would never 
 reach Jeremy's door. She knocked. The sound 
 seemed to echo along the deserted corridor. She 
 grasped the handle of the door to find it held on the 
 inside.- It turned and Jeremy stood before her, 
 fully dressed, an electric torch in his hand. Its 
 shaft of light detached her from the gloom, showing 
 her pale pinched face. 
 
 "I'm ready," he said quietly. "What is it?" 
 He put out a hand to steady her. A hint from 
 Nurse Maynard had kept him out of bed. 
 
 "Mother's worse. They want the doctor im- 
 mediately. Will you go? . . . Jerry, I'm 
 frightened. " 
 
 "You mustn't be frightened. I'll go at once. 
 I think they expected some change tonight, 
 didn't they?" 
 
 "Yes, but you'll be quick, won't you?"
 
 Amaranth or Asphodel? 259 
 
 "As quick as I possibly can . Keep a good heart , 
 my dearest." 
 
 "Oh, hurry, hurry," she cried. "I'll open the 
 hall-door for you. It has a queer catch. It might 
 delay you. " 
 
 She ran in front of him, opened the door, and 
 almost pushed him out. A white mist rose thinly 
 from the ground in ghostly swirls. It swayed 
 round Jeremy, blotting him from sight as he ran 
 down the avenue. The echo of his footsteps came 
 out of the vapour for a moment. Then all was 
 still. 
 
 "Oh, hurry, hurry!" Desiree breathed, as she 
 turned back into the hall. She left the door on the 
 latch. There must be no delay on their return. 
 The hall looked darker than ever after the semi- 
 lightness outside. She had not known how mena- 
 cing the inanimate could be. She felt the shadows 
 thicken about her, swirl like the mists and envel- 
 ope her in an icy blackness that crept slowly from 
 her feet towards her heart. She tried to shake 
 off the fear she dared not voice, as she ran pant- 
 ing up the stairs and along the corridor to the door 
 of her mother's room. . . . The nurses were 
 alarmists. There was no real cause for fear. 
 Everyone got bad turns in fevers. They expected 
 it. It was nothing out of the ordinary course. 
 Jeremy would bring Dr. Clements in a few minutes 
 and he would quickly put things right. There 
 were no complications. No 
 
 The door was ajar. Desiree stood for a moment
 
 260 'The Beloved Sinner 
 
 on the threshold to steady herself before she went 
 in. The shadow crept about her as she looked, 
 chaining her where she stood, robbing her of all 
 power of motion. A murmur reached her, chilling 
 her further : a dreadful monotonous murmur such 
 as she had never heard before. 
 
 The windows were open wide to the swirling 
 mists, letting in cold wafts of air on the grey half- 
 light. A hooded lamp stood on a table near the 
 bed, its ray, yellow in the dawn-dusk, full on Lady 
 Brigid, who lay breathing with apparent difficulty 
 in her husband's arms, her face ashen in the strange 
 mingling of lights, her eyes half -open. 
 
 Was that really her father crouched on the bed, 
 holding the fragile figure to him as if he would 
 defend it from all comers? His face was changed. 
 His eyes shone with a fierce defiance. His lips 
 were curled in a dreadful travesty of a smile as he 
 uttered one word over and over again. 
 
 "No," he was saying. "No. No. No." 
 
 Who, what was he defying? Not the nurses, 
 who stood at the foot of the bed, whispering 
 uneasily. Not Desiree, whom he did not even 
 see. What then? Some Unseen Presence which 
 drew momentarily nearer? The creeping shadow 
 which had kept her company, spread to the bed, 
 where it already lay grey upon the beloved face. 
 
 "She's going!" cried Nurse Maynard, moving 
 forward. 
 
 Going? Where? The words cut across De- 
 siree's fetters, loosing her suddenly.
 
 Amaranth or Asphodel? 261 
 
 With a great cry she sprang forward and threw 
 herself on her knees by the bedside, clasping the 
 cold hand in both her own, as if she would fain 
 pour through it all her young vitality. 
 
 "Mother! "she cried. "Mother!" 
 
 With a visible effort Brigid Hasard raised her 
 heavy lids. 
 
 "Dede!" she said faintly. Then, "Noel!" 
 She scarcely breathed the words. 
 
 Her face changed, grew radiant. Her blue eyes 
 opened wide as if upon some heavenly vision. 
 She was gone. . . . 
 
 "No," said Noel Hasard again. There was 
 something terrifying in the dull intensity of the 
 reiteration. "No . . . No . . . No." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Hasard," whispered Nurse Maynard, 
 weeping. ' ' Dear Lady Brigid has left us. " 
 
 ' ' No, no. Her hand is quite warm, ' ' murmured 
 Desiree, lifting a haggard face. "I have warmed 
 it. Please go. Leave us alone. She will speak 
 to us again in a moment, won't you, darling? " 
 
 Nurse Maynard shook her head, but said no- 
 thing. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. 
 The nurses moved swiftly to the door. The 
 doctor was coming. There was nothing for him 
 to do now. 
 
 Not all the wonders of science or the resources of 
 medical skill can restore the sword of the spirit to 
 the earthly scabbard it has discarded .... 
 
 Yet, when the first bitterness of grief is overpast, 
 who that really loves would call back the freed
 
 262 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 soul to the prison of the body, with its "five 
 small windows closely barred, and each one 
 shackled with f orgetf ulness ? " 
 
 Sorrow touches different natures to different 
 issues. 
 
 After one heart-broken outburst it froze De- 
 siree to a dumb apathy, alternating with inward 
 storms of rebellion. She moved like a ghost about 
 the house, wan and aloof, in those first dreadful 
 days of the icy loneliness, the heavy silence of 
 death : her only care her father, who seemed more 
 remote than ever in the terrible isolation of his 
 grief. 
 
 He shut himself into his study, wrestling with 
 his soul, speaking to no one, seeing no one save 
 Desiree, who waited upon him. Even to her he 
 did not speak save to assent to any proposition she 
 put before him. She was never sure that he had 
 really heard her. 
 
 Noel Hasard's heart still cried "No" to the 
 inevitable. His anguished silence rebelled fiercely 
 against the decree to which he knew he must bend 
 if he were ever to find peace again. It was a con- 
 flict of body and soul as vital as that of his early 
 manhood, when flesh and spirit warred over his 
 self-enforced celibacy. The idea that his wife 
 might die had never even occurred to him. The 
 shock, the impossibility of belief in such a rending 
 apart, shook his mental poise, and sent him 
 wandering in the abomination of desolation. For
 
 Amaranth or Asphodel ? 263 
 
 two black days he lost his God : the God whom he 
 had worshipped so faithfully. . . . 
 
 But God had not lost him. 
 
 By the side of the shed body with its frozen smile 
 of exquisite radiance : the body he had loved, be- 
 cause it enshrined a spirit which he loved still 
 better and which had left him stumbling and grop- 
 ing far behind, Love Infinite found him. . . . 
 
 Is my gloom, after all, 
 
 Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? . . . 
 " Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 "LIFE is A WHEEL" 
 
 LADY MONICA BLAND came to Bressy as soon as 
 she heard of Brigid Hasard 's death. She had been 
 fond of her sister, but their ways had diverged so 
 far of late years that her affection had become more 
 of a sentimental than an urgent feeling. 
 
 She at once took charge of the situation, re- 
 lieved to find Jeremy at hand and in a position 
 to help. 
 
 ' ' Such a blessing to have a man here on whom 
 we can depend. John would have been useless, 
 and as for poor Noel ! " a sigh and a shake of her 
 head finished the sentence. 
 
 She and her brother-in-law had always been 
 poles apart. His sole comment upon her had 
 been : 
 
 "Monica is a comely woman. " 
 
 "It gives me a crick in my neck to look up to 
 him," she once told Brigid. "I don't know how 
 you stand such a rarefied atmosphere!" 
 
 The "comely woman" had not sufficient imagi- 
 nation to vision the "two soul-sides" of a man, 
 nor to realize how different is the "one he shows a 
 
 264
 
 "Life is a Wheel" 265 
 
 wcman when he loves her" from that which he 
 keeps for the world outside. Soul-sides had but 
 little to do with her comfortable material life. 
 
 She saw that the conventions were observed, 
 interviewed the sympathetic people who came and 
 went, arranged the necessary staging, the trap- 
 pings of woe, that seem such a mockery to those 
 whom Death has bereft. Jeremy was a tower of 
 strength in those endless aching days, but nothing 
 external seemed to matter to Desiree. Grief had, 
 for the time being, pushed aside even the love 
 that had once filled her world from horizon to 
 horizon. The knowledge of his presence warmed 
 her desolation from its first icy numbness, but 
 that was all for the moment. 
 
 Jeremy understood. He was content to wait 
 until she should have recovered from the first 
 intensity of the shock. His love rose above the 
 glow of desire in those trying days, shedding some 
 of the dross of selfishness that clings about most 
 earthly passions. 
 
 He was profoundly thankful that he had obeyed 
 the urgency of the impulse which drove him to 
 Bressy: thankful that there were so many real 
 tangible things which he could do to spare the 
 grief -stricken household. 
 
 They were days of world-stress too, when wars 
 and rumours of wars fled from lip to lip, touching 
 all save the two who sat alone in the isolation of 
 their sorrow. Days of an August that has changed 
 the fate of humanity for countless generations yet
 
 266 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 to come: days of cataclysm that surely left no 
 other household in England so untouched. 
 
 When all that was mortal of Brigid Hasard had 
 been laid to rest in the old mossy churchyard near 
 the outer wall of that Lady Chapel which had 
 given her so many days of mundane anxiety, Lady 
 Monica went back to Frayne, breathing a little 
 sigh of thankfulness that Gillian's wedding had 
 been safely over before this dreadful thing hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "I suppose poor Hugh Talbot will have to go to 
 France immediately," she said to Desiree before 
 she left. 
 
 "To France? Why?" asked the girl dully. 
 She looked thin and fragile in her black dress, 
 which made the gold of her hair and the delicacy 
 of her colouring seem almost improperly vivid. 
 
 "The war, of course. Don't you know that 
 we're at war with Germany?" said Lady Monica. 
 
 "No. I didn't realize it. Nothing seems to 
 matter much. " 
 
 "This is going to matter a great deal, " answered 
 Lady Monica briskly. "Come, Dede, you must 
 rouse yourself. You are young and have your 
 life before you. You must realize that there are 
 other people besides yourself in the world. Your 
 poor mother would be the last person to wish you 
 to give way like this. " 
 
 Desiree flushed painfully and opened her lips as 
 if to speak, but closed them again without saying 
 anything.
 
 "Life is a Wheel" 267 
 
 "You're engaged to a charming fellow too," 
 Lady Monica pursued. "You must think of him. 
 Jeremy has been very patient, but he's only 
 human. This absorption in your very natural 
 grief is not quite fair to him. " 
 
 "Isn't it?" Desir6e said with difficulty. "I 
 suppose not. I I'm afraid I haven't been think- 
 ing very much of Jeremy. I I'm sorry but I 
 think he understands. " 
 
 "Never presume too much on a man's under- 
 standing," counselled Lady Monica. "They are 
 curious creatures. Now good-bye, my poor darling, 
 and be sure you come to Frayne whenever you 
 feel you want a change. " 
 
 "Thank you, Aunt Monica. You have been 
 very good. " 
 
 It was with mingled feelings that Desiree 
 watched her aunt's departure. Lady Monica had 
 been a shield between her and the outside curious- 
 kindly world. She had interposed herself be- 
 tween the shrinking girl and the outpourings of 
 sympathy which would have jarred on the raw 
 wound of her loss. But with all her kindness she 
 had not really understood, and her attitude to- 
 wards the Rector had raised a curious little barrier 
 between them. Her parting words roused the 
 girl to a realization of the duties and responsibilities 
 that had to be faced as long as she herself drew 
 breath. In that they had been tonic. 
 
 On his return from the station Jeremy, looking 
 for Desiree, found her sitting by the lily-pond
 
 268 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 with hands clasped lightly in her lap and vague 
 unseeing eyes. Her face looked small and drained 
 of life as he watched her for a moment unseen: 
 purple shadows lay heavy beneath her eyes. For 
 a moment he had a mad primitive impulse to 
 snatch her up in his arms and carry her off to some 
 wild fastness where there was none to come be- 
 tween them; where he could warm her white 
 aloofness back to life and love. At the moment 
 he felt barred out, very far away. 
 
 Something of his longing must have touched her 
 spirit, for she turned slowly and saw him. As 
 their eyes met he had his reward. Her face lost 
 its masklike look: love quivered through it once 
 more, breaking its stillness. Her eyes lost their 
 vagueness and quickened to womanhood. She 
 rose and came towards him with outstretched 
 hands and trembling lips. 
 
 "Jerry!" she cried softly. "I have been very 
 lonely without you. " 
 
 He put his arms round her. For a moment he 
 could not control his voice. Then he said very 
 low: 
 
 "I thought you were never going to want me 
 again." 
 
 "Oh, no, no. How could you think that? It 
 was only " 
 
 "I know. I understand." 
 
 "I knew you did. How good and patient you 
 have been, my dearest!" 
 
 "There was so little I could do. "
 
 "Life is a Wheel" 269 
 
 "So little?" she echoed. "Jerry, you'll never 
 know how much you have done for us all. " Then, 
 after a moment, an old poignant regret broke 
 forth: "She never knew you. You never knew 
 her. . . . Oh, Jerry, Jerry!" 
 
 He laid a tender hand on her hair. "It will be 
 a lifelong regret. " Gently he led her on to talk 
 of the beloved dead, knowing that nothing else 
 would so ease the lonely pain. Then at last he 
 spoke of the needs of today: of the seed of fire 
 sown in the Balkans which had burst into such 
 sudden and appalling flame. 
 
 "But how does that affect us?" she asked, 
 looking up with wide frightened eyes. "It isn't 
 as if you were a soldier. If you were a soldier 
 
 "I've got to be a soldier, my Desiree, " he said 
 gently. "We've all got to be soldiers for England 
 now. You must be a soldier's wife, sweetheart, 
 and buckle on my sword for me. Won't you?" 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 "I mean all that your brave heart will see for 
 itself the moment you think it out. You wouldn't 
 have me a coward, shirking at home while others 
 fought for me and you?" 
 
 "You a coward ! " she echoed scornfully. 
 
 He smiled and took her face between his hands. 
 "I knew you would see eye to eye with me, my 
 heart. Listen. Whisper." 
 
 She did not heed him. A sudden panic shook 
 her. She clutched at him with both hands. 
 
 "Jeremy! Will there be danger?"
 
 270 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "There is always danger for a soldier," he 
 answered quietly. "But you wouldn't have me 
 shirk it because of that?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' ' Besides it may all be over before I am ready to 
 go out. " 
 
 "God grant it may!" she breathed with sud- 
 denly whitened lips. 
 
 He drew her closer to him and whispered in her 
 ear. 
 
 "Will you marry me before I go out?" 
 
 "Marry you?" she echoed. Oh, if only she 
 could! . . . "Darling I I but I can't leave 
 him." 
 
 "Your father? I shan't ask you to. I only 
 want you to be mine, to belong to me before I go 
 away. Will you ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Jerry," she sighed, hiding her face against 
 his shoulder with a sense of longing that was 
 almost pain. 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 "If I wish?" His clasp tightened. Here 
 indeed was "peach out of pain," in spite of the 
 impending separation. She would be his, his, 
 come what might. 
 
 They were silent for a long time, resting in the 
 renewed joy of mutual understanding. Tendrils 
 of hope thrust tentatively towards the light 
 which suddenly brightened the grey horizon of 
 the future.
 
 "Life is a Wheel" 271 
 
 Then Jeiemy said: "I must leave you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "So soon?" she cried, clinging to him. 
 
 "There are many things to see to before I join. 
 I thought that perhaps we could persuade your 
 father to come to us at Beaumont for a little. . . . 
 We could have our honeymoon there. Would 
 you like that?" 
 
 "I'd love it, " she whispered. 
 
 "Then you could come back with him and stay 
 here until the war is over and you come to Beau- 
 mont for good. Will that suit you ? " 
 
 "But the future ?" 
 
 ' ' Let the future take care of itself. ' ' 
 
 "Your mother?" 
 
 "My mother will welcome you as a daughter." 
 
 Desiree winced a little. "She has written very 
 kind letters, " she forced herself to say. 
 
 "You will love her when you know her," said 
 Jeremy, with all a man's easy optimism about the 
 affections of his womenkind. ' ' We must see about 
 getting a curate for your father. The work is far 
 too much for him, especially now. He's not a 
 young man, Dede." 
 
 "No," said Desiree with a pang. "He looks 
 so pitifully different now so broken. But he is 
 good, Jerry. He He ' ' 
 
 "He has the face of a saint," said Jeremy. 
 "And one doesn't get that easily. By the way, 
 I met an extraordinary individual in the avenue 
 as I was coming in. A tall thin youth with wild
 
 272 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 eyes and a shock of red hair. He first passed me 
 without speaking, then he changed his mind and 
 swung round 'How is she?' he shot at me. 
 Really, there was quite a 'stand and deliver' air 
 about him!" 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 "I asked him if he meant you and he said 
 'Who else?' Dede, are you the only 'she' in the 
 universe for that young man? Who is he?" 
 
 "Leander Wing, the artist who is doing the 
 screen for the Lady Chapel." 
 
 "And the poor dog has fallen in love with you? " 
 
 "He has the artistic temperament," Desiree 
 answered. "Poor boy, he fancied himself in 
 love with me." Alas, for Leander and his "starry 
 girdle of the spheres!" "You don't mind, do 
 you, Jerry ? We are only friends really. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You flirted with him ? Bad little girl ! ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps I did, long ago. How very long ago 
 it seems!" 
 
 "Why should I mind? You are mine. I felt 
 sorry for him, poor dog. His parting word to me 
 was: 'So you're the man! If you're not good 
 to her I'll kill you'!" 
 
 "What did you say?" asked Desiree again. 
 
 Jeremy gave a queer little laugh. 
 
 "I said, 'If I'm not, you may'!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE MONEY WEB 
 
 WITH Jeremy's departure the tentacles of every- 
 day clutched at Desiree once more. One by one 
 the wheels of the household began to revolve as 
 before, but with this difference, that now they 
 creaked audibly where of yore no sound was ever 
 heard. 
 
 Little worries arose almost hourly, petty de- 
 cisions to be made, small untowardnesses to be 
 dealt with, minor matters to be arranged: each 
 trivial in itself, yet accumulating to the pricking 
 discomfort of a cloud of gnats ! 
 
 The hens were not laying properly: Bunt did 
 not know where to put the spring broccoli: the 
 asparagus had been allowed to seed too freely. 
 Cook had no Tarragon vinegar for the mayon- 
 naise. Indeed she wasn't sure she could make 
 the sauce as the master liked it. It was her poor 
 ladyship who had always done it. ... And so 
 on, prick, buzz, sting. 
 
 Finally Jane came with the housekeeping- 
 books, at which Desiree looked in dismay. 
 
 "They're always paid on Saturday, Miss 
 is 273
 
 274 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Dede. Not for the last few weeks, though. I 
 didn't like to bother you, miss. Besides, I hadn't 
 the money." 
 
 Desiree had no money either. She must go to 
 her fathe'r. Another thought struck her weary 
 brain. The servants' wages . . . had they been 
 paid? She questioned Jane. The woman hesi- 
 tated, reluctant to trouble her young mistress 
 further. 
 
 ' ' Not yet, miss. Due on the 2oth July, both of 
 us. Bunt is weekly, " she admitted when pressed. 
 
 "I'll see about it, Jane. You should have 
 spoken to me sooner." 
 
 "There was no hurry. Her poor ladyship- 
 tears filled Jane's eyes as she turned away. 
 
 With lagging steps Desiree went to the study. 
 She hated the idea of bothering her father, but 
 it had to be done. She did not know how her 
 mother had managed about money, whether she 
 had had a weekly allowance or used her own in- 
 come. Money was hateful: yet how large the 
 need of it bulked in one's life! 
 
 Mere existence had been a joy but one short 
 month ago. Now life seemed to be made up of a 
 tangle of petty worries against a dark background 
 of loss and loneliness. How little she had known 
 of reality ! And if Jeremy went to the front there 
 would be an added daily anguish as well. 
 
 The sound of voices smote on her ear as she 
 reached the study door. She had not known that 
 any one was with her father. She knocked.
 
 The Money Web 275 
 
 "Come in," said the Rector's voice, slightly 
 sharpened. 
 
 She entered. Her father sat by the empty 
 fireplace beneath the angels of the triptych, 
 leaning his head on his hand. Facing him sat a 
 short, grey man, in a black coat. The table before 
 him was scattered with documents. He held one 
 in his hand from which he had apparently been 
 reading when -she opened the door. He stopped 
 abruptly and rose to greet her. With a sense 
 of surprise she recognized him as Mr. Barnet, her 
 mother's solicitor, whom she had met once or 
 twice. 
 
 "My deepest sympathy, Miss Hasard, " Mr. 
 Barnet said, with a touch of genuine feeling be- 
 neath his official manner. "I had not known of 
 the melancholy occurrence until last night. I 
 came over as early as I could today." 
 
 "That was very good of you," answered 
 Desiree, wondering vaguely why he had thought 
 a visit necessary. 
 
 "Mr. Barnet has kindly come to tell us about 
 your dear mother's business affairs, " said the 
 Rector in a thin voice drained of all feeling utterly 
 unlike his usual beautifully modulated tones. It 
 seemed to Desiree's newly sharpened senses as if 
 he spoke from a great distance. A sudden pang 
 smote her. Was he, too, drifting away ? 
 
 "I won't interrupt you, then," she said, turning. 
 Her errand must wait until later. 
 
 "No. Please stay, Miss Hasard," put in Mr.
 
 276 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Barnet quickly. "The matter concerns you as 
 well as Mr. Hasard." 
 
 ' ' Do you wish me to stay ? " she asked her father, 
 glancing at him with quick apprehension. 
 
 "Yes, dear. Please go on, Mr. Barnet." There 
 was a strange look on his face : one which the girl 
 could not read. 
 
 Mr. Barnet hesitated for a moment as Desiree 
 sat down near her father. Then he cleared his 
 throat and began: "I do not know if you are 
 aware, Miss Hasard, that in Lady Brigid's will, 
 which I hold, she left everything she died possessed 
 ot in equal shares, half to you and half to your 
 father in trust for you. That means that he 
 could only use the income of her bequest, not the 
 capital." 
 
 "Which is nil, you tell me," interrupted the 
 Rector. "Please spare us technicalities, Mr. 
 Barnet. There is no use in specifying the clauses 
 of the will when, as you have just told me, my 
 wife had nothing to leave." 
 
 ' ' Nothing ! ' ' Desiree echoed. ' ' I always thought 
 that mother had lots of money." 
 
 Mr. Barnet pursed up his lips. He did not 
 like being interrupted in the execution of his 
 duties. 
 
 ' ' Lady Brigid was in possession of a very comfort- 
 able income when she married, " he returned 
 drily. "Unfortunately she had full control over 
 her money." 
 
 "Why unfortunately?" asked Desiree, colour
 
 The Money Web 277 
 
 flaming into her white cheeks at even the shadow 
 of condemnation. 
 
 "Because, my dear young lady, she was able 
 to use her capital. Once you begin to nibble at 
 capital a comfortable income soon crumbles. 
 That was the case with Lady Brigid's. The 
 nibbling process began about fifteen years ago, 
 very much against my advice. It continued until 
 her capital was reduced to almost half its ori- 
 ginal proportions." 
 
 He cleared his throat again, expecting another 
 interruption, but his two hearers sat mute, with 
 white stricken faces. He naturally attributed 
 their silence to the gravity of their money loss. 
 He had seen human nature in many unveiled 
 aspects during his long career, and had in most 
 cases found money the most powerful motive 
 power of emotion. He did not know that con- 
 science clanged like gongs in the ears of each : 
 
 1 ' She did it for me ! She did it for me ! " 
 
 "Last May, in spite of my most earnest pro- 
 tests, Lady Brigid transferred the balance of her 
 capital from the safe securities in which it was in- 
 vested " 
 
 His interruption came now. Desiree half rose 
 from her chair. "Not last May? Oh, not last 
 May!" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Hasard, I can give you the date 
 and hour. She went from my office to meet you 
 at the dressmaker's. I daresay you remember 
 the incident."
 
 278 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Remember the incident ? With the vividness of a 
 scene revealed by lightning all that led up to that 
 May day flashed across Desiree's brain. How she 
 had teased her mother to achieve the impossible, 
 how she had not been satisfied with the promise 
 of Frayne and the wedding, how she had impor- 
 tuned for the London visit! Across the gulf of 
 the months she saw her mother's face with the 
 two red spots burning on her cheeks, wistful, yield- 
 ing against her better judgment. She heard the 
 soft voice with its unheeded ring of pain : ' ' Desiree, 
 has it ever struck you that the impossible is only 
 attained at a cost, and that that cost has to be 
 counted some day?" 
 
 Had that day dawned now ? 
 
 Mr. Barnet was speaking. The sense of his 
 words slowly filtered through her absorption. 
 
 "In spite of my strongest protestations Lady 
 Brigid invested her remaining six thousand 
 pounds in what I can only call a most fraudulent 
 company, the Queen of Sheba Gold Mine. The 
 very name ought to have been sufficient warning." 
 
 "Probably it was its Biblical sound which 
 attracted her. She was as innocent as a child," 
 said the Rector in the same thin, detached 
 voice. 
 
 "You knew nothing of the matter, then?" 
 
 "I never interfered in my wife's affairs." 
 
 "I wish most heartily that you had, " said Mr. 
 Barnet, stung to unwonted fervency. "Some- 
 thing might have been saved if you had pre-
 
 The Money Web 279 
 
 vented her from investing in that wild-cat scheme. 
 As it is " he shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Is nothing left? " asked Desiree at last. " She 
 seemed so pleased with her new investment when 
 she wrote to me at Frayne." 
 
 "Nothing, except what stands to her account 
 at the bank. The company paid one dividend, 
 drew in thousands of new shareholders, and then 
 failed." 
 
 Desiree was silent for a moment. Then she 
 broke out with a touch of her old impulsiveness : 
 
 "I am glad glad she was spared that . . . 
 glad she never knew. Oh, there is mercy in death 
 after all!" 
 
 "My dear young lady " Mr. Barnet began. 
 
 "You don't realize that it was for me she did it 
 all. That it was my selfishness, my 
 
 "Our selfishness, my dear," interrupted the 
 Rector, leaning forward and speaking with intense 
 self-condemnation. "It is astonishing how blind 
 we can be to our own shortcomings. I was 
 absorbed in my work, in the restoration of St. 
 Osyth's. I thought of nothing else, while she " 
 his voice broke. He hung his head over his 
 loosely clasped hands. Some slowly growing sense 
 of horror seemed to grave deeper lines about his 
 mouth. 
 
 The silence grew heavy, sharp-edged. Mr. 
 Barnet drew his papers together, slipped an elastic 
 band round them, and laid them on the table. 
 
 "I will leave these with you, Mr. Hasard, "
 
 280 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 he said. "You can look over them at your 
 leisure." 
 
 Noel Hasard waved them aside. "I trust 
 you, Mr. Barnet." 
 
 Mr. Barnet coughed. "Nevertheless I should 
 prefer to leave them. It is always better to have 
 proofs that trust is deserved. Good-bye, Miss 
 Hasard; believe me that I have felt this errand 
 very much. I had a great respect for a regard 
 
 "Desiree, will you not give Mr. Barnet some 
 luncheon? It is about time, is it not? You 
 will excuse me " 
 
 ' ' No, no lunch, thank you, Mr. Hasard. I must 
 get back to Churchampton as quickly as possible. 
 I came in my little two-seater. I must not delay. 
 Please accept my profoundest sympathy." 
 
 "Thank you," said Noel Hasard tonelessly. 
 
 Desiree's heart constricted at sight of his hag- 
 gard face. He looked like a man who has received 
 his death-blow. She wondered why. 
 
 She saw Mr. Barnet as far as the hall-door in 
 the old friendly Bressy fashion. Then she hurried 
 back to the study. She was afraid to leave her 
 father alone. The look in his eyes frightened her. 
 
 She opened the door without knocking. The 
 Rector knelt by the table, his face hidden in his 
 outstretched arms, his hands clasped so tightly 
 that the thin knuckles showed white. 
 
 For an icy moment she thought that he was 
 dead. Then she saw that the rigid intensity of the
 
 The Money Web 281 
 
 still figure was the rigour of mental anguish rather 
 than the order of release. 
 
 She ran forward and put her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Daddy, what it is?" she cried. "Oh, what is 
 it? Not the old money surely? What does that 
 matter as long as we have each other ? " 
 
 A shudder shook the frail bent figure, sending a 
 thrill of fear through her. 
 
 "What is it, darling?" she cried, again bending 
 lower. "Tell me. Let me share it, whatever it is." 
 
 He raised his head. His face was ghastly. 
 Great drops of agony rolled down his forehead. 
 
 "It is the money, Desiree, " he said in a harsh 
 strained voice. "Don't you see that without 
 it I am a thief?" 
 
 Desiree drew back in astonishment. For a 
 moment she wondered if he had gone mad. But 
 no, the light of sanity shone clear through the 
 anguish in his eyes. 
 
 "I don't understand, " she gasped. 
 
 "You may well shrink from me," he said 
 bitterly. "I, who have condemned others 
 
 "I didn't shrink," cried the girl, wounded. 
 She flung her arms round him and tried to draw 
 his head to her shoulder. ' ' How could you think 
 I would shrink from you whatever happened?" 
 Tears rained down her cheeks. "You must never 
 say such a thing, never think such a thing again." 
 
 "No, no," he soothed. . "I did not mean it, 
 my child. You are a good girl, the best of
 
 282 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 daughters." He put her away gently from him 
 and walked to the window. For the first time 
 it occurred to him that what he had to say would 
 hurt her still further. 
 
 "You don't understand, Desiree, " he said, 
 without turning round. "How could you, poor 
 child? You must not be wounded. My blame 
 is only for myself. Your share is over and done 
 with, blotted out." 
 
 Desiree's heart thudded. Painfully she won- 
 dered what was coming. She could not speak. 
 Something in her throat choked utterance. 
 
 "When you came to me some time ago for 
 money I had none of my own to give you. . . . 
 In my possession was a cheque made payable to 
 me by Lord Garry. It was a donation towards 
 the screen. . . . I paid it in to my own account 
 instead of to the Restoration Fund. I borrowed 
 it." The self -contempt of the word rang like 
 steel. ' ' Now do you see ? " 
 
 "You borrowed it to pay my debts," she fal- 
 tered, hiding her face in her hands. How inevitably 
 it all traced back to her selfish folly no, her sin ! 
 
 "In other words, I stole it," the pitiless words 
 cut across the stillness. 
 
 "Oh, no! No!" 
 
 "What else? Of course I intended to repay it, 
 but what does the intention matter? The fact 
 remains that I I who in my pride held my head 
 so high have fallen to the level of the very sin for 
 which I condemned poor Tom Herring."
 
 The Money Web 283 
 
 "No, no," cried Desiree again. "You only 
 borrowed it." 
 
 "Without asking permission." 
 
 "Cousin Ludlow would willingly have lent 
 you the money." 
 
 "Yes, if I had asked him . . . but I don't even 
 know when he will return from Russia. No, 
 Desiree, there is no use in cloaking ugly facts with 
 fair words. To all intents and purposes I put my 
 hand in the till of the Restoration Fund and 
 'borrowed' just as poor Tom did." 
 
 Desiree was stricken silent, her whole being 
 burning with shame. 
 
 "But you can pay it back, " she said in a choked 
 voice, after a pause. 
 
 "You forget that there is the three hundred 
 pounds for the screen as well. That is promised 
 to young Wing." 
 
 "Over five hundred pounds!" Desiree faltered. 
 
 ' ' Over five hundred pounds, " her father echoed. 
 ' ' Where is it to come from ? We shall have barely 
 enough money to live upon, as it is. My stipend 
 ' he broke off, and turning from the window 
 sat down heavily in his chair, hiding his eyes 
 from the light as if he were afraid to face the day. 
 
 "Wouldn't Cousin Ludlow lend ?" 
 
 "Can I tell him I have stolen the cheque he 
 sent me and ask him to lend me three hundred 
 pounds more on the strength of it? " 
 
 It cut Desiree like a knife to hear the shame in 
 her father's voice.
 
 284 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "I can," she faltered. "It has all been my 
 fault. Let me tell him. He is the kindest, most 
 understanding ' 
 
 "Theft takes a good deal of understanding," 
 said Noel Hasard bitterly. "Leave me now, my 
 dear. ... I must make my confession to God 
 and man, and pay back every penny of the money 
 I borrowed before I can feel that my hands 
 are clean again." 
 
 He bowed his head on his hands. Desiree 
 stole from the room, afraid to offer sympathy or 
 consolation. A barrier seemed to have risen 
 between them, hard and clear as glass. They 
 could see one another through it, but they could 
 not touch yet.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 LORD GARRY RETURNS 
 
 As Desiree blundered across the hall with un- 
 seeing eyes, she ran into someone who came 
 quickly towards her from the open hall-door. 
 She stumbled at the impact and would have fallen 
 if a strong arm had not held her up. 
 
 "Gently, little girl," said a well -remembered 
 voice. 
 
 "Cousin Ludlow! You? Oh, I thought you 
 were in Russia!" The coincidence was too 
 startling for her over-strained nerves. Tears fell 
 quick as rain as she clung to him for a moment 
 sobbing. 
 
 He dried her eyes with his own handkerchief, 
 stroked her hair gently, and said nothing. That 
 alone was comfort. So many people had thought 
 it necessary to say things, unheeding how they 
 jarred. Lord Garry's silence was soothing. 
 
 After a moment Desiree controlled herself. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said shakily. "I didn't 
 mean to but the sight of you the comfort of 
 you ' ' her lips trembled as she broke off. ' ' Come 
 somewhere where we can talk." 
 
 285
 
 286 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Yes. You have much to tell me," he returned 
 gravely. His whimsical face had a quenched 
 look. 
 
 "Everything in the world. . . . You know?" 
 she asked quickly. 
 
 "Yes. I met Judy Bland on my way through 
 town. . . . She told me." 
 
 "Where shall we go? . . . The Yew Garden ?" 
 
 "No." He could not face the Yew Garden, so 
 redolent of her whom he had loved so deeply, just 
 yet. It was there he had seen her last alone, 
 sweet and gracious as ever, but turning eagerly 
 from him to greet her husband. "Let's go to the 
 drawing-room. Tell Jane to let no one else in." 
 
 She ran away to give the order. When she 
 returned she found him at the window, staring 
 at the riot of colour in the garden with eyes that 
 saw nothing of August's pageant of flaming orange 
 and gold. She slipped her hand through his arm 
 and leaned her head against his shoulder. Each 
 sore heart found comfort in the silent contact. 
 . . . Presently Lord Garry asked a question. 
 
 "Did she speak of me?" 
 
 "Yes, once, " Desiree answered, eager to console. 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "It was the day I came home. She spoke of 
 your goodness in sending Daddy the cheque for 
 the screen." Suddenly her face flamed at the 
 recollection of all that her words implied. 
 
 Lord Garry noticed nothing. He was still 
 staring at the tangle of sunflowers and golden-rod.
 
 Lord Garry Returns 287 
 
 In his heart was a sadness too deep for words. 
 . . . Her only thought for him had been in 
 connection with the man she had always loved 
 best. There had been nothing personal about 
 it. Still, he had pleased her in pleasing Noel, 
 and when one would lay down one's life for a 
 woman it should not be harder to lay aside 
 self. . . . 
 
 "Sit down and tell me what you can, " he said 
 suddenly. 
 
 To him also the drawing-room, once so perfect a 
 background for the one beloved figure, had a dry 
 empty air. He drew a chair near the open window 
 for I^esiree and sat down facing her. For the 
 first time he really looked at her, and was startled 
 at the change he saw. The sharpened contour of 
 cheek and chin, the heavy sadness of the blue 
 eyes, these were only to be expected, but there 
 were other and subtler changes. It was a woman's 
 soul that looked at him out of the darkened eyes: 
 a soul new-risen as the Phoenix out of the ashes 
 of sorrowful experience. It was a woman's voice 
 that told him gently all the little details his aching 
 heart craved to know. 
 
 "Thank you," he said when she had finished. 
 Then, after a pause: "If I had come back a little 
 sooner I might have seen her." 
 
 Desiree said nothing. Words seemed meaning- 
 less. Something of her newly found intuition di- 
 vined his suffering and held it sacred. 
 
 After a moment he took out his pocket-book,
 
 288 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 opened it, and drew out a slip of paper which he 
 handed to her. 
 
 "I came across that in a magazine," he said. 
 "You might like it." 
 
 Eagerly she read the lines. 
 
 I dreamed of Death : and thro' a poppied field 
 
 I saw a gracious figure, robed in grey, 
 
 Move silently with swift relentless feet : 
 
 The poppies in whose wake bent cloud- white heads, 
 
 While those in front uplifted cups of fire : 
 
 Beneath whose feet were beds of violets 
 
 As white as Spring's white foam (the fragrant souls 
 
 Of those whose purple sweetness breathes of love) 
 
 Whose face was hidden by a misty veil 
 
 Down-dropping from a crown of asphodel : 
 
 Whose touch, laid lightly upon wearied eyes 
 
 Puts them to sleep upon this world of ours 
 
 And wakes them to a newer, fuller life . . . 
 
 And then I thought if I could lift the veil 
 
 (And all my heart went yearning to the thought) 
 
 That there would be revealed to me a face 
 
 Not grim nor terrible, nor gloomy even, 
 
 But tender as the welcome of a friend. 
 
 Desiree's face changed and softened as she read. 
 She looked up with dewy eyes. 
 
 "You believe that, too, don't you?" she mur- 
 mured. "About the 'newer, fuller life' and 'the 
 welcome of a friend' ? " 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "but for a long time our 
 hearts are too sore even to try to lift the veil and
 
 Lord Garry Returns 289 
 
 see the friend beneath." He folded the paper and 
 put it back in his pocket-book. Then he leaned 
 across to Desiree and spoke in a different tone: 
 "Judy told me something about you, Dede. Is it 
 true?" 
 
 "You mean about Jeremy? Yes, quite true." 
 
 Lord Garry held out his hand and took hers in 
 a warm grasp. "Is it the only possible man?" 
 
 "The only possible man, " she echoed, a tinge of 
 radiance brightening her wan little face. 
 
 "And you met him at Frayne?" 
 
 "I met him at Frayne." Her slight hesita- 
 tion and quick blush did not pass unnoticed this 
 time. 
 
 "In quite an orthodox fashion?" 
 
 Desiree's blush deepened. She squeezed the 
 hand she held. "I'll tell you what no one else 
 knows. We didn't meet for the first time at 
 Frayne. We met in the train when I was going 
 to London." 
 
 "And you foregathered? Oh, naughty Dede!" 
 
 She nodded, quickened to something of her old 
 animation. 
 
 "And henceforth, like poor 'Douglas, tender and 
 true,' all men beside were to you like shadows 
 even the smart young men about town who amuse 
 your Aunt Monica so much ? " 
 
 "Like shadows," she answered, half under her 
 breath. 
 
 ' ' And he felt the same ? ' ' The kindly catechism 
 
 continued. 
 19
 
 290 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Just the same. . . . We both knew al- 
 most at once." 
 
 "Then down on your knees, my child, and 
 thank ' whatever gods there be ' for one of the most 
 precious gifts in their golden argosy." 
 
 "Youmean ?" 
 
 "I mean the priceless gift of mutual first love. 
 There is nothing on the good brown earth like it, 
 or in the high Heaven either, as far as we know ; 
 and it's as hard to find as the crock of gold at the 
 rainbow's foot. . . . Now tell me all about your 
 Jeremy." 
 
 With little reticences and shynesses gradually 
 shed Desiree drew such a picture of her lover as 
 perhaps only his mother would have recognized 
 of all who knew him. 
 
 Lord Garry sighed when she had finished. 
 
 ' ' Has he no redeeming vices, then ? No saving 
 tempers or trivialities? No characteristic rough- 
 ness? My poor child, you have depicted a man 
 as smooth as butter, and as uninteresting. ' ' 
 
 Desiree reddened. "You're laughing at him!" 
 
 "Heaven fcrefend!" exclaimed Lord Garry, 
 making the sign of the horns. 
 
 At the old familiar trick she laughed too. The 
 atmosphere cleared. 
 
 "I merely meant to imply that your Jeremy 
 could not be what my old nurse used to call a 
 'cock angel'! ' Men are men, not .cock angels, ' 
 she often told my mother, and she used to squash 
 my rising conceit by informing me that 'you
 
 Lord Garry Returns 291 
 
 needn't think you're a cock angel, Master Ludlow, 
 for you're not!' As Jeremy must be 'a son of 
 Adam and of Eve,' like the rest of us, I beg for some 
 tiniest flaw to prove his humanity." 
 
 Desiree did not answer at once. After a pause, 
 during which Lord Garry wondered what mark 
 his random whimsicalities had hit, she admitted 
 without looking at him : 
 
 "Jeremy has a I don't know if you'd call it a 
 flaw exactly. Judy says it's a crank." 
 
 "That's encouraging," he returned with a sigh 
 of relief. "Reveal it to me at once, so that I 
 may take him to my bosom, as I never could have 
 done your butter man, Dede." 
 
 He wondered anew why her cheeks should flame 
 and her tongue falter as she told him of Jeremy's 
 idiosyncracy with regard to debt. 
 
 "He changes absolutely when he gets on the 
 subject, ' ' she went on. ' ' The Jeremy I know van- 
 ishes and a hard stern stranger takes his place. 
 It's just as if he suddenly clanged an iron door 
 between you and his niceness. The iron door is 
 all you see and it's rather rather frightening," 
 she 2nded childishly. 
 
 "You must find the key to it." 
 
 "Oh, how can I? How can I?" she cried 
 piteously, half rising from her chair. 
 
 "Love has keys to fit every lock," he said 
 gently. 
 
 "But supposing I don't even see where the key- 
 hole is?"
 
 292 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "You must make him show you. . . . Dede, 
 dear, Love plays many tricks upon his votaries. 
 One of them is to wrap the beloved in an im- 
 possibly golden haze, so that you cannot see any 
 human angles or imperfections. With marriage 
 familiarity comes like a rushing wind and blows 
 the haze away, so that all is revealed with startling 
 clearness. If your love is the real thing it will 
 stand the test. If not out through the window 
 it flies! . . . That was what happened to my 
 marriage," he continued after a pause. "It was 
 all glamour. When that went nothing was left." 
 
 Suddenly Desiree's thoughts switched to her 
 discovery at Frayne. "Oh, Cousin Ludlow, I 
 met her. Your wife, I mean." 
 
 "Camilla? Where?" He drew himself up in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "At Frayne." 
 
 "Who took her there?*' he asked, with a frown. 
 
 "She was staying in the house. Judy asked 
 her." 
 
 "Staying at Frayne? Did Monica know who 
 she was?" 
 
 "She knew that she had been divorced, but not 
 who her first husband had been. They didn't 
 seem to mind much ' 
 
 Lord Garry's lips drew together in a hard line. 
 "Monica Bland is impossibly slack. ... I felt 
 that Camilla would spin herself back into society 
 somehow." 
 
 "Spin?"
 
 Lord Garry Returns 293 
 
 "I called her a tornado to you. I changed the 
 metaphor after. She is more like a top, which 
 must spin or die. Once she stops spinning she will 
 die." His tone rang with half- amused contempt. 
 
 "She hasn't stopped spinning yet," said 
 Desiree, smiling in spite of herself at the remem- 
 brance of Princess Pafnuty's ceaseless activities. 
 
 "Was the man there?" 
 
 " Prince Pafnuty? No." 
 
 "How did you find out who she was?" 
 
 "It was the last night I was there. The night 
 " She stopped, caught her breath and went on 
 again. "I wore your star sapphire. She recog- 
 nized it, flew at me like a little fury, and said it 
 was hers. . . . Then, after a bit she laughed and 
 spoke of you wanted to know how you had worn ? 
 Such insolence !" 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 ' ' I refused to answer her because she had treated 
 you so badly. Then people came. There was a 
 dinner-party, 'you see." 
 
 "I see." He took her hand again. "My 
 gallant little champion! But you needn't have 
 minded so much for me, Dede. She never really 
 hurt me. She only stung: and the smart passed 
 away long ago. ..." He rose. " I should like to 
 see your father before I go. Do you think he 
 would see me?" 
 
 Desiree sprang up and laid her hands on his 
 arm. It seemed to him that there was a quite 
 disproportionate entreaty in her gaze.
 
 \ 
 
 294 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "No, no," she said quickly, while her breath 
 fluttered as if she had been running. "Not 
 today not today." 
 
 "Very well, dear child. I don't want to force 
 myself on him," he answered with some surprise. 
 
 "It's only that only that he has just had an 
 interview with mother's lawyer, Mr. Barnet, 
 and it it upset him rather. I he " 
 
 ' ' I quite understand. Perhaps tomorrow. ' ' 
 
 "Yes. Yes. Tomorrow. Cousin Ludlow " 
 
 "Yes, Dede?" Poor child, she was completely 
 unnerved. No wonder after all she had been 
 through ! 
 
 "It's only I must see you before you see him. 
 ... I have something to ask. To tell you. 
 ..." She broke off, and leaned against his 
 shoulder for a moment, her voice half-choked. 
 Her agitation, causeless though it seemed to him, 
 was pitiful. 
 
 "Yes, my dear little girl. You know I'd do 
 anything I could for you. Shall I come here or 
 will you come out to me ? ' ' He spoke as soothingly 
 as he could, wondering what she wanted of him. 
 
 "Oh, come here. ... I can't go I haven't 
 been anywhere yet. ' ' 
 
 Tangled as she was in the money-web she could 
 not draw him into it now. They had been too 
 near each other's sacred places today to tarnish 
 confidence with the touch of the sordid. She felt 
 that she must have the breathing-space of a night 
 between her and confession. She was already,
 
 Lord Garry Returns 295 
 
 and unwillingly, in the throes of a conviction 
 which threatened to overpower her. She must 
 have some hours in which to face it alone before 
 she could come to any definite conclusion. 
 Lord Garry stooped and kissed her forehead. 
 "When would you like me to come?" 
 "In the morning," she answered. "I shall 
 have more courage then."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 "So you see from beginning to end it was all 
 my fault." 
 
 Desiree stood before Lord Garry with nervously 
 working fingers, having told the whole story, 
 extenuating nothing. 
 
 He put his hands on her shoulders and looked 
 into her eyes, astonished beyond measure by her 
 confession. 
 
 "And it means never again, as far as you are 
 concerned?" he asked, searching her face. 
 
 "Never again!" she cried, her whole heart in 
 her eyes. "Oh, never, never again!" 
 
 ' ' My poor little girl, it has been a bitter lesson, " 
 he said in a tired voice. "Now I think the rest 
 lies between your father and myself." 
 
 She caught at his arm. "No, you mustn't go 
 yet. Tell me what you are going to do. If 
 you can't help us I must think I have thought 
 of something else." Her voice sharpened. 
 
 "Why should you think I could not help you? " 
 
 A fragment of long-ago conversation flashed 
 back into Desiree's mind. 
 
 296
 
 Confession 297 
 
 "I remember mother saying once that your 
 title was a poor one : that you had not very much 
 money, as money counts in England." 
 
 "That's quite true," he returned gravely. 
 ' ' Most of my money is sunk in Bressy industries 
 which bring in a slow return. Still, I ought to be 
 able to lay my hands on three hundred pounds 
 to save a friend's good name. . . . Tell me, 
 Dede, what was the alternative? Did you think 
 of selling the star sapphire ? ' ' 
 
 She recoiled from him, all her drooping pride in 
 arms. 
 
 ' ' Sell your gift ? Such a thought never occurred 
 to me. No." Her words came with difficulty. 
 Her white cheeks flushed a painful red. "I I 
 thought that if you could not help us I would I 
 would tell Jeremy, and and ask him to lend 
 it to us. He has plenty of money, I believe." 
 
 Lord Garry looked keenly at her. "What do 
 you think the result would be?" he asked slowly. 
 
 "He would lend the money and never speak 
 to me again, " she cried with passionate intensity. 
 
 "You really believe that?" 
 
 "I really believe that." 
 
 "And you would face it for your father's sake? " 
 
 Desiree's head went up. "You forget what he 
 faces for mine. You don't know what this means 
 to him. He is so proud, so sensitive. If it killed 
 me and it almost would, I think I'd do it." 
 
 "By Gad, you have pluck!" His lined weary- 
 eyes shone with sudden admiration. "Race
 
 298 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 tells. You are a Massaretie of Massarenes." His 
 voice softened curiously. "Desiree, don't you 
 know that anything I have to give lies at the ser- 
 vice of those whom your mother loved?" 
 
 The revulsion of feeling was too much for her. 
 For a moment she clung to his arm. 
 
 "Don't tell your Jeremy," the kind worldly 
 voice went on. "If he feels like that confession 
 might only shake his trust in you. He would 
 forgive but not forget." 
 
 "Yes, he said that those whom he couldn't 
 trust were wiped out of his life," she whispered, 
 shivering. 
 
 "He might be implacable. Good men can be 
 as hard as good women. I shouldn't risk it, if I 
 were you. It is all very well to talk of hating the 
 sin and loving the sinner, but the average man finds 
 it very difficult to disassociate the two. If one 
 has loved and understood the sinner beforehand 
 ! But you tell me he worships an ideal you!" 
 he broke off. 
 
 "I'm afraid he does," said Desiree, with a 
 catch in her voice. "I've begged him not to. 
 I've told him over and over again how full of 
 faults and flaws I am, but he won't see it." 
 
 "Of course he won't. I should think very 
 poorly of him if he did. Still, it complicates the 
 question of your telling him." 
 
 "You really think it would be better not to? " 
 
 ' ' I wish I knew him, ' ' Lord Garry mused. 
 ' ' One look at the fellow would tell me more about
 
 Confession 299 
 
 him than all your descriptions. After all, the 
 thing is over and done with. It happened prac- 
 tically before he came into your life. It's in the 
 family so far. Better let it remain so. Don't 
 look hurt. Your Jeremy's not in the family yet." 
 
 "He wants to be as soon as possible." 
 
 "The deuce he does! He's to spring out of the 
 blue one fine morning, I suppose, with a special 
 licence in his pocket and flourish it at you with a. 
 ' Your wedding or your life ? ' Eh ? " 
 
 "Something of that sort, " she answered with a 
 wan little smile. 
 
 "Well! Well! It's a green marriage I wish 
 you, child. But for the perfect blending there 
 must be mutual trust. You are worthy of any 
 man's trust, Dede, in spite of the past. I should 
 honestly advise you not to risk upsetting his." 
 
 "You really would?" His advice chimed so 
 aptly with her desires that she longed to think it 
 right, ' ' Really and truly ? ' ' 
 
 "Really and truly." 
 
 "You don't think it would be unfair to him ? " 
 
 "Don't you intend to try to live up to his ideal 
 of you?" 
 
 "I do. Indeed I do," she cried fervently. 
 
 "A wiser than I has said: 'Man serves woman 
 kneeling. When he gets on his feet he goes away.' 
 Do you think your Jeremy is the sort who would 
 go away?" 
 
 As Lord Garry spoke Desiree thought of the 
 many facets of Jeremy's character as she knew it :
 
 3OO The Beloved Sinner 
 
 his power of idealization, his worship of her, his 
 delicacy of perception, his inflexible will, his 
 strange steely hardness. The pendulum-swing 
 from idealization would be disgust. There were 
 no half -measures about Jeremy. By the heights 
 of his love she could measure the depths of his 
 despisal. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, hopelessly. "I'm afraid 
 he would." 
 
 "Silence is one of the virtues of the wise. Be 
 wise, otherwise silent in this instance." 
 
 She did not answer immediately. Then she 
 said very low : 
 
 ' 'Thank you, Cousin Ludlow. . . . I know that 
 mother would thank you for all you've done for 
 us today. " 
 
 ' ' I hope that she has something better to do than 
 bother about such pettinesses any more, " he said 
 with an unwonted touch of sharpness. "Does 
 your father expect me ? Do you think he'd see me 
 now?" 
 
 "Yes. I told him you were coming. You 
 you'll see a change in him. He is very broken. 
 .1 never saw him humiliated before. He is 
 now. It's all my doing. I can't bear it." She 
 stopped abruptly and turned away. 
 
 ' ' Poor child ! " he said very gently. He pressed 
 her hand and went away, strangely reluctant to 
 face the interview before him. 
 
 Pity and sympathy warred with the old disso- 
 nance of temperament between him and Noel Has-
 
 Confession 301 
 
 ard. Traced to its source, one would have found 
 some remnant of primitive man beneath the layers 
 of outer civilization in each : that primal instinct, 
 the need of man for his mate, the undying spark 
 of jealousy of him who has, in him who has not. 
 Civilization may cloak and curb these passions, 
 but primitive man is hard to kill. 
 
 Within Desiree primitive woman struggled 
 with her new-found soul. When Lord Garry 
 left her she ran out of the room like a hunted 
 thing across the garden, a lovely tangle of un- 
 tidiness, and into the Yew Garden, whose with- 
 ered roses bent dry, reproachful heads before her. 
 She had never yet seen withered roses in the 
 pleasance. Her mother had always cut them 
 off when the blooms faded. Here was something 
 she could do to occupy the moments when her 
 heart was in the study, quailing before the shame 
 that she knew her father was enduring. Her 
 shame. . . . The bitter shame she could not bear 
 for him. . . . 
 
 She went into the house to fetch a basket and 
 scissors. Something in the mechanical "clip, 
 clip" and the faint sweetness of the dropping 
 heads, with here and there an unfaded streak of 
 pink or crimson among the dry cinnamon-coloured 
 petals, soothed her frayed nerves. At the back of 
 her mind her former conviction still lurked, ready 
 to leap out upon her the moment she relaxed 
 her vigilance. It had kept her company through 
 the night : it had shadowed her early waking hours :
 
 302 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 it had crouched, but only for a spring, she felt, 
 during her interview with Lord Garry. His 
 advice had stunned it for a moment, but it was 
 not dead. It was not even unconscious. It was 
 still there, growing in vigour with each passing 
 moment: the conviction that, come what might, 
 she would never know true happiness or peace of 
 mind if she married Jeremy with a secret between 
 them. 
 
 In spite of Lord Garry's soothing counsel, she 
 felt to her innermost fibre that it would not be 
 fair to Jeremy to let him marry her without 
 knowing that she had done the very thing he 
 most despised. If he had not felt so strongly on 
 the subject she would not be so convinced that 
 she must tell him. It would not have mattered 
 so vitally as it did now. If, in his sternness, he 
 were a stranger to her, then she, in her erring, was 
 equally a stranger to him. She must not let him 
 marry a stranger. He had said that they were 
 only learning each other. ... In any study 
 one had to learn difficult as well as easy things. 
 The point at issue now was, would he care to 
 learn any more once he had come to such a stum- 
 bling-block? 
 
 She tried to put herself in his place, to see with 
 his eyes, to judge with his mind, but to no avail. 
 She was up against that separating wall of non- 
 comprehension against which humanity has so 
 often beaten pleading hands in vain. She realized 
 for the first time how pitifully little any human
 
 Confession 303 
 
 being knows of any other. Words she had once 
 read flashed across her mind : 
 
 Not e'en the dearest heart and next our own 
 Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh. 
 
 Jeremy was the dearest heart and next her own, 
 but if he got up from his kneeling would he walk 
 away? Would he? Would he? . . . That was 
 the crux. 
 
 She closed her eyes upon the still garden where 
 she had known moments of exquisite joy and saw 
 his hard implacable face, the steely glint in his 
 grey eyes. If he should change like that to her! 
 . . . But why should he not? What spell had 
 she to prevent him? 
 
 To be wiped out of his life? How could she 
 bear it? ... But how could she bear to enter 
 it, knowing that he believed her to be other than 
 she was? 
 
 She dropped the basket of dead roses, once 
 beautiful as her hopes had been. Were they 
 emblematical of what in future would be only 
 faintly scented memories? Was love to wither 
 before she knew its fulness? Love! . . . She 
 hid her face in her hands, the faded blooms 
 scattered at her feet. In that moment of self- 
 revelation she saw with startling clarity. 
 
 Love, "terrible as an army with banners," 
 raised his oriflamme high above the dusty road 
 of desire, pointing, constraining to the heights.
 
 304 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Love, with his flaming sword, barred the way to 
 any cheaply won Paradise. In the fire on his 
 mighty altar he bade her lay humbly the dross of 
 Self, the easy purchase-price of possible bliss, the 
 ultimate sacrifice of renunciation. . . . 
 
 Yes. She would tell Jeremy. She could do no 
 more. She dared do no less . . . because she 
 loved him. 
 
 With the resolution calm enfolded her at last. 
 If Jeremy cast her off she would at least have won 
 peace and a clean soul. She felt that she would 
 know neither if she let him marry her in ignorance. 
 The price? . . . She did not dare to think of that. 
 She knew now that debts must be paid, no matter 
 how tremendous the cost. This was a debt which 
 she owed to the man whom she loved more than 
 herself. 
 
 "Thou shalt not steal! 1 '
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 "THOU SHALT NOT STEAL!" 
 
 SYMPATHY sprang uppermost in Lord Garry's 
 mind as he took Noel Hasard's half-reluctant 
 hand. Desiree had but spoken the truth when 
 she said that he was changed. The alteration in 
 him was pitifully marked. His face was lined and 
 ashen, his cheeks sunk, his shoulders bent. His 
 whole personality seemed to have shrunk. He had 
 lost all trace of his former proud bearing. It was 
 an old shaken man who faced his wife's kinsman, 
 whom he had robbed, as he told himself bitterly. 
 
 "You know?" he asked hesitantly. Even his 
 voice had changed. It had lost its former beautiful 
 timbre and sounded dry and strained. 
 
 "Desiree has told me, " Lord Garry said quietly. 
 Then, with repressed feeling: "Never mind about 
 the wretched money. . . . Hasard, you know 
 how " 
 
 "Yes, I know. . . . Everyone has been very 
 kind. ... I can't talk about it." He moved 
 restlessly in his chair. "Let us go back to the 
 wretched money, as you call it. The money I 
 have stolen from you." 
 20 305
 
 306 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Out of the depth of his own reticence Lord 
 Garry respected the reticence of the other. He 
 followed his cue. 
 
 "The money I should have lent willingly had I 
 known you were in need of it." 
 
 "You put it charitably," said the Rector 
 with difficulty. "In my long ministry I have 
 never cloaked sin with fair words. Why should 
 I do so in my own case? . . . Against your advice 
 I gave young Wing the commission for the screen." 
 
 "Yes. ... I will pay three hundred pounds 
 into the Restoration Fund at once." 
 
 ' ' Not so much. There is about fifty pounds in 
 it already." 
 
 "Two-fifty, then." 
 
 "I have never even borrowed money before," 
 Noel Hasard broke out. "I have always had a 
 horror of debt. I have looked upon theft as the 
 meanest of vices. . . . Perhaps it was necessary 
 for my pride to be brought low. It trails in the 
 dust now." 
 
 ' ' Look here, Hasard, I think you take an exag- 
 gerated view of things. It is your misfortune 
 rather than your fault that you are obliged to 
 borrow money now. An unlucky chain of cir- 
 cumstances ' ' 
 
 ' ' Have combined to make me a thief in my own 
 eyes," he interrupted. "How can I minister to 
 my people ? How can I read the eighth command- 
 ment to them when I know that I myself have 
 broken it? Try to gloze it over as you will, the
 
 "Thou Shalt Not Steal!" 307 
 
 fact remains that I have committed the very sin 
 for which I blamed poor Tom Herring." 
 
 "I have heard from Mrs. Herring, herself, 
 how good you were to Tom. She had tears in her 
 eyes when she spoke of it. Why should you deny 
 to others the charity and tolerance which you 
 exercise so liberally yourself?" 
 
 "Deny it? God knows I have need of every 
 grain of it, bitter need, " the Rector said in a tone 
 which was like a cry. ' ' I only hope that my people 
 will judge me less hardly than I judge myself." 
 
 "What do you mean?" Lord Garry's pity 
 was brought up with a jerk by the last words. 
 "No one outside ourselves need know." 
 
 "Everyone must know. Do you think I could 
 find peace or rest until I have made public confes- 
 sion?" Some of the martyr's fire burned in the 
 sunken eyes. "Confession is one of the tenets 
 of our Church. A first step towards repentance. 
 How am I to minister to my people until I can 
 do so with clean hands and a clean and contrite 
 heart?" 
 
 "Hasard, are you mad?" said Lord Garry 
 tersely. 
 
 "Sane at last, I hope and trust," the strained 
 voice went on. "Surely you do not think it has 
 cost me nothing to come to this decision. I tell 
 you I have felt that I would rather go to the stake 
 than face the people whom I have tried to uplift, 
 the people whose standards I have tried to raise, 
 the people among whom I have held my head so
 
 308 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 high, and tell them that I, their Rector, am a 
 thief!" 
 
 "Hasard, this is preposterous," cried Lord 
 Garry aghast. "It is absolutely out of the 
 question. You cannot do such a thing." 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 "I say so." 
 
 "But if God bids otherwise?" 
 
 Silence fell as the two white determined faces 
 gazed at each other. Then Lord Garry spoke. 
 
 "I mean no irreverence when I say that I don't 
 believe that God bids you to do any such thing." 
 
 "Do you dare to consider yourself His mouth- 
 piece?" 
 
 "He chooses strange messengers sometimes," 
 said Lord Garry slowly, the old discordant note 
 rasping across their intercourse. 
 
 "Forgive me for doubting that you are one of 
 them," said Noel Hasard with icy aloofness. 
 "From my long knowledge of you, you seem to 
 me to be one who has always deliberately chosen 
 the easy path." 
 
 Lord Garry controlled his rising anger. "The 
 stony way is not invariably the right one." 
 
 "The easy path never." 
 
 "I beg to differ from you." 
 
 "We have never really agreed. . . . Each 
 man must see through his own eyes. There is no 
 use in trying to force your point of view on me." 
 
 "I Lord Garry began, then altered the 
 form of his protest. "Have you considered for a
 
 "Thou Shalt Not Steal!" 309 
 
 moment what the consequences of such an act 
 as you propose would be? " 
 
 ' ' What do you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "I mean oh, it's all such a confounded tangle. 
 Even if you had stolen the money, which you 
 haven't you merely borrowed it as many another 
 man has been obliged to do by stress of circum- 
 stance these stupid Bressy people would be sure to 
 misunderstand your motives for confession. They 
 would fail to see any idealism in it. A stigma would 
 attach to your name which would always reflect 
 on those who loved you." He stopped, searching 
 for words sufficiently forcible. Then went on: 
 "As it is, it seems something of an anti-climax to 
 think of your standing up in the pulpit, and 
 confessing that you borrowed money from me 
 without going through the formality of asking 
 my permission, which is what it all amounts to." 
 
 "You put the matter in a distorted form. 
 You stand by the letter. Ethically 
 
 "Ethically be hanged! It is you who stand 
 by the letter, not I," cried Lord Garry, now 
 thoroughly roused. "I say it's a damned self- 
 ish way of earning martyrdom at other people's 
 expense." 
 
 "At whose expense?" asked Noel Hasard 
 faintly, across the gulf that yawned between them. 
 
 "At Desiree's, for one," Lord Garry answered. 
 "Hasn't she suffered enough already, poor plucky 
 little soul, without dragging that additional shame 
 and humiliation upon her ? No, you can't martyr-
 
 310 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 ize yourself without martyrizing her, Hasard. I 
 tell you I won't have it." 
 
 "You won't have it? May I ask how you im- 
 agine you can prevent me from doing what my 
 conscience tells me is right?" 
 
 Then Lord Garry fell to a depth to which he 
 had never before descended in a long and honour- 
 able life. 
 
 ' ' I can refuse to let you have the money for the 
 screen," he returned slowly, "and leave you to 
 find your own way out of the slough. " 
 
 Noel Hasard looked at him with bitter contempt 
 for an instant. "I did not think you would have 
 sunk to blackmail, " he said. ' ' This is spirit real 
 blackmail . You wish to buy my silence at a price. ' ' 
 Then his gaze wavered. "Who am I that I 
 should condemn another? This is an unclean 
 business, whatever way you look at it." 
 
 "Your point of view is exaggerated," Lord 
 Garry answered, his unusual anger cooling as 
 quickly as it had arisen. "I am sorry that I let 
 my temper get the better of me just now. That 
 sort of folly belongs rather to youth than to old 
 age like ours. . . . Let us settle the matter once 
 for all. You will curb your desire for confession. 
 No one outside this house need ever hear a word 
 of the affair. As for the wretched money, you can 
 repay me at your leisure." 
 
 "Be sure that I shall do so to the uttermost 
 farthing." 
 
 Lord Garry hesitated for a moment, then said
 
 -Thou Shalt Not Steal!" 311 
 
 tentatively: "As regards the original cheque 
 won't you let me give that to Desiree as a little 
 wedding-present? After all, I'm her godfather, 
 you know. There are privileges 
 
 "It is mine to pay for my daughter's clothes 
 as long as she remains under my roof." 
 
 "You might let me, Hasard. Look here I 
 know I was brutal, but I didn't mean it. You 
 frightened me with your talk of public confession. 
 I believe you'll come round to my way of thinking 
 when you consider things quietly." 
 
 "What do you think I've been doing for the 
 past two endless days?" asked Noel Hasard, 
 with a look of sudden anguish. "What do you 
 think you've left me to do when you go? ... 
 Count over my thirty pieces of silver?" 
 
 "Hasard!" 
 
 "Forgive me if I'm bitter, " he returned faintly. 
 ' ' No amount of explanation could make you under- 
 stand what I feel. We are each speaking different 
 languages through a fog. We can hear each other's 
 voices, but that is all; neither can even see the 
 other clearly." 
 
 "Hasard ' Lord Garry spoke with difficulty. 
 "Hasard try to believe me when I say that 
 the person for whose sake I spoke as I did today 
 was B rigid." 
 
 The name broke his self-control at last. 
 
 "Leave her out of it!" Noel Hasard gave a 
 sudden great cry. "It was to be fit to meet her 
 again that I "he hid his face in his hands. . . .
 
 3i2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 After a little Lord Garry rose and went quietly 
 away. The grief of the two men ran on parallel 
 lines: it could never meet. The breach today 
 seemed wider than ever. She who had been as a 
 bridge between them held out a connecting hand 
 to each no longer. 
 
 Today for the first time Ludlow Garry fully 
 realized that she had gone out of his life for ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 LEANDER'S WINGS 
 
 DESIREE sat at the desk in the dining-room 
 with an empty telegraph-form before her, nibbling 
 the end of a pen-handle and reading, with evident 
 agitation, a prepaid telegram which had just come 
 from Jeremy. Jane stood by the door waiting 
 for the answer, an image of determined patience. 
 
 "You needn't wait, Jane. I'll take the answer 
 to the boy myself," she said at last. "I can't 
 think when you're standing there." 
 
 When Jane had obligingly vanished she reread 
 the pink slip for the tenth time. 
 
 ' ' Motoring Bressy tomorrow can you marry me 
 Thursday. Jeremy." 
 
 Its suddenness took her breath away. He gave 
 her so little time, even to think. She could not 
 stop him. She could not say in a telegram that 
 she would not marry him, when she had already 
 promised to do so whenever he wished. She 
 could not make confession by the same laconic 
 means. She could not even write what she had 
 to say. Instinct told her that any chance of 
 forgiveness she had would be doubly strengthened 
 
 313
 
 314 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 by the appeal of her actual presence. She must 
 let him come. She could not endure the rack of 
 suspense much longer. On the other hand she 
 dared not arrange for a wedding which might never 
 take place. . . . 
 
 After much bewildered cogitation she evolved 
 an answer at last "Come as early as you can 
 something to tell you. Desiree." That at least 
 was preparatory, even if it had no other merit. 
 Unsatisfactory as it was she determined to dally 
 with decision no longer. She folded the paper and 
 took it out to the boy who stood on the steps 
 whistling Tipper ary between his teeth. 
 
 As he took the form from her and turned away 
 she suddenly remembered that her mother had 
 never let a messenger-boy go away empty-handed. 
 He had always had cake, fruit, or sweets, which 
 she kept in a special jar in the sideboard. The 
 jar was empty, Desiree knew, but there were other 
 things in the store-room. 
 
 "Would you like an apple, Billy?" she asked. 
 
 "You bet, miss," answered the boy cheerily. 
 
 She filled his pockets and watched him cycle 
 down the avenue. When he came to the bend 
 he nearly collided with someone who was coming 
 quickly towards her. It was Leander Wing, hat- 
 less as usual. 
 
 For an instant Desiree was filled with a wild 
 impulse for flight. She shrank from seeing stran- 
 gers as yet. Even such old friends as Mrs. 
 Howard and Molly seemed to be still far outside
 
 Leander's Wings 315 
 
 her life. She had not seen Leander Wing since 
 her mother's death. He had written and she 
 had sent a little note of thanks. That was 
 all. 
 
 With an effort she stood her ground. She could 
 not run away after all that had been between them. 
 Her promise of friendship would seem to mean 
 very little if she could deliberately hurt him like 
 that. 
 
 At sight of her he waved his hand in the friendli- 
 est fashion and broke into a run. 
 
 ' ' Hide for your life ! " he cried as soon as he came 
 within earshot. "Mrs. Mawson is upon you! 
 I heard her saying to Mrs. Howard as I passed 
 that she was going to run into the Rectory, and 
 give dear Desiree good advice on the subject of 
 rousing herself! So I thought I'd forestall her 
 and warn you. I cut across the fields and ran 
 all the way." 
 
 "That was very good of you," said Desiree 
 gratefully. She felt that she could not face Mrs. 
 Mawson just now. 
 
 "Where shall we be safe? " 
 
 She did not resent his assumption that he should 
 stay with her. Of all the outsiders whom she had 
 been obliged to meet with her wound still raw he 
 alone did not jar. He had written his sympathy. 
 She had expressed her appreciation of it. Now 
 he was ordinary, blessedly ordinary. In spite of 
 his exuberance his was the healing touch of the 
 normal.
 
 316 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "She mustn't know that I'm here," he went on. 
 "That would infuriate her with you." 
 
 His thought for her touched Desiree. "Let's 
 go to the orchard. She would never think of 
 looking for us there. She is quite capable of 
 searching the garden, though." 
 
 "I'd put nothing past the old weasel," said 
 Leander, as he followed her into the house. 
 
 They crossed the hall and went down a winding 
 passage. 
 
 "Wait here for a moment until I tell Jane that 
 I am not at home, " said -Desiree, pushing open a 
 green baize-covered door. 
 
 As she did so the hall-door bell jangled loudly. 
 
 "What a woman!" groaned Leander. "She 
 nearly had us. Wait. Let 'shear what she says." 
 
 He crept to the end of the passage and listened. 
 Mrs. Mawson's sharp inquisitive tones were of a 
 penetrating quality and reached them clearly. 
 
 "Miss Hasard not at home?" she echoed in a 
 voice ringing with incredulity. "Why, I met 
 Billy Lee, the telegraph-boy, on the road just now 
 and he told me that he had been here and that 
 she had given him some apples." 
 
 "Really, ma'am?" answered Jane imperturb- 
 ably. 
 
 ' ' Where did she go ? Has Mr. Wing been here ? ' ' 
 
 "I couldn't say, ma'am." 
 
 "Are you sure she isn't somewhere about the 
 grounds? I think I'll have a look round the 
 garden."
 
 Leander's Wings 317 
 
 . "Quite sure, ma'am." 
 
 "I must have met her if she had gone out on 
 the road. Unless she went the opposite way. 
 But what would take her in the Darley direction ? ' ' 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know." Jane was growing 
 impatient. 
 
 "The poor Rector! Is he seeing visitors yet?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "He ought to rouse himself. He really ought. 
 Is he taking duty next Sunday? He ought to. 
 The longer he puts it off the harder it will be. 
 It is very wrong of people to give way to grief 
 like that. It's all very natural for a time, but 
 
 "Oh, go to hell!" said Leander Wing savagely 
 under his breath. "Come along. She's a poison- 
 ous beast, but Jane is man enough for her." 
 
 He slipped his hand through Desiree's arm and 
 propelled her along the passage, towards a little 
 door whose upper half was of leaded glass, which 
 opened into the orchard. He drew it away to open 
 the door for her. It seemed to Desiree that he 
 meant to show her that his promise of friendship 
 had been no empty boast. There had been no 
 thrill of passion in the contact. At least none was 
 perceptible to her. Perhaps Leander might have 
 told a different story. 
 
 The grass was long and green in the orchard: 
 the early apples glowed like jewels of amber and 
 ruby among leaves already yellowing: beneath 
 the gnarled trees brown and white hens pecked at 
 the scattered windfalls.
 
 3i8 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 Desiree led the way to an old tree whose low- 
 growing boughs offered easy seating. 
 
 "I don't believe she will ever think of coming 
 here, " she said, sitting down on the lowest branch. 
 
 Leander swung himself to a higher one opposite 
 her, and, picking a reddish apple began to eat it. 
 There was certainly something f awnlike about him, 
 Desiree thought: something freakish, not of the 
 every-day world. And yet, of what used to be her 
 every-day world, he alone did not jar. How was 
 that? For the first time she was conscious of a 
 rapport between them. 
 
 "This is the Apple of Wisdom I am eating, 
 World's Desire, " he said, looking at her with half- 
 closed eyes. "I know good and evil, and I must 
 choose between them. . . . Ye gods, how bored 
 I shall be if I choose the good ! " he cried, throwing 
 away the core. "It's all your fault, you little 
 golden thing! Why did you sow the seeds of 
 wings in me? They're beginning to sprout, and 
 I tell you they're confoundedly uncomfortable! 
 None of my old clothes fit." 
 
 "Get new ones, then," Desiree suggested, not 
 knowing whether he was talking sense or nonsense, 
 but finding him oddly soothing. 
 
 "I'm going to, " he answered in rather a curious 
 tone. "Wait. I'll tell you in a minute. First 
 of all I've seen your man." 
 
 "Yes?" she breathed, looking quickly up at 
 him. 
 
 "He's all right. . . . He'll be good to you. "
 
 Leander's Wings 319 
 
 She paled suddenly and caught -her breath. 
 "I wonder!" The words were light as a sigh, 
 but his quick ears heard them. 
 
 "You're not beginning to regret? If so, you 
 mustn't go on with it. If you doubt him ' 
 
 "But I don't doubt him," she cried, breaking 
 off suddenly as she realized that she did. ' ' Please 
 go on talking. . . . I can't explain." 
 
 "If there's any trouble between you," began 
 Leander slowly. 
 
 "I never said there was." 
 
 "No, but I've a sixth sense where you're con- 
 cerned. . . . Perhaps one man understands an- 
 other where a woman wouldn't. . . . I'll say 
 only this. He struck me as being a big man 
 yours. If there were any trouble between you," 
 he repeated the words deliberately, "I think you 
 might trust him to take big views." 
 
 Leander had risen above self in his generous 
 tribute to the man who had won his "World's 
 Desire." It puzzled him to see no responsive 
 warmth in the blue eyes that met his. Wells of 
 sadness, he thought them, looking deep into them 
 until he had the odd sense of losing himself in their 
 depths. With an effort he pulled himself together. 
 
 "You don't understand," she cried, turning 
 away her head. How could she tell him ? 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't." 
 
 "I can't explain." 
 
 "Why should you?" His tone was a little 
 hurt.
 
 32O The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "Dear Leander, " she said, impulsively stretch- 
 ing out her hand to him, "if I could tell any one 
 it would be you. It it only concerns Jeremy 
 and me. No one else can help. If they could 
 you would be the first I should ask." 
 
 "You mean that?" he said, leaning forward 
 from his bough. 
 
 ' 'Yes, indeed I mean it." 
 
 "Then that's all right." His movement stirred 
 the branch above him and shook some yellow 
 leaves down on his hair. He looked more freakish 
 than ever. "World's Desire," he said suddenly, 
 "when the screen is finished I am going to fly." 
 
 " From Bressy ? " 
 
 "Into the heavenly blue, " he answered, with a 
 queer little laugh. 
 
 She shook a puzzled head. "I don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 He looked at her in silence for a moment : then 
 spoke in an odd, shamefaced way, as if he were 
 apologizing for something unexpressed. 
 
 "Art means a great deal, but it's not the whole 
 of life. There are other things as well." 
 
 "What do you mean exactly?" 
 
 "Oh, all the old clicMs. The things that are 
 never talked about except on the stage." 
 
 "For example?" 
 
 Leander flushed a red as fiery as his hair. 
 
 "Well honour, and all that rot, " he answered 
 uncomfortably. 
 
 "I quite agree with you," said Desiree after a
 
 Leander's Wings 321 
 
 pause,, "but I confess that I don't see what you're 
 hinting at." 
 
 "Have you no imagination?" he cried, with 
 one of his old large gestures. "Do you think 
 I'm going to stick here painting in safety while- 
 other chaps are fighting and and dying in 
 France?" 
 
 "Are you going to be a soldier?" asked Desiree 
 astonished. "Why, I thought you despised Eng- 
 land and the English?" 
 
 The red deepened, but his eyes met hers with 
 the same queer shamefaced brightness. 
 
 "Oh, England's all right," he said, with an 
 obviously forced lightness. "The English are 
 stodgy beggars, of course, and have no soul for 
 art but when it comes to a fight well, my 
 father was English, you know, and that half 
 pulls." 
 
 "Oh, Leander, you're a dear!" she exclaimed 
 half -laughing, half -crying. 
 
 "No, I'm not," he answered gruffly. "But 
 I'm going to join the Flying Corps as soon as I'm 
 free."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 JEREMY IS TESTED 
 
 "I WONDER if men really understand each other 
 better than a woman can," Desiree asked herself 
 over and over again after Leander's visit. In her 
 inmost heart she felt that no one could understand 
 Jeremy as she did. 
 
 "He is a big man. . . . You may trust him to 
 take big views." 
 
 The words rang in her ears with the encourage- 
 ment of a peal of bells. ... Of wedding bells? 
 Could it be possible that Jeremy would be able to 
 condone her misdoing? Was he big enough to 
 forgive the fault he most condemned in one in 
 whom he placed so high a trust? Must she be 
 wiped out of his life? Her mind was a tangle of 
 warring possibilities, which she tried to sort into 
 some kind of coherence until her tired brain spun, 
 and she could think no longer. 
 
 Late that night she fell into the heavy dreamless 
 sleep of exhaustion, from which she awoke next 
 morning to that impassivity which is one of 
 Nature's gifts to those who at last face the in- 
 evitable, with the hope of ultimately reaching the 
 
 322
 
 Jeremy is Tested 323 
 
 grey Nirvana of those who have ceased to struggle : 
 "a'n infinite twilight of content with nothing 
 more to lose." 
 
 After breakfast she told her father that Jeremy 
 was coming that day. 
 
 "I am glad for your sake, dear," he answered 
 tonelessly. 
 
 Silence fell, while Desiree sought for words in 
 which to prepare him for what might come. 
 Suddenly she realized that her care was needless. 
 Her father was as aloof from the world of every day 
 as her mother had been in her fever. Nothing 
 had power to hurt him now. Nothing she could 
 say would pain or even prick him back from his 
 detachment. In a flash of intuition she saw the 
 clean beauty and safety of the naked Truth. It 
 would be hers for the future, come what might. 
 She would have no more to do with evasions. 
 
 "Jeremy wants to marry me on Thursday," 
 she said at last. Her clear tones penetrated the 
 Rector's abstraction. 
 
 "So soon?" he asked absently. 
 
 "I am going to tell him first." 
 
 "Tell him?" His tone was faintly interroga- 
 tory. 
 
 "About my getting into debt," Desiree went 
 on, with difficulty. "He despises people who 
 run into debt. . . . I couldn't marry him under 
 false pretences. . . . Perhaps he won't want to 
 marry me when he knows." 
 
 Her father rose from his seat, a spark of fire
 
 324 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 suddenly lighted in his sunken eyes, and faced her. 
 His tone lost its deadness and sharpened with 
 longing. 
 
 "I envy you. How I envy you, Desiree! 
 You will have the relief which is denied to me. 
 Whether Jeremy Vyse marries you or not you will 
 have clean hands and a clean heart. I tell him 
 about me." He stopped abruptly, put his hands 
 before his eyes, and went with bent head and 
 lagging steps out of the room. . . . Desiree 
 looked wistfully after him. She longed to follow 
 him, to try to comfort him, but did not dare. He 
 was set apart. . . . 
 
 The morning dragged, the daily tasks seemed 
 as meaningless as they were endless. Nothing 
 had the power of diverting Desiree 's mind from 
 what lay before her. Her whole being was 
 strained to the effort of hearing the approach of 
 Jeremy's car. Every sound, the lowing of a cow, 
 the whistle of a distant train, even the rumble 
 of a cart on the road, quickened her heart-beats. 
 Her head burned: her hands and feet were like 
 ice in spite of the sultriness of the late August 
 morning. 
 
 In reality it was quite early when Jeremy 
 arrived. He was already in the hall, alert and 
 eager, his grey eyes clear and shining, when she 
 forced her dragging limbs to go and meet him. 
 He swept her into the drawing-room, shut the 
 door on curious eyes, and had her in his arms al- 
 most as soon as she realized that he was there.
 
 Jeremy is Tested 325 
 
 She clung to him passionately; then, to her dis- 
 may, broke into a fit of tearless sobbing. Long 
 shudders shook the slender body in Jeremy's arms. 
 He was distressed and shocked beyond measure 
 at the change wrought in her in so short a time. 
 He had left a Desiree fragile enough, but here he 
 found the quenched little ghost of her former self. 
 It was time he had come to take matters into his 
 own hands. Had no one been looking after her? 
 How careless they were of his treasure! But he 
 would soon alter that. 
 
 "You are mine now," he said in a low voice, 
 bending his lips to her ear. "I shall not let you 
 go again until I must." 
 
 At the sound of his dear voice, the greatness of 
 her love for him rose and calmed her. The 
 shuddering sobs grew less frequent. She leaned 
 against him, trying to gather strength for her 
 avowal. Just for one blessed moment he was hers, 
 unaltered. She clung to that. 
 
 "I always give you a melancholy welcome," 
 she said at last, trying to smile. "I think it's 
 because the sight of you makes me realize how 
 terribly I've missed you." 
 
 ' ' My darling ! I can't bear I " He stopped. 
 He must not agitate her any further. ' ' I thought 
 I should never get here. The way seemed end- 
 less. . . . You are going to marry me tomorrow, 
 aren't you?" 
 
 Her moment was over. She raised herself. 
 
 "I Jerry There is something I must tell
 
 326 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 you first." Her lips whitened. They felt very 
 stiff. 
 
 "Tell it here in the shelter of my arms." 
 
 "No, no. I can't! I can't!" she cried wildly. 
 "If I felt them push me away it would kill me." 
 
 "They would never push you away, no matter 
 what you told me." His face was lit by that 
 tenderness which she alone had power to evoke. 
 But she had also seen its capacity for changing. 
 She could not risk that. Even to feel his arms 
 relax around her she could not bear it, she felt. 
 No, she must loose herself from contact with him, 
 even if it were for the last time. She must make 
 her confession facing him, so that she could see 
 his every passing trace of feeling. His was not an 
 easy face to read, that she knew: but love had 
 cleared her vision. She would see her sentence 
 in his eyes, forgiveness or that sudden hardening 
 look of condemnation. 
 
 "Don't you trust me?" There was a hurt ring 
 in Jeremy's voice. 
 
 "Yes. No. I don't know," faltered Desiree. 
 "Yes, of course I trust you, Jerry, but then you 
 don't know. . . . You don't know me, the real 
 me." She gathered courage as she drew herself 
 away from him and faced him with tightly clasped 
 hands. 
 
 Jeremy watched her wonderingly. He made no 
 attempt to touch her. "Tell me what's troubling 
 you as quickly as you can and then come back to 
 me ' ' he said gently. ' ' My arms feel very empty. "
 
 Jeremy is Tested 327 
 
 "Perhaps they'll always be empty of me," 
 she said with a little gasp, her fingers working 
 nervously. 
 
 ' ' Desiree ! You don't mean that ? ' ' 
 
 "It's for you to decide," she cried. "Oh, 
 Jeremy, let me tell you when I can. . . . You 
 remember I always said that you mustn't idealize 
 me, that I was just an ordinary human girl, full 
 of faults and flaws." 
 
 Jeremy nodded. In spite of his protest his 
 heart sank a little. What could she have to tell 
 him that could bring such a look of desperation 
 to her little white quivering face? Not that she 
 did not love him? His heart told him that was 
 impossible. Not that she would not marry him 
 on account of her father? That, too, was easily 
 combated. Another man? Equally impossible. 
 He listened, feeling powerless to help her until 
 she had finished and he knew what she was driv- 
 ing at. At present he felt as if he were muffled 
 in a fog. 
 
 "You put me on a pedestal," she continued. 
 "You remember I asked you not to, but you would. 
 I should never have been there. I never really 
 was there. . . . Jeremy, I am one of those people 
 whom you most despise. ... I got into debt. 
 I ordered things I hadn't the money to pay for. 
 I let it go on and on without thinking and then 
 when the bill came an enormous bill I had no 
 money. It was when mother was ill. I went 
 to my father. He it was a great shock to him.
 
 328 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 We knew that mother would help us, for she had 
 money of her own, but she was too ill to be 
 troubled. . . . Later on that day he gave me a 
 cheque to pay the bills. I didn't know until 
 afterwards what had happened. It was the day 
 Mr. Barnet, mother's solicitor, came to tell us 
 that all her fortune was gone in some unlucky 
 speculation. My father's face frightened me. 
 I went back to the study when Mr. Barnet had 
 gone. He said I won't tell you what he said. 
 It wasn't true, of himself, I mean. Everything 
 that happened was my fault, mine only. . . . He 
 told me that he had borrowed some money Lord 
 Garry had sent for the Restoration Fund, meaning 
 to pay it back as soon as mother was better. . . . 
 He couldn't now. . . . He oh, I can't go 
 on. You know about me. That's all that con- 
 cerns us." 
 
 She stopped, afraid to look at him after all. 
 Her heart-beats sounded like drums of fear in her 
 ears. She could hear nothing else. 
 
 Jeremy's face had set a little during the broken 
 recital. It gave no index of the conflict of emo- 
 tions within. When she had finished he spoke 
 very quietly. His voice sounded dry and toneless 
 in Desiree's ears, void of feeling of any kind. 
 She could not guess at the effort it gave him to 
 make it so. 
 
 "This happened how long ago?" 
 
 "The bill came only last month." 
 
 "I mean how long was it going on altogether?"
 
 Jeremy is Tested 329 
 
 Desiree flushed painfully. "Almost since I 
 first had my dress allowance, three years ago. 
 I just drifted. I never thought but I know 
 that's no excuse. I'm not making any." Her 
 head went up with a touch of its old pride. 
 
 "And the bill is paid?" 
 
 "The bill is paid." 
 
 "You needn't have told me." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "It belonged to your past life, the part with 
 which I had nothing to do, " he said slowly. 
 
 "Is there any part of my life with which you 
 could have nothing to do?" she broke out. "I 
 gave it all to you when I gave any." 
 
 "Were you afraid to tell me?" he asked very 
 low. 
 
 She met his gaze without flinching. 
 
 "Yes," she answered steadily. "But I was 
 more afraid not to." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Can't you guess why? . . . I couldn't marry 
 without letting you know that that I wasn't 
 as good as you thought me," she ended child- 
 ishly. Then, the child all merged into the 
 woman, she came to the crux: "Cousin Lud- 
 low said that men serve women kneeling and 
 when they get on their feet they go away. 
 Now that you are on your feet, Jeremy, are 
 you going away? Tell me. I can't wait." 
 
 "But I'm not on my feet, " he cried, flinging re- 
 straint to the winds. ' ' I am on my knees at yours. ' '
 
 330 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 To her utmost astonishment he knelt before 
 her, pressing his face against her as Leander Wing 
 had done long ago in the Bluebell Wood, clasping 
 her with hungry arms. 
 
 "Why, Jeremy " her voice trailed away in her 
 surprise. Speech left her. Her hands touched 
 his head tremulously. 
 
 "Can you ever forgive me?" he cried passion- 
 ately. "What a brute, what a prig I must have 
 been to make you suffer like this! Don't you 
 know how I love you, my heart's heart? Don't 
 you know that you are as myself, that nothing in 
 the world you did could make any difference? 
 That you are mine, me, my other half? That I 
 love you, love you, love you?" He caught her 
 thin little hands and covered them with kisses, 
 abasing himself before her. 
 
 "Then you don't really mind?" she said faintly. 
 She stopped to raise him, longing to feel his arms 
 between her and the world once more. 
 
 ' ' Mind ? " He clasped her to him as if he would 
 never let her go. 
 
 "Cousin Ludlow said that one could hate the 
 sin and love the sinner only if one had loved the 
 sinner beforehand. You did." 
 
 "Your Cousin Ludlow seems to have occasional 
 glimmers of sense. But I won't admit that you're 
 a sinner. . . . You? The bravest, pluckiest, 
 whitest soul! . . . You humiliate me with the 
 greatness of your love. You must try to draw 
 me up to your heights."
 
 Jeremy is Tested 331 
 
 "Jeremy, don't put me on a pedestal again," 
 she besought. "Let me stay here, close to you, 
 with your hand in mine to help me over the stones. 
 We'll climb together as high as we can. . . . 
 But no more pedestals, my man. The risk of 
 another fall would kill me." 
 
 "You did not really think that this would 
 prevent me from wanting to marry you?" he 
 asked after a while. 
 
 "I didn't know," she answered, leaning against 
 him with a sigh of content. ' ' If you had only seen 
 your face when you spoke of people running into 
 debt ! It was the face of a strange man, Jeremy." 
 
 "I'm glad I didn't. I see it often enough as it 
 is. Let's forget it all now and think only of the 
 future. . . . You are going to marry me to- 
 morrow, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, " she breathed, answering his question at 
 last. Their lips met. 
 
 "If you had said 'no' it would have been a case 
 of marriage by capture," he said. "I have a 
 special licence in my pocket and a motor-car 
 panting for adventure." 
 
 "I haven't made any arrangements," she said, 
 a little startled. "I was afraid to." 
 
 Jeremy held her to him with a stab of self- 
 reproach. "There's plenty of time. I've made 
 all mine. The rest can be easily done." 
 
 ' ' What are yours ? ' ' she asked. It was heavenly 
 sweet to be thought for and cared for again: to 
 know that one could drift on a tide of content,
 
 33 2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 and need worry and struggle no longer. This was 
 no grey Nirvana of twilight impassivity. She had 
 struggled through the thorns of the "high rose- 
 hedge" and reached at last the Paradise within. 
 
 "To be married tomorrow by your father as 
 early as you can manage. Then ' ' 
 
 "Yes, then?" 
 
 "Then we shall go in the car for a honeymoon 
 of a day and a night to the quaintest little village, 
 all cobblestones and flower-gardens, with the 
 smell of the moor about us, and a distant sea-tang 
 in the air. After which we shall come back to 
 Bressy, pick up your father and take him with us 
 to Beaumont for the rest of my free time. Will 
 that do for the present?" 
 
 "It sounds like a dream too good to be true, " 
 she murmured with closed eyes. 
 
 After a little he said diffidently: "I suppose 
 your father wouldn't think of letting me pay for 
 those frocks and things of yours? I'd love to 
 pay for your chiffons, my Dede." 
 
 The cheek touching his reddened and moved 
 uneasily. 
 
 ' ' No, my dearest. He would not like you even 
 to suggest such a thing. He I'm afraid he would 
 think it a monstrous and indelicate idea." 
 
 Jeremy sighed. He had known, even while he 
 had made the suggestion, that it was out of the 
 question. 
 
 "Is there no way in which we could lift his 
 burden, you and I?"
 
 Jeremy is Tested 333 
 
 So sweet a coupling, lately in jeopardy for ever, 
 stilled thought for a moment. Then an inspira- 
 tion came to Desiree. 
 
 "There is the screen, " she exclaimed. 
 
 "What screen?" 
 
 She told him about it. 
 
 ' ' The very thing. Do you think he would let us 
 give it to St. Osyth's in memory of your mother?" 
 asked Jeremy gently. 
 
 "Dear Jerry," she said very softly, her eyes 
 filling with tears. ' ' If only she were here ! ' ' 
 
 "She is happy in your happiness, somewhere, " 
 said Jeremy, with the shy gruffness of a reticent 
 man. "Do you think your father would see us 
 if we went to him now. . . .? I hope he will 
 let us give that screen." 
 
 "I hope so too, " said Desiree. 
 
 Neither she nor any one else had ever guessed 
 at the iconoclastic fury which had sometimes 
 seethed beneath the surface of Lady Brigid's gen- 
 tleness at the very thought of the screen which, 
 in all loving reverence, Desiree was now proposing 
 to erect as a memorial to her. 
 
 It would have brought a twinkle to her blue eyes 
 had she not left such mundane matters willingly 
 behind her for ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE VEILED FRIEND 
 
 A SUBDUED ripple of excitement ran through the 
 Rectory. Even the quietest of weddings produces 
 an inevitable stir, and the reaction of the house- 
 hold after the long strain of illness and grief was 
 pathetic in its efforts to achieve the orthodox at- 
 mosphere. 
 
 Bunt ransacked the garden for its choicest 
 products. Jane unearthed a boy to run to Bressy 
 Park with an invitation to Lord Garry to dine and 
 sleep, and produced, from some forgotten corner, 
 two gold-foiled bottles of champagne, in which to 
 drink the health of bride and groom. Cook, in 
 the intervals of preparing an adequate dinner, 
 spent her best efforts on a cake for Desiree to 
 take back with her to her future home. The 
 icing should have set by then, she thought, and 
 a wedding without a bride-cake was no wedding 
 at all! 
 
 The vibrations of the atmosphere did not pene- 
 trate as far as the study, where Noel Hasard sat 
 in a quietude of mind that was not far removed 
 from peace. He had acquiesced gently in all 
 
 334
 
 The Veiled Friend 335 
 
 Desiree's plans ; had consented to the hasty mar- 
 riage; had allowed himself to be persuaded into 
 accepting the gift of the screen from Jeremy for 
 his once-loved church; but all with the air of one 
 whom such matters had no longer any power to 
 touch. 
 
 "You know?" he asked Jeremy before he con- 
 sented to allow him to give the screen. 
 
 "Desiree has told me," Jeremy answered. 
 
 "And you do not condemn?" 
 
 "There is nothing to condemn, sir," said 
 Jeremy stoutly. 
 
 "Ah, you young people, with your ultra-lenient 
 modern views!" he said, but he smiled faintly as 
 he spoke. 
 
 It was the first time Desiree had seen him smile 
 since her mother's death. . . . 
 
 With a heart too full for words she made her 
 preparations for the quiet eight o'clock wedding. 
 She hid, for Jeremy's sake, her longing for her 
 mother and the inevitable loneliness at such a time 
 which smote her with a real physical pang. For 
 Jeremy's sake she discarded her mourning and 
 slipped into a simple white frock, that went with 
 her grandmother's pearls and the posy of white 
 carnations he had brought her from Beaumont. 
 
 Lord Garry, who gave her away, thought, as he 
 stood behind the two unconscious of all but each 
 other in the dusky mote-filled church, that never 
 before had he heard vows made with more absolute 
 sincerity. As they stood, hand in hand, before the
 
 336 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 altar, repeating those most solemn and binding 
 promises in a clear echo of the Rector's fainter 
 tones, a shaft of amber light struck through a 
 saint's robe in the eastern window, and fell full 
 upon them, detaching the group from the sur- 
 rounding shadows. 
 
 Lord Garry, with his Celtic imagination, saw 
 the three as people suddenly rapt apart. Noel 
 Hasard's thin worn face bore a look of spiritual 
 exaltation. In the eyes of the two who turned to 
 look at each other as they bound themselves "till 
 death us do part," he caught a glimpse of that 
 "light that never was on sea or land": the light 
 which is but a dim reflection of the Light of Love 
 Eternal. He knew great lovers when he saw 
 them. Here were two. . . . Thankfully he ac- 
 knowledged to himself the mistakes of his vaunted 
 psychology, for never in his kindliest reading of 
 her character had he visioned his godchild, dear 
 and charming plaything as she had always been, 
 as rising to the heights to which she had now 
 attained. . . . 
 
 He felt suddenly old and lonely. His thoughts 
 went with a swift pang to the new grave by the 
 Lady Chapel. He did not want to think of a 
 remote angel Brigid : he had an insistent longing 
 for a glimpse of the dear irregular face, with its 
 wide smile and twinkling blue eyes, for a sound of 
 the soft Irish voice that had never uttered an 
 unkindly word in his hearing. Then, quick as 
 thought, he looked at the other man who loved
 
 The Veiled Friend 337 
 
 her, the man whom she had loved, and in the 
 peace which had fallen upon him like a benediction 
 read his certainty of a future meeting. He would 
 have given much to own that certainty himself. 
 Yet deep down in his heart lingered more than a 
 spark of faith in Someone Something more than 
 a vague Beneficence who, if the Writ be true that 
 "God is Love, " must see that no least flame of the 
 Love which He is can suffer real Death . . . 
 which is extinction. 
 
 As in a dream Lord Garry heard the concluding 
 words of the service. As in a dream he followed 
 the bride and bridegroom into the vestry. He 
 liked Jeremy, and had summed him up in a phrase 
 at their first meeting. 
 
 "More a man's man than a woman's, but De- 
 siree's for all time." 
 
 Desiree! His play-child, Dede, had not only 
 evoked this big man's love, but had developed 
 herself to an extent of which he had scarcely 
 believed her capable. Verily, even the old should 
 walk warily in their judgments of those whom they 
 deem they know best. . . . 
 
 "Young man," he said later to Jeremy, as he 
 gripped his hand and wished him "Godspeed," 
 "the years have brought me one pearl of wisdom 
 which I bequeath to you. Never give advice, 
 whether you're asked for it or not." 
 
 "He only says that," broke in Desiree, "because 
 once he was mistaken in his judgment of a person 
 whom he'd never even seen."
 
 338 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "No, it was because " Lord Garry broke off 
 and looked at her very tenderly. "You needn't 
 imagine that because you're married I'm going to 
 let you browbeat me. Keep that for that big 
 man of yours. He looks as if he could stand his 
 share of it." 
 
 Jeremy, who had gone to the waiting car and re- 
 turned with a white fleecy coat for Desiree, smiled. 
 
 "I believe it's a well-known axiom that little 
 women always bully big men. Come, my little 
 woman. I may as well get used to the process 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 Desiree flung her arms round her father's neck. 
 
 "We shall come back for you tomorrow, dar- 
 ling," she whispered. "Take care of yourself." 
 
 "Yes, dear, " he answered gently. "I shall not 
 keep you waiting. God bless and keep you, my 
 darling child. . . . Jeremy, you will be good to 
 her?" He turned with a wistful appeal to the 
 younger man. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Jeremy, his voice rough 
 with a feeling which he was utterly unable to put 
 into words. 
 
 Laconic as his answer was it seemed to satisfy 
 his two hearers. 
 
 When they had watched the car out of sight, 
 and Lord Garry had recovered from a blow upon 
 the head from the old slipper which Jane had 
 surreptitiously produced at the last moment and 
 flung after the bridal pair, with more zeal than 
 discretion, he turned to the Rector.
 
 The Veiled Friend 339 
 
 "That's going to be a happy marriage, Hasard, " 
 he said. "They have the advantage of starting 
 with a better understanding of each other than 
 many couples attain after a year's matrimony." 
 
 "God grant you may be right," answered Noel 
 Hasard gently. "There is no earthly joy to equal 
 a happy marriage." 
 
 "You should know that," said Lord Garry, 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Yes, thank God. I know that. Garry," the 
 Rector went on after a moment's hesitation, "I 
 was harsh and ungracious to you the other day. 
 In my straits I thought only of myself and 
 ignored your kindness ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, nonsense, ' ' said Lord Garry uncomfortably. 
 
 "No, it's true. You have heard that he 
 Desiree's husband insists on giving the screen to 
 St. Osyth's as a thank-offering and a me- 
 morial?" 
 
 "Desiree told me." 
 
 "He is a good lad thoughtful and kind. . . . 
 I have no pride left. I see now what a stumbling- 
 block it has always been. . . . Garry, for Brigid's 
 sake, will you forgive my hardness, my ingrati- 
 tude ?" 
 
 Lord Garry, profoundly touched by the un- 
 looked-for appeal, grasped the thin veined hand 
 held out to him. 
 
 "There must be no talk of forgiveness between 
 you and me," he said rather huskily. "We are 
 too old friends for that."
 
 340 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 "You loved her," Noel Hasard said unexpect- 
 edly, looking straight at the other man. 
 
 Lord Garry did not pretend to misunderstand 
 him. Each knew that. only one woman could be 
 meant. 
 
 "Yes," he admitted slowly. "But there was 
 no wrong to either of you in my love." 
 
 "I know that. . . . Yet it always stood be- 
 tween us." 
 
 "Yes. I suppose, in a way, it did." 
 
 "It need do so no longer." 
 
 "No, " Lord Garry answered. "No, old friend." 
 
 The two men, face to face at last with the ele- 
 mental fact of their long disagreement, looked into 
 each other's eyes, into each other's souls. Each 
 felt after that moment of intimate knowledge, that, 
 although temperamental differences might and 
 would probably arise between them, they could 
 never really misunderstand each other again. 
 
 It was a quietly happy Desiree who returned 
 from her thirty-hours' honeymoon. 
 
 She had entered her woman's kingdom, and the 
 reaction of relief and happiness, and the rapid 
 march of events in the past two days had brought 
 with them a joy too deep and full for the effer- 
 vescence of mere words. In her inmost heart she 
 felt that somewhere the beloved mother rejoiced 
 with her: that she was glad of her happiness: 
 glad that she had risen above her grief at the call 
 of the Love which she, too, had known "terrible
 
 The Veiled Friend 341 
 
 as an army with banners "and as irresistible in 
 his might. 
 
 Jeremy? Jeremy felt as if no man before him 
 had ever known what real happiness was : as if no 
 man after him could ever properly taste it. For 
 this he pitied a universe busied about other and 
 sterner matters : a universe which, had it been 
 aware, would not have grudged him his hour of 
 Paradise before his plunge into the Unknown, the 
 inconceivable. 
 
 When the car drew up before the Rectory door 
 Jeremy lifted his wife out. 
 
 "Tired, beloved?" he asked softly. 
 
 "How could I be tired?" she answered. "It 
 has all been like a wonderful dream. But come, 
 Jerry, let's go to him. I hope he hasn't been too 
 lonely." 
 
 The hall-door was ajar. Desiree pushed it open 
 and went in. As she did so Jane entered the hall 
 with a tray in her hands, which she nearly dropped 
 at sight of the couple. 
 
 "Well, miss ma'am, I should say, you did 
 give me a turn!" she cried. "You came that 
 quietly I never heard you. Have you had lunch 
 ma'am?" 
 
 "Yes, thank you, long ago," Desiree answered. 
 "It's after two. Is that the master's luncheon? 
 Has he had nothing yet?" 
 
 ' ' No, miss ma'am, I mean. When I went to the 
 study about twelve to ask about his lunch he 
 said he didn't wish for any, but I thought I'd
 
 34 2 The Beloved Sinner 
 
 bring this now to see if I could tempt him to take 
 a bite." 
 
 "You're a good creature, Jane. I'll just run in 
 to see him first. He must eat something before 
 the journey. I'll ring for the tray in a moment." 
 
 "Very well, ma'am." 
 
 Desiree crossed the hall to the study, with 
 Jeremy close behind her. She opened the door 
 softly and peeped in with a smiling face. In- 
 stantly she drew back, her hand raised cautiously. 
 
 "He's asleep," she whispered. "Gently, 
 Jeremy." 
 
 She stole on tiptoe into the room, up to the 
 chair where Noel Hasard lay with closed eyes. 
 
 The sunlight shone upon the golden background 
 of the smiling angels above him : upon the silvered 
 head leaning quietly against the dark cushion. 
 There was a great stillness, a profound peace in 
 the room. 
 
 Desiree's light footfalls could disturb the sleeper 
 no more. Another and a mightier had been before 
 her, the veiled friend, Death. 
 
 Jeremy saw the truth first. He was at her side, 
 his arm round her before she realized anything, 
 his gaze on the white face with its mysterious look 
 of frozen rapture. There was a semblance of 
 youth, too, in the beautiful chiselled features, 
 as if the departing spirit had left behind it a faint 
 impress of the joy it was about to recapture. 
 
 "Your father hasn't waited for us, darling, " he 
 said very gently. "Be brave. . . . He has gone
 
 The Veiled Friend 343 
 
 on a journey without us a happy journey, 
 Desiree." 
 
 "Jeremy!" She clung to him trembling, sud- 
 denly pierced by the truth. 
 
 "Look at him, my wife, " he whispered, holding 
 her closely. "Who that saw him could mourn 
 for him ? ' The peace that passeth understanding ' 
 is his at last. He has seen a great light. . . . 
 God grant that we may see it together when our 
 own hour strikes!" 
 
 THE END
 
 BY RACHEL SWETE MACNAMARA 
 
 Author of 
 "The Fringe of the Desert," "The Torch of Life," etc. 
 
 12". Illustrated. $1.35 
 
 The rebellion of a young girl, budding into 
 womanhood, against the jealous proprietorship 
 of a mother's love. There has been much 
 in the married life of this mother to account 
 for her bitterness of soul and to explain her 
 tyrannous affection that demands, from the 
 daughter whom she loves, a singleness of de- 
 votion to the exclusion of everyone else. The 
 daughter's fancy is in time; caught in the 
 meshes of love, and the clandestine expression 
 of her attachment, which the circumstances 
 demand, involves developments of far-reach- 
 ing interest to the unfolding of the story. The 
 scene is in part England, in part Egypt the 
 haunting, glowing, throbbing Egypt that the 
 author has again made so real. 
 
 New York G. P. Putnam's Sons London
 
 The Untamed 
 
 By 
 
 Max Brand 
 
 72. Color Wrapper. $1.50 net. By mail, $1,65 
 
 A tale of the West, a story of the Wild; of 
 three strange comrades, Whistling Dan of 
 the untamed soul, within whose mild eyes 
 there lurks the baleful yellow glare of beast 
 anger; of the mighty black stallion Satan, King 
 of the Ranges, and the wolf devil dog, to 
 whom their master's word is the only law, 
 and of the Girl. 
 
 How Jim Silent, the "lone-rider" and out- 
 law, declared feud with Dan, how of his right- 
 hand men one strove for the Girl, one for 
 the horse, and one to " ' get ' that black devil 
 of a dog," and their desperate efforts to 
 achieve their ends, form but part of the stir- 
 ring action. 
 
 A tale of the West, yes but a most un- 
 usual one, touched with an almost weird 
 poetic fancy from the very first page, when 
 over the sandy wastes sounds the clear sweet 
 whistling of Pan of the desert, to the very 
 last paragraph when the reader, too, hears the 
 cry and the call of the wild geese flying 
 south. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 Blue Aloes 
 
 By 
 Cynthia Stockley 
 
 Author of "Poppy," "The Claw," "Wild Honey," etc. 
 
 12. $1.50 net. By mail, $1.65 
 
 No writer can so unfailingly summons 
 and materialize the spirit of the weird, 
 mysterious South Africa as can Cynthia 
 Stockley. She is a favored medium 
 through whom the great Dark Continent 
 its tales unfolds. 
 
 A strange story is this, of a Karoo farm, 
 a hedge of Blue Aloes, a cactus of 
 fantastic beauty, which shelters a myriad 
 of creeping things, a whisper and a 
 summons in the dead of the night, an 
 odor of death and the old. 
 
 There are three other stories in the 
 book, stories throbbing with the sudden, 
 intense passion and the mystic atmos- 
 phere of the Veldt. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 The 
 Lady from Long Acre 
 
 By 
 Victor Bridges 
 
 Author of "A Rogue by Compulsion " 
 
 12 
 
 As Sir Antony Conway, better known 
 as Tony, and Tiger Bugg, hero of the 
 prize ring, are passing Long Acre one 
 dark night, they see a young woman 
 evidently seeking escape from two well- 
 dressed men. Tony and Tiger act 
 quickly, and thereby plunge into a series 
 of amazing and fantastic adventures, 
 which are related with dramatic force 
 and keen-edged satire. 
 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
 New York London
 
 000127402 6