HERSELF 
 
"I'm waiting to jump at him oh," she cried, blushing, "I don't 
 
 know what I'm at to-night. I am not like this with a 
 
 stranger man at common times " 
 
HERSELF 
 
 BY 
 
 ETHEL SIDGWICK 
 
 AUTHOR OF "PROMISE," " LE GENTLEMAN*' 
 
 BOSTON 
 SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1912 
 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED) 
 
 Second Edition, January, 
 Third Edition, April, ig /j 
 Fourth Edition, January, 
 
 I 
 PRKSSWORK BY THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 VERSAILLES 3 
 
 PART II 
 FAROVER I9 1 
 
 PART III 
 HIMSELF 397 
 
 421745 
 
PART I 
 VERSAILLES 
 
HERSELF 
 
 A FAST-DARKENING December day, and a little 
 Englishwoman the solitary figure on a vast and 
 melancholy stage, the royal gardens of Versailles. 
 The note of the scene was faded splendor: above, 
 where the winter sunset died strangled among level 
 clouds, with barely an effort for life, still less for 
 beauty: below, where long- accumulated damp 
 dripped from the trees on ranks of statue and foun- 
 tain, frivolous, beautiful, profane, and all of 
 wasteful marble. They looked piteous enough, 
 those fair, half-clad shapes of nymph and goddess, 
 seeming to shrink for mere comfort into the shelter 
 of the serried woods. They needed encouragement 
 in these dull democratic times to flaunt as they had 
 of old, and encouragement they had none. Their 
 customary admirers passed them by, lifting the 
 furs about their chins or turning up the collars of 
 their coats, as they hurried homeward from their 
 afternoon's occupation, an inspection of the half- 
 frozen lake. The splendors of Louis Quatorze's 
 
4 . . ... ] .... PERSE LF 
 
 waterworks were good for naught, in these worthy 
 folks' opinion, if not to give them skating; and in 
 the late contention of cold and rain, rain had still 
 too evidently the upper hand. 
 
 " Tant pis," muttered the mondaines of Ver- 
 sailles ; and turned their practical minds to cakes and 
 tea, and the streets gaily lighted for Christmas week 
 which twinkled to them from afar. 
 
 Meanwhile the little Englishwoman, abandoned 
 by all, stood breathless in a glade, and addressed the 
 mistletoe above her head, which for twenty minutes 
 past she had been vainly maneuvering to reach. 
 
 " Very well," she soliloquized. " You think you 
 have got the better of me, being the last thing I tried 
 for this day, and left me wanting all. But, think as 
 you will, I'll not spend a penny to buy you in the 
 street. You're no use at all, you're nothing but 
 green-and-white sentiment, and bought in a market 
 you're not even that. If I had torn you with my 
 hands, I might have liked it, but it would not have 
 changed the facts. What's Christmas, when your 
 face is aching and your heart as well? What's 
 Christmas, anyway, out of the countries that in- 
 vented it? I defy you, plant; yes, and I'll spite you 
 too. F6r see : " She made a dart into the bushes, 
 and extended triumphant, as though calling her ad- 
 versary to witness, a mossy lump of wood. " That's 
 a log," she said gravely. " It's my log, what's more, 
 
VERSAILLES 5 
 
 gathered here while you outfaced me. And facts 
 may stare as they will, I'll have a real fire to burn 
 my log, all for myself alone, to-morrow being 
 Christmas Eve." 
 
 Ladies who soliloquize are rare, and pure English 
 ladies rarer; and to the attentive listener the voice 
 of this person a tired little timbre it had, even 
 when she was at her liveliest might have been 
 perceived to bear an accent : a lilt or song of a corner 
 of that island which is least English of the three. 
 A native of Kerry would have claimed the voice, yet 
 stood in doubt; for the manner of other lands had 
 overlaid it, and it was more a reminiscence than an 
 actuality. Some of the expressive gesture of France 
 went with it, and withal a faint American blurr 
 upon the " r's." But the whole speech had a humor- 
 ous decision which blent all into a character, quite 
 at war with the fatigued indifference that hung on 
 voice and utterance. Or so it seemed to a bearded 
 Englishman of middle age who overheard. 
 
 It is perhaps the doom of those who soliloquize, 
 in whatever theater, to be overheard: still more of 
 those who soliloquize in an ancient palace-ground 
 of whisper and intrigue. The avenues of Versailles 
 are bold indeed, wide enough each for a regiment, 
 and cut sheer through the landscape in a garden 
 where the measurements are miles; but the little 
 paths are crooked and secretive, the bosquets haunted 
 
6 HERSELF 
 
 by phantoms of cunning courtiers and lurking gal- 
 lants, and ladies whose cheeks even now in ghost- 
 hood would flame at a glance. It is contended that 
 the last of that flower-band died great deaths: and 
 doubtless there are nobler ghosts to be sought in the 
 prison-cells of old Paris; but it is still less to be 
 doubted that many who so died had lost, even for 
 generations, the art to live with dignity. 
 
 The Englishman, whose short cloak and pointed 
 beard gave him a vaguely Elizabethan aspect, and 
 who was lanky and hollow-eyed as one of the ghosts 
 himself, had given little thought to the girl at first. 
 He was meditating, or drinking in an atmosphere, as 
 he doubtless would have put it. If he was drinking 
 in rheumatic damp as well, it was so much the worse 
 for his joints. He was watch in hand, for he had a 
 train to catch, and was staying out the uttermost 
 hour in the gardens before they closed for the night. 
 He was not even sure, so heavily the accumulated 
 languor of the place weighed upon him, that he 
 would not miss the train, and ignore the gates, and 
 spend the night as now in dreaming of the significant 
 rich past he loved. No one in Paris would miss him, 
 to signify. Pat Morough might swear a little, when 
 he looked in from the upper floor at ten to chatter. 
 Madame Rochette might scold him next day, while 
 she cooked his Christmas dinner: but provided she 
 cooked him a good one 
 
VERSAILLES 7 
 
 Here his attention was distracted by the girl's 
 dialogue with the mistletoe, and he became amused 
 to such a degree that the spelt of the gardens fell off 
 him. 
 
 "Who's the voice like?" he took to reflecting 
 instead. " Who the devil by all the attendant 
 powers, could it be? " 
 
 Then the girl turned aside, one slight, bare hand 
 raised pathetically to her cheek, a light frown of 
 pain or strain upon her brow. He rose behind 
 his bush, and " Madam, may I " was beginning, 
 when the phrase was cut off by her speaking again. 
 This time, emerging to the open, she addressed the 
 view, dimly sketched in gray and blue at the extreme 
 limit of the vista. 
 
 " Beautiful," she said, still with that subdued 
 vivacity, in that weary little voice. " Beautiful, 
 beautiful, but I see right through you now. It's a 
 mad poet I'd be watching you, or a practical person: 
 and you've made me that among you. I'll be it in 
 good earnest after this. I'm little and poor, am I 
 not? Madeleine off home without a word to me, 
 and mistletoe out of reach, and a dentist to-morrow 
 on Christmas Eve, do you hear? with the Christ- 
 mas money to pay him. But I'm better than you, 
 than all of you : for I'm living and fit for life. Dead 
 things, bonnie and dead and done for: I'll look at 
 you, and laugh at you, and love you, but I shall not 
 
8 HERSELF 
 
 keep. No," she raised the log she held as though 
 to threaten them, " you are uncollectable." 
 
 She stopped on the queer word, flung a glance up- 
 ward, and shadowed another un-English gesture. 
 
 " Like the mistletoe I wanted," she said plain- 
 tively. " Good night." 
 
 It was the same queer word that visibly decided 
 Geoffry Horn. He stepped out of the encumbering 
 leaves and mould, to the footway that rang to his 
 steps and disclosed him. 
 
 " That bough at least is collectable, Miss Clench, 
 to anything over five-feet-ten. Will you permit 
 me?" he said. He colored too, for he was a shy 
 man, and much afraid of alarming such a slight 
 little shadow as she was. 
 
 She stopped and gripped a hand to her side, but 
 faced him squarely with steady eyes. One would 
 have judged this girl had already met adventure. 
 " Who are you? " she said, assenting so as to avoid 
 the least rudeness. " Have I seen you? " 
 
 " No," he said. " I have had the advantage, 
 though I assure you, inadvertently. I was mooning 
 here in ambush when you came. I know your cousin 
 in Paris," he added, as she still gazed steadily under 
 a strained brow. " Your cousin Patrick Kath- 
 leen's son." 
 
 " Kathleen's son," she echoed him, seeking as it 
 
VERSAILLES 9 
 
 were for light in a fog of new and rapid impressions. 
 " What, and you knew Kathleen? " 
 
 " No," said Horn again, " nor Brian either. They 
 are names to me both, only familiar names." 
 
 " They would be," said the girl. " Yet you know 
 I am Brian's daughter, so it seems? " 
 
 " I guessed it. Was I too bold to guess? " 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 " I had heard there was a daughter at school in 
 France. But I think it was really the word you 
 spoke. The Clenches say collectable." 
 
 " I," she answered quickly, " do not use it as the 
 Clenches do. They take it for beauty, I for use. I 
 am not of the true breed, do not think it. I am born 
 to be useful, and collect nothing and nobody that 
 cannot help me." The frown, as she spoke with 
 anxious energy, was deepening on her troubled little 
 brow. " I have not long," she said, " for the gates 
 will be closing, and I've work to do. Will you tell 
 me who you are? " 
 
 " My name is Horn, at your service." 
 
 "Horn? I have not heard of you?" She still 
 seemed searching 
 
 " No," he said, with a smile. " The records lack 
 my name. In truth, Miss Clench, I am nothing to 
 the family. But I live for the moment on the floor 
 below Pat," he offered the address, " and 
 
10 HERSELF 
 
 " So you'll be caring for him," she finished. 
 " Patrick's a Clench, sir, is he not? " 
 
 "I'd not dare to gainsay it." Mr. Horn laughed. 
 
 " It's kind of you to look after him," said the girl. 
 " All alone there so long, the poor boy. How old is 
 he? but I should know. Nineteen is it? 
 Twenty? Well, yes, that will do." She gathered 
 up her scarf with a business-like air. " You must let 
 me see to him," she said, holding out a little hand in 
 a worn merino glove. " It's very good of you, but 
 I'll have the time for that." 
 
 GeofTry laughed again, and took the hand. " The 
 clan spirit is magnificent," he said. " I marvel how 
 old you are," he was thinking; and, since she had 
 come near, quite cursed the fading light. 
 
 " Oh, I'm used to them," said Miss Clench, with 
 her first demure smile. " I am even in training for 
 the profession." 
 
 "You'll excuse me: you mean Brian your 
 father is already in your charge? " 
 
 "Brian has been: and he will again." She 
 stopped. " Brian's in America, gone West for the 
 present," she said, and turned suddenly as if to go. 
 
 " You have not got that mistletoe," said Horn. 
 
 " Leave it," she said. " It's prettier there." 
 
 " But you shall have it. Would you be beaten by 
 a bough?" 
 
 He leapt; and whether or no indignation lent his \ 
 
VERSAILLES 11 
 
 lanky form agility, he caught and brought it down, 
 a fine wreath white with berries. As he extended it, 
 the girl put her hands behind her. 
 
 " I am beaten," she said, " just the same. I stood 
 conquered there and miscalled it. You must have 
 heard me." 
 
 " Take it as a gift then," he entreated. " Or a 
 lesson what you will." 
 
 " I'll take it as a lesson, thank you." She seized 
 it in her gloved hand daintily. " It's as grand a bit 
 as I've seen," said little Miss Clench, with a grateful 
 smile. 
 
 " What is the lesson 4 ? " Geoff ry pressed to detain 
 her. 
 
 " Only it's poor to abuse a thing you cannot 
 catch. I might as well abuse Brian, mightn't I, or 
 anybody? " 
 
 " Are you trying to catch him? " 
 
 "I'm waiting to jump at him oh," she cried, 
 blushing, "I don't know what I'm at to-night. I 
 am not like this, with a stranger man, at common 
 times." 
 
 " I am a stranger man," said Horn. " Very good : 
 we English always must be that, to such as Clenches. 
 Your cousin also says I must sleep on a haycock 
 under nine new moons before I can try to under- 
 stand." 
 " Did Patrick say that? " She hesitated, sway- 
 
12 HERSELF 
 
 ing, her eyes on him. "I must see him," she re- 
 solved, " and soon. He will be like the others. 
 Only I am not." 
 
 " You repeat it," said Geoffry. " Perhaps it 
 needs repeating." 
 
 " It does, a thousand times. You'd best tell 
 Patrick that from me, Mr. Horn, before we meet." 
 Again she wavered a minute. " You know him," 
 she said. " Is he poor*? " 
 
 " He is living on an allowance from his step- 
 father." 
 
 " Since Kathleen's death. Did she leave him 
 nothing?" 
 
 " I doubt if there was anything to leave." He 
 watched her, wondering what she had been told. 
 
 " I know, I know," she said. " We wronged 
 them both in taking it, we did, indeed." 
 
 " You did not, surely," GeofTry said. He 
 thought, " You can hardly have been born." 
 
 " I did," the girl said sharply. "It's all on me, 
 since I am made like that, tfhey never think of 
 money things it's they that live happy without ! 
 Now I am sure Pat never mentioned that to you." 
 
 " He did not, no; but facts were easy to divine." 
 
 " Tou're made that way also," she said wistfully. 
 " You think it matters well, there must be some." 
 Once more she gathered her woolen scarf about her, 
 and settled the bough and log as if to go. 
 
VERSAILLES 13 
 
 "There's still ten minutes/' he protested as 
 she moved. He felt a terrible charm in her 
 Celtic tongue, emerging from the half -dark of the 
 glade. 
 
 " I know it," she answered, " but I've neuralgia, 
 and it's silly to stay out when one need not." Her 
 tired little voice was almost childish, and GeofTry's 
 heart had a sudden pang. What was she this 
 lonely little woman? Where was she going 
 what was her life? On whom, most important ques- 
 tion of all, did she depend? Her charming, worth- 
 less father " gone West," her father's only sister 
 dead, her mother he remembered Patrick's stories, 
 of which " Brian " was ever the hero, only with a 
 changing heroine. Of which of Brian's many flames 
 was this careworn child the daughter? If indeed 
 she was a child and not an old woman, or a spirit of 
 the twilit woods. 
 
 " I may accompany you, may I not? " said Horn, 
 having assured himself by a glance at the watch 
 that he had missed his train. 
 
 " It is better not," Brian's daughter replied with 
 decision. " You'll excuse me, but one knows a 
 provincial town." 
 
 " You have been here long? " He feared to seem 
 too curious, feeling himself watched. It amused 
 him though that he could be watched, for he seemed 
 a mere grandfather beside her. 
 
14 HERSELF 
 
 " Four years," she said. " I've plenty of ac- 
 quaintance. Good night, sir, I will write." 
 
 " Plenty of acquaintance, and all willing to say 
 ill of you," thought Horn. "Miss Clench," he 
 called after her, " I'm forty-five." 
 
 "Are you?" She laughed again. "That's 
 Brian's age," but still she moved away. 
 
 Horn reflected that she could not be much over 
 twenty, in that case. 
 
 " May I give Patrick your address? " he said 
 aloud, moving gently in her wake. Against the 
 light she had a delicate light little figure, and Horn, 
 oblivious of woolen scarfs and mended gloves and 
 such details noted only by a female eye, was con- 
 vinced she was well-dressed. Later, he emphasized 
 it in his description to Pat Morough, and misled him 
 naturally. 
 
 As for Brian's daughter, she called her address to 
 him from fifty paces, and Horn, anxious for every 
 crumb, noted two more points about her. She pro- 
 nounced the names elegantly and used French for 
 the numbers; also, her voice, pitched to suit the dis- 
 tance, changed and deepened surprisingly, and rang 
 bell-like through the woods. 
 
 GeofTry waited until she had disappeared, and 
 then wiped his brow as though the dialogue had 
 heated him, and hurried, at an angle with the path 
 she had taken, towards the nearest gate. 
 
II 
 
 HE plunged into history with Morough that even- 
 ing. He found the boy in his rooms, looking rather 
 sad and tired, but he roused to life and interest on 
 learning of his friend's adventure. 
 
 "It's the actress's daughter she'll be," said Pat, 
 who had history at his fingers' ends. " Just like my 
 luck to find her. My luck's sure, when I'm not look- 
 ing for it." (" For-ut," Pat said, for he had a slight 
 advantage in brogue over his cousin, though he could 
 at will speak excellent English.) " And must I 
 wait for her to write, Horn, or go straight to her in 
 the morning? " 
 
 " You'll wait, to be sure. She is in no such 
 hurry." Pat looked depressed again for a minute, 
 but revived anew when pressed by question. 
 
 "The actress was an ordinary woman, they say, 
 but terribly in love with Brian. I dare say she was 
 clever too." 
 
 " She made him marry her," said Horn. 
 
 "She did," said Pat, "where many a better 
 woman failed. He stopped with her too, for years, 
 
16 HERSELF 
 
 so it's to be supposed she had charm : pretty, they do 
 not say. That was in New York, where this girleen 
 was born. But one remark of Mrs. Brian's has come 
 down, and it's not worth the preserving." 
 
 "What was that, Pat'?" 
 
 : ' Brian's a perfect daisy,' she informed some- 
 body. * I'd go with him to the world's end for a 
 look, and gladly : but he is a strain.' ' 
 
 " That shows her cuteness, I should think." 
 
 " It shows her ordinary mind. But there," said 
 Pat with compassion. " You never saw himself." 
 
 " Did you see Brian? " 
 
 " To be sure I did, the last year of my poor 
 mother's life." 
 
 " Ah," said Geoffry. " Was he hovering then? " 
 
 " He was in Dublin for the moment," replied 
 Pat, with some dignity. " He was persuaded with 
 trouble to come to us, and must have stayed for 
 about seven months. He has not been to Europe 
 since that." 
 
 " It was that visit, I presume, he brought the girl 
 to school." 
 
 " Doubtless it was, after he had left us. We saw 
 no girl, not a flutter of her, up there. To see him 
 and Kathleen together, ah, they were heart and soul ! 
 She told me often I was like him, and me believing 
 it, little cockerel that I was." Pat fell into medita- 
 tion, leaning above the fire: and Horn's mind 
 
VERSAILLES 17 
 
 attacked the shadowed history, his eyes resting on 
 the boy's face. 
 
 He knew enough of Brian Clench to feel how 
 untrue the glamour was. The glamour rose from 
 personality, doubtless, and the person was unknown 
 to him : but try as he would, Horn could not believe. 
 
 Kathleen Morough, spoken of invariably by her 
 camp-following as a princess, he knew at second- 
 hand: not through her son's lips, though Pat pos- 
 sessed a portrait, but by those of an acquaintance he 
 could trust. She had been an ill-clad rather weedy 
 woman $ with hair irregularly parted and always 
 half-down, and beautiful eyes. She kept open 
 house in Dublin for all the Clench contingent, and 
 her husband by the way. She spoke in an impetuous 
 flood on all subjects, whether she was capable of 
 speaking or not. She had an inborn feeling for 
 poetry, played well and sculptured badly. She was 
 an ardent and one-sided politician, having through- 
 out youth shared her twin-brother's views and 
 adopted his phrases. With both, politics and poetry 
 ran together, so closely intermingled, that it was 
 hard to say which was which. She was lazy in her 
 household, which was in any case needy enough, 
 careless of her husband's comfort, and grossly 
 neglectful of her child. This child in consequence, 
 by the logic of the Clenches, adored her, cried his 
 eyes out when she forgot to kiss him good night, and 
 
18 HERSELF 
 
 listened to all her rigmaroles wide-eyed and credu- 
 lous. On Morough's death Kathleen remarried 
 without delay or difficulty, choosing at random 
 apparently an unsuccessful and unattractive man. 
 She brought him a small fortune, which melted 
 mysteriously before Brian left for America. Her 
 second husband, a bank-clerk with some inkling of 
 business, tried for months to find out whether the 
 considerable sum that had vanished, and was surely 
 in Brian's pocket, had been borrowed, begged, or 
 stolen. He arrived at nothing but floods of pretty 
 eloquence from his wife, setting forth Brian as the 
 heart of her, and any private possession between 
 them as out of the question. Pat's stepfather Mr. 
 Long came to the opinion that she literally did not 
 know either how or why the money had gone, and 
 that Pat, a schoolboy of fifteen, was equally igno- 
 rant. He rated Pat, for not having more heed to his 
 mother during Mr. Long's business hours, but as 
 seemed inevitable he forgave Kathleen. Accord- 
 ing to Pat, the dull husband watched over his wife's 
 last illness, contagious as it was known to be, night 
 and day. Of the manner of her death the boy was 
 ignorant; for at a crisis of her illness she called him 
 to her in a rush of sentiment, and he not unnaturally 
 caught the fever from her. All he could be sure of 
 was, that in his own subsequent and desperate illness 
 none came near him but a hired servant, who 
 
VERSAILLES 19 
 
 invented endless lies to keep the truth from the 
 feverish, half- frantic boy; the plain truth being that 
 Kathleen was dead and buried, and her husband 
 stunned with sheer grief. Later, when Pat recov- 
 ered, and became a pale, sad phantom round the 
 house, Long took an aversion to him, and paid what 
 he could to keep him at distant schools. The boy 
 had, so far as Horn could discover, never had a home. 
 He had had no education to mention, or only of the 
 most partial kind. He called himself a Catholic, but 
 was nearer to pure and perfect paganism than any 
 mortal Horn had ever met. The music of his mother's 
 tongue had been all art to him, her face all religion. 
 He had been, as much as a precocious boy of fifteen 
 could be, in love with Kathleen Morough, and spoke 
 of her sometimes in a manner almost to shock the 
 experienced bohemian Horn thought himself to be. 
 According to her son, Kathleen had broken all hearts 
 in Dublin that Brian had not collected; and Brian, 
 that fine, earth-scouring freebooter, was the one soul 
 left in the world that could restore him to full life 
 and his lost ideals. 
 
 Pending this hoped-for millennium of his uncle's 
 return, Pat Morough was tossed about from Ireland 
 to England, and England to France, a delicate 
 feckless boy, falling in and out of love and scrapes 
 alike with astonishing ease, variously and irreg- 
 ularly gifted, and lovable enough in himself to 
 
20 HERSELF 
 
 demonstrate the family attraction, even to a sceptic 
 like Geoffry Horn. 
 
 The manner of their meeting had been as casual 
 and as picturesque as any Clench could wish to in- 
 vent. Horn, who had his small but comfortable 
 rooms on the third-floor of a house in the Boulevard 
 du Montparnasse, had been dimly conscious of the 
 presence about the public staircase of a sickly-looking 
 lad, dressed in odd garments of an old-world air, and 
 always to be seen with companions who looked 
 worse, in every sense, than himself. He was aware 
 of women too, from time to time, and he called the 
 gang privately " the ragged company." Walking 
 one February evening by the quays near the Pont 
 des Arts, he noticed a mass of people hanging over 
 the bridge and pressing to the river-side. Being a 
 capable Parisian and knowing his crowd, he rapidly 
 gathered the occurrence. Some woman had leapt 
 a not unprecedented event from the bridge into 
 the water. A little knot had seen her go. A young 
 man, walking from another direction, and having no 
 connection, apparently, with " cette infortunee," 
 had leapt also, regardless of the fact that the Seine 
 was enjoying its periodic flood, and the woman, who 
 had been whirled under at once by the current, was 
 long past human aid. Owing to the efforts of some 
 watermen, aided by happy chance, the young maniac 
 had been caught and dragged to land; and Geoff ry, 
 
VERSAILLES 21 
 
 elbowing to the center of the interested throng, 
 recognized the pale face of the leader of his ragged 
 company. The lamplight glinted on a tragic mask 
 of youth, streaked over with wet hair: and in 
 all directions " Comme il est beau," the women 
 of the street were muttering. Horn took steps at 
 once, dragooned the police in a manner he could 
 assume at will, gave the names of government au- 
 thorities as his reference, and bore the boy, so soon 
 as he showed signs of recovery, off in a carriage to his 
 own rooms. There, with good brandy and hot soup, 
 Horn and his housekeeper brought him round; and 
 by his fire, towards the small hours, Pat Morough's 
 tongue was loosened to tell his tale. 
 
 Horn had at the time no idea, and was barely yet 
 certain, how much of the tale was true. Ordinary 
 people and dingy events took great and spreading 
 forms to the mind of a Clench : and Pat's tongue led 
 him to diversions that were invariably beautiful, 
 touching, or funny, even when they baffled credulity. 
 The boy was evidently plagued with an imagination 
 that had never been pruned, directed, or repressed. 
 At his best he talked like a wit or a poet: at his 
 weakest he lost himself in an orgie of words. His 
 eyes, expressive as those of an animal, would seem 
 meanwhile to be beseeching his auditor to pull him 
 out of his tongue's entanglement. Pat hardly knew 
 what a statement was, and could rarely get one 
 
22 HERSELF 
 
 believed; for the simple reason that in the very act 
 of making one, his imagination would suggest 
 
 " And if the contrary were true ," and, by the 
 
 wavering of his eyes, and loss of conviction in his 
 tone, his fact would lose most of its value. 
 
 Horn, half-laughing, half-irritated, set him at last 
 to a simple catechism. 
 
 " Where do you come from originally*? " 
 
 " West of the west," said Pat. " But my father 
 settled in Dublin, and it was there my mother 
 married." 
 
 " You come from Dublin," said GeofTry firmly. 
 
 " My mother married twice," said Pat. 
 
 " But I suppose you had only one father. What 
 was his name? " 
 
 " Morough was his name, and Clench was hers. 
 You'll have heard of the Clenches of Kildarling? " 
 
 " I shall have heard of them," thought Geoffry, 
 " in a week's time. How long since your mother 
 married first, Mr. Morough? " 
 
 Pat soon reckoned it as five-and-twenty years. 
 Four children were born of her, and her not ask- 
 ing for them. It was little time that she had for 
 children. 
 
 " Where are your brothers and sisters then? " 
 
 " Under the Irish soil with her," said Pat, " where 
 I hope I'll be some day." 
 
 " No thanks to yourself you are not under Seine 
 
VERSAILLES 23 
 
 mud," said Geoffry severely. " What possessed you 
 to jump, with nothing to guide you*? " 
 
 " How should Pat not jump? That had been a 
 pretty girl, they said." 
 
 " Did you know her? " 
 
 Pat could not be sure. He had a wide acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " To judge from those I've seen," said Horn, 
 assuming the schoolmaster with lessening scruple, 
 " the people you know are not worthy of you. You 
 come of a decent family." 
 
 Pat went off at once. " It's they would be glad 
 at heart to hear an Englishman call them decent! 
 When you call the great big mountains well laid-out, 
 or the pattern of the stars a nice design " 
 
 " How old are you? " said Geoff ry. 
 
 He supposed very sulkily that he was 
 twenty. 
 
 " Where have you been at school? " 
 
 He named two or three schools, and two or three 
 priests, and then, to Horn's surprise, London 
 University. 
 
 " What did you do there? " he said. 
 
 " I heard classes for a time there, until I came 
 away. It was at the wish of Mr. Long, my mother's 
 other husband, that I did it. You see," said Pat 
 quite innocently, " I am to be a schoolmaster next 
 year." 
 
24 HERSELF 
 
 "A schoolmaster! My good fellow, what will 
 you teach*? " 
 
 The youth had a gleam of gravity and reason. 
 "I'll teach what I can do, and that's drawing," he 
 said. Then, turning his soft eyes on Geoffry 
 " You'd have no influence in the schools over there, 
 would you*? " 
 
 " Over there," Geoffry came to understand, was 
 England. He evaded a direct answer to the 
 question, and asked " Why should you not teach 
 at home?" 
 
 " Him and me's better far," said Pat, as though 
 that were sufficient answer. 
 
 " You have a quarrel with Mr. Long? " 
 
 " None, beyond loving the same woman." 
 
 Geoffry almost jumped: but he did not follow the 
 suggestion to its conclusion then. " Has he been 
 unkind to you?" he demanded. 
 
 " He hates me," said Pat, " and that's unkind, 
 for I would not harm him since he cared for her." 
 
 After this, expressed in a manner that nearly 
 brought the tears to the inquisitor's eyes, Horn dis- 
 covered that Mr. Long had acceded in turn to each 
 of Patrick's demands, and given him regularly a 
 very fair sum of money to live upon. 
 
 " Where is your money? " the examination pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " I'd like to know," said Pat, hitting his pocket 
 
VERSAILLES 25 
 
 " They stole my purse out there, a bother on them." 
 
 It was not for Horn to say if this were true. 
 Later, he discovered that it was. He asked when 
 the next instalment from Dublin fell due, and Pat 
 told him, in a month's time. 
 
 " And what," said Geoffry, " do you intend to do 
 for that month*?" 
 
 It was merely a test question, for he already liked 
 Pat absurdly, and nothing would have induced him 
 to let him starve. The boy merely smiled at him. 
 
 " I'll go above soon," he said, " and consider." 
 Stretching his legs, he looked at Geoffry' s fire. " A 
 fire of cricket-balls," he said. " It's not so pretty 
 burning as the turf. You have not been in Ireland, 
 have you? " 
 
 The diversion made Horn pause again. Could it 
 be delicacy, that led him to shelve the financial 
 question? He looked weak enough, and tired. He 
 could never have been strong, and the shock and 
 excitement of the day had shaken him. Yet for all 
 that he was well put together; he had capable hands, 
 and a good head, though the weight of it lay forward 
 over the eyes. " Art," thought Geoffry, " and en- 
 thusiasm. The head of a man destined to fling for 
 lost causes, even as he did to-day. He will always 
 charm, and never attain. He's one of them, the 
 world's pensioners. I shall have to do what I can." 
 
 Leaning forward, he said, " See here, Morough : 
 
26 HERSELF 
 
 I will lend you enough for board and lodging for 
 this month, and amusements in reason. But amuse- 
 ments must stop short of such noise as I have often 
 heard at midnight under the roof, and diversions 
 must not be varied by jumping into a river in spate. 
 You had better riot work too much either, whatever 
 your work is: at least for a day or two. For this 
 night you'll stop on my sofa and sleep here. Reckon 
 out what money you need, and I will give it you to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " I thought you would," said Pat, raising his fine 
 eyes to GeorTry's. He paused a minute as if his 
 feelings overcame him. " I am already obliged to 
 you," he said with a sad dignity, " but it needs no 
 more than this, Mr. Horn, to make us friends." 
 
Ill 
 
 LATER, Horn discovered that Patrick's " work " was 
 sculpture: though, as need hardly be mentioned, 
 his business was other than it, being drawing. It 
 is true, he seemed to draw well by nature, but he 
 modeled more than well, and knew it. He had 
 possessed a fiddle, he told Horn, but sold it. In fact 
 his sculpture, his friend gathered, had gradually 
 swallowed up his other interests, though his percep- 
 tions were always awake for beauty in whatever 
 form, and his judgment on arts not his own, though 
 eccentric, was often astonishingly correct. He re- 
 membered also such books as he had read, though 
 they were an odd selection and though it was 
 clear he had not read Horn's. 
 
 GeofTry had been very reticent about himself, for 
 with such a character as Patrick, it was easy to be 
 so. Pat's discovery that the solitary, middle-aged 
 Englishman was a personage of distinction " over 
 there " was of quite recent date, and had amused Mr. 
 Morough enormously. Horn was not quite sure if 
 he credited the claim. Pat liked his patron warmly, 
 and overwhelmed him with his confidence. Horn 
 
28 HERSELF 
 
 was everything that was admirable and respectable 
 and cultivated, but " collectable," to use the word 
 of the Clenches, he was not. 
 
 "You're not collectable, Horn," said Pat, the 
 second or third time he borrowed money, " but 
 you've the great soul." And with this doubtful 
 blessing Horn was fain to be content. 
 
 He never came very near to gathering what the 
 " collectable " implied, and Pat could never ap- 
 proach to a definition, though he threw forth 
 illustrations wholesale. Some of the ragged com- 
 pany for whom Horn had expressed such hasty 
 contempt had been so, as he was informed. The 
 results of collectability he could gather by working 
 the negative of his own condition with the positive 
 condition of Morough and his uncle Brian. It was 
 neither prosperity nor respectability, to begin with, 
 but it approached occasionally to a very pure kind 
 of happiness, a more childlike, vivid happiness than 
 wiser men could imagine. It was not a shamefast 
 condition either; Pat's instinct was to live like the 
 city sparrows, pecking wherever crumbs were spread. 
 As for Brian, the conspicuous thing he collected was 
 other people's money, and perchance from time to 
 time, if half his nephew's stories were to be believed, 
 the life of a poor, industrious woman such as the 
 " actress," of whom Horn had already vaguely 
 heard. 
 
VERSAILLES 29 
 
 The night of his return from Versailles, seeing his 
 opportunity, he pushed enquiry about this actress, 
 so suddenly become interesting to his mind, and 
 assimilated a few new facts. 
 
 " Where did they meet*? " enquired Horn, in the 
 steady manner of concentration which he always 
 employed to screw facts out of Morough. 
 
 " They met in a city tram-car. It's a story worth 
 the telling." The young gentleman fell into an easy 
 chair, having borrowed a cigarette from Geoffry's 
 box. "There was Brian in a street-car full of 
 strangers, and far from his home; and she sitting at 
 the end, a beautiful woman under the light, and 
 simply raised her voice to let the conductor know he 
 had cheated her about a cent. She did no more 
 than say these words, and it was over with her for all 
 time. ' Who's that"? ' said Brian, with a taking 
 smile on the conductor, when he came his way. 
 'How should I know*?' said the conductor, who 
 felt warm and dusty about the cent. ' I don't know 
 
 all the ' the conductor was rude. So Brian 
 
 turned his smile upon the world, and soon had his 
 whispered information. It was clear, you see, by the 
 winks of them, that everyone knew the lady." 
 
 "She was perfectly respectable, wasn't she?" 
 Horn interposed. 
 
 "Not a word against her," said>"at cheerfully, 
 " and so they told him doubtless. ' : What do I care 
 
30 HERSELF 
 
 about all that? ' says Brian. ' It's the voice for me. 
 Will you present me, George 4 ? ' 
 
 "My dear Pat," Horn protested. "The tram 
 was full of strangers." 
 
 " So he had thought," said Pat. " He recognized 
 this fellow in their discoursing as the friend of a 
 friend. English he was, which accounts for the 
 name. Well, this friend's friend shilly-shallied, 
 being shy as the English are, but Brian pushed 
 through and got his introduction, in the wings of a 
 second-class suburban theater." 
 
 " You mentioned," Horn reminded him, " that 
 everyone knew her in the public tram-car." 
 
 " And they did so. Is it the first-class actresses 
 that are the most widely known? She was known 
 in that town, or I doubt indeed if Brian Clench 
 would have singled her. By the gods, he made her 
 better known before he had done." 
 
 " So he spotted her for her voice." Horn, even 
 while industriously sifting out the truth of the 
 recital, had a sudden recollection of a girl's tone in 
 a glade. 
 
 " For her voice alone. It was Brian had the taste 
 in voices," cried Pat, with energy. " He'd track one 
 at midnight through a market-place, and find it 
 under the walls of Babel. Two singers he's picked 
 from the muck that made their name three at least 
 if the tales be true. For there was no smallness in 
 
VERSAILLES 31 
 
 him, and it was all humanity he would serve by his 
 discoveries." 
 
 " Doubtless," agreed Geoffry. " In this case, he 
 married her himself." 
 
 " Am I not telling you it*? That voice, found in 
 this way, was more to his ears hearing it than the cry 
 of a woman's first child at its birth would be. And 
 it was all the lady had entirely, for to look at, she 
 was plain." 
 
 " She was beautiful under the lights," said 
 Geoffry. " Right, Pat, go on : they often are." 
 
 " It was a fine singer lost in her, as he soon knew: 
 for her singing and speaking voice were one ; and all 
 he could, our poor Brian did to make her sing." 
 
 " She had had no training probably." 
 
 " Sing she could not," wailed Pat, " no more than 
 an ass that tried to. She had not the training for it, 
 nor the taste, nor ideas to match his own." 
 
 " She did not wish to change a lucrative profession 
 
 she was sure of for " Horn got so far when 
 
 Morough broke in. 
 
 " She wished for all he wished, and would have 
 died for him. Her love was the town's talk, and his 
 as well. He played to her, and sang to her, and 
 poured his soul and mind upon her, that she should 
 find the art of it. Long years he waited by her, and 
 she still practising patiently. But the poor small 
 woman, she could not. Her heart was broken for 
 
32 HERSELF 
 
 him surely," Pat rapidly appended, seeing Horn 
 about to speak. 
 
 " So he deserted her," said Horn. 
 
 " He took a little travel that was necessary, just 
 for his affairs. He'd have taken the child they had, 
 loving her dearly, but that the woman would not. 
 They had some talk upon it " 
 
 "Quarreled?" 
 
 " Well, wanting the voice that hid in her, what 
 was there in her to care for? She was a cold woman 
 too, keeping the money closely from him." 
 
 " Did she not love him passionately? " 
 
 " She loved the man he was, as women must. But 
 no further would she go, in kindness of heart, than 
 suited her contriving. Such women and Brian 
 Clench never could agree." 
 
 " So he went to find others." 
 
 " He pressed the child to him, and went. It was 
 sorrowing he was later, doubtless, to find the woman 
 dead." 
 
 " How much later? " said Geoffry. 
 
 " Six years may be," said Pat reflectively, " or 
 nine. He came to Europe with the girl not so long 
 after that, the year myself was fourteen." 
 
 " How old was the girl when he first left New 
 York? " said Geoffry, who was consciously scheming 
 to find Miss Clench's age. But all arithmetic was 
 at fault with Pat. 
 
VERSAILLES 33 
 
 " The age a girleen is to break your heart leaving 
 her," he said, his fine eyes melting at the thought. 
 " When the woman she'll be is in her, and she still 
 light as a fairy." 
 
 " Put her at eight," said Horn, on the watch to 
 catch a contradiction. " Eight and nine and say 
 six. Miss Clench would be twenty-three if your 
 reckoning is approximately right." 
 
 "It's the whole truth I'm telling you," said 
 Patrick a mere formula he used from time to 
 time. " Three-and- twenty's the age of a fine 
 woman." 
 
 This insinuation having no effect upon Horn, who 
 seemed to be pondering in the fire-light, Mr. 
 Morough had to start afresh. 
 
 " The daughter of Clench would be a pretty girl." 
 
 "No," said Geoffry at leisure. "A little thing: 
 busy, light, colorless, negligible : a water-fly." 
 
 " Thank the Lord for that," said Patrick to the 
 fire. Horn turned an eye of amusement on him. 
 " For I'd have been in love with her," he proceeded 
 to explain, " and indeed now I have not the time. 
 It's small time I have to grow acquainted even, and 
 she heart and all to me for her father's sake." 
 
 " Humph," said Horn. " Then you have closed 
 with the offer from that school for Easter, eh? " 
 
 "And if my stepfather stops my money for 
 Easter, how would I do otherwise?" 
 
34 HERSELF 
 
 " Have you closed with it, Pat? " 
 
 " There's few people I know would save me," 
 answered the young vagabond, running his hands 
 into his pockets. " And my Cupid in the Salon, if I 
 had the few shillings to help him there." 
 
 " Demand your salary in advance," said Geoffry 
 rather grimly. 
 
 " Could I do that? " said Pat, not at all ashamed. 
 " Sure the English are not so trustful, even to do a 
 great good by it. And the devil himself would stop 
 my mouth," he corrected himself in a fine burst, 
 " when the Englishman that saved my life is sitting 
 there quietly to reprove me." 
 
 " Then you're afraid of love," said Geoffry, hark- 
 ing back hastily to the former point. 
 
 " Afraid is it? No more than a fish of the water." 
 Pat stretched his arms, showing his elegant young 
 figure to perfection. Yet his eyes still looked melan- 
 choly, hollow almost, in his pale face, as they stared 
 wistfully through the high window. " Yet love is 
 a wide, great thing," he said. " It's all life needs to 
 be given it, Horn as Brian gave his life for 
 them that have the horse to ride. Brian had the 
 horse, but I have not. And so, you see, I'll be a 
 little drawing-master in a country school. And that, 
 the finest town in Europe, thick with the finest girls, 
 will go wanting me forget me soon." He sighed 
 bitterly. " And Brian's own daughter waiting just 
 
VERSAILLES 35 
 
 outside of it," he murmured. " What a world 
 oh, what a world! " 
 
 Geoffry let him muse for a time, and watched 
 him with a student's eye. 
 
 " What do you mean by the horse that Brian rode, 
 Pat? " he asked presently. " Money? " 
 
 " No, no," said Pat, waking from his dream with 
 a frown of vague annoyance. He did not care to be 
 recalled to a momentary image. Such, with him, 
 passed and vanished as quickly as shadows on a 
 stream. 
 
 " You must mean courage then. It is courage 
 that you lack." 
 
 " It is not, you man of sentences." Patrick was 
 frowning still. " Hadn't I the courage to fling in 
 that river, where few would have followed me? It 
 is the horse. I was born without my horse it was 
 my mother said it sadly. So I shall taste and 
 languish, linger and look in, but I am not to ride, and 
 have, and hold." 
 
 " This is a melancholy turn," said Horn, still 
 watching closely, for his voice had the ring of a rare 
 sincerity. 
 
 " Yes," he answered with innocence. "It's not 
 often you'll hear me speak like that. But I know 
 well what I say, though I do my bit of boasting at 
 times, as others do. Whatever else I say, you'd best 
 not forget I have said this." 
 
36 HERSELF 
 
 " Very well, I engage not to forget. I dare say 
 you will need reminding," said Horn with a smile. 
 
 " You're kind to me," the boy said with sudden 
 passion. " Well, I will go up now attic- wards, if 
 you have nothing more to say of this." 
 
 " Then I," said Geoffry, unheeding him, " am 
 simply horseless too." 
 
 " You're horseless and more," said Morough 
 instantly. " For if you had the horse you couldn't 
 ride him." 
 
 " Couldn't I learnt " 
 
 " No," said Pat with disdain. " Whoever yet met 
 the man who learned to ride? If he's a rider at all, 
 he does it the first time." 
 
 " Ah. Then will you not be that rider, once you 
 have found your horse*?" 
 
 " Find, is if? " said Pat with a stare. " How 
 will I find it ?" 
 
 " Why, as the heroes did, lots of them. Sigurd, 
 you know, went seeking, and saw a horse on the hill- 
 side, the greatest of the herd " 
 
 " German tales," said Pat, but his languid eyes 
 had a flash. " Look here," he said, leaning forward, 
 " why do you go talking to me, and tempting, when 
 you find me good as I am to-night*? You've been at 
 the pains to make me good, with your English con- 
 versation. Would you undo the thing by a word? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Geoffry. " The truth 
 
VERSAILLES S7 
 
 is, I fear you are only good to-night because you are 
 tired." 
 
 "And why should I be tired?" the boy said 
 sulkily. " It's you that's had the Thursday out." 
 
 "And you have had it in, eh? Shut into your- 
 self." In truth, Horn had moments of remorse for 
 having cut him off his companions; for wildly as he 
 talked, he felt it did him good to air his thoughts. 
 He was so young after all, but half Horn's own age; 
 he had nearly forgotten how it felt to be young. At 
 this moment he saw pretty clearly by Pat's looks, 
 that he had been moping all day. He wondered a 
 little if something lay concealed beneath that sulky 
 air he now carefully guarded. It might equally well 
 be bad health or a bad conscience one never could 
 tell. 
 
 " I'm all right," growled Pat. 
 
 " Well," said Horn, rising, " I am going to the 
 post, with a letter or two. You have nothing, I 
 suppose? " 
 
 " No." Motionless sulks on the part of Pat, his 
 legs stretched out, his hands in his pockets. Horn 
 was a hard man to deceive. 
 
 "You've a letter in your pocket," he observed. 
 " Give it here." 
 
 " I have not." 
 
 " Isn't it that post of Wayne's at Bluffborough, 
 that you have accepted? " 
 
38 HERSELF 
 
 " It can wait till to-morrow, or the next day. 
 Sure," said Pat with a slight smile at his fingers. 
 " Mr. Wynne doesn't want a business letter at 
 Christmas." 
 
 " It can wait, in short, till you have seen Miss 
 Clench." 
 
 " Her? I doubt if I'll have the luck to see her so 
 soon." 
 
 " Patrick, you great baby, give it to me. As soon 
 as it is gone, it will be off your thoughts." 
 
 " Well," said Pat, after struggling a moment with 
 his natural good temper and love of ease, "There 
 you are." He rose and shot an envelope across the 
 room. " Take and post it, and hang me completely. 
 You can read it," he added as he swung from the 
 room, " if you want to. The English of it is beauti- 
 ful." 
 
IV 
 
 GEOFFRY HORN had a little female note the next 
 morning that made him smile. 
 
 " DEAR MR. HORN, 
 
 " Would it be better if you came with Patrick 
 on Sunday to Versailles? I do not wish to disturb 
 you. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " H. CLENCH." 
 
 " Pm to be chaperon then," he reflected. " Bless 
 my heart, perhaps this is what I was born for." 
 While he was still smiling at the missive, and spec- 
 ulating on the writing of it, Patrick came tumbling 
 down, bearing another demure little letter, and in 
 a state of childish exultation. 
 
 "Clench it is," said Patrick. "See the name 
 written clear. She's her father's daughter surely. 
 Mine very sincerely, H. Clench. Why not my 
 affectionate cousin? " 
 
 " Why should it be when she has not seen you? 
 
40 HERSELF 
 
 And the initial is the custom in France. Am I to 
 read it, Pat? " 
 
 "To be sure," said Pat surprised, but leaning 
 over to anticipate him. " She's busy to-morrow on 
 Christmas day, but I could see her on the Sunday." 
 
 " Very good. What do you propose to do*? " 
 
 " That's what I came to see," said Pat in his most 
 infantile manner, but still smiling broadly. " Will 
 I ring, and ask for her, and have her out with me in 
 the street? " 
 
 "No," said Horn. "I think you will not." 
 Looking at the handsome flushed face he could have 
 laughed. The sight of Pat Morough at thirty yards 
 was enough to flutter a French henroost into a fever. 
 " We must," he said gravely, " be careful of appear- 
 ances. What do you say to going down together, 
 and walking in the park, and asking Miss Clench to 
 join us by one of the fountains? " 
 
 " That's the idea," cried Pat as though relieved. 
 " It's a talented fellow you are, GeofTry. Then I 
 shall see her coming a fair way off, and get the look 
 of her." 
 
 " You'll have to mind your manners," said 
 Geoffry. " The park is a public place." 
 
 " Yourself will be there to pull me up," Pat in- 
 sinuated, putting on a little more brogue to be 
 engaging. " I would not frighten the little thing, 
 God's blessing on her." 
 
VERSAILLES 41 
 
 Horn was sure by this that Patrick was in great 
 alarm of the interview with a staid schoolmistress 
 older than himself, Clench or no. He was clearly as 
 glad of his attendant as the lady was. Indeed, the 
 letter was enough to stiffen him. 
 " DEAR COUSIN PATRICK," it ran, 
 
 " I hear you are in Paris, and it is a pity we should 
 not be acquainted, as we are so near. I am here in 
 a girls' school at the address I have given. I have 
 holidays till the Thursday over Christmas, more or 
 less, for there are still some girls to care for, and we 
 take them by turns. To-morrow I shall be wanted, 
 but Sunday morning I am to be at liberty, and 
 Wednesday I have the full day. I could see you 
 either here or in Paris, as will be most convenient. I 
 hope I have the number correctly." 
 
 And after that the prim signature, and the address 
 in the Avenue de St. Cloud " a bowshot from the 
 Palace," as she quaintly said. 
 
 " That's Clench," said Pat, his finger on the word. 
 " Brian always said a ' bowshot.' But I cannot 
 see him in the rest," he added, turning it wistfully. 
 
 " Miss Clench declared she was not like the 
 family. She told me to warn you," said Geoffry. 
 
 " It's the actress she favors then." Pat sighed, 
 for he had his picture of the uncollectable actress. 
 " It's strange she should be teaching now, and my- 
 self to teach so soon." " To think the last of the 
 
4S HERSELF 
 
 Clenches should have come to that," his tone im- 
 plied. 
 
 " Teaching is a very good business," said Geoff ry. 
 " My family have been in it broadly." 
 
 "And you teach yourself very well," said Pat, 
 with his sweet sly smile. "A man could not live 
 with you, Horn or even two floors above and 
 not learn a power of things." 
 
 " Well," said Horn, smiling too, " I am now to 
 leave you to your cousin. She mentioned she would 
 take you off my hands." 
 
 " It's like a mother she'd be, then," said Pat with 
 changing eyes. He could not get a picture of this 
 Miss Clench, and Horn seemed unable to project to 
 Pat's mind the picture he possessed. Horn, accom- 
 plished though he was on paper, had not a very 
 facile utterance, judged at least by his young friend's 
 standards. 
 
 " Were you frightened of her, Horn? " the boy 
 said suddenly. 
 
 Geoffry started. " Not exactly well, yes; per- 
 haps I was." 
 
 " You frightened? By the saints, then what will 
 I be?" 
 
 "You'll be careful," said Horn. "At least I 
 hope so. There go along. I am busy to the eyes 
 this morning; and you will get her all wrong if you 
 speculate." 
 
VERSAILLES 43 
 
 Patrick, as was inevitable, did get his cousin 
 wrong. His relief at actually realizing her was 
 proportionate. Within five minutes of the moment 
 of meeting, near the bench on the terrace, below 
 the brown beech hedge, each found in the other the 
 thing they needed, and all formalities dropped dead 
 between them. They talked like brother and sister 
 only she ever guarding her little attitude of half- 
 comic restraint and plaintive, quiet tone. 
 
 Horn let them parade together, since Pat could 
 not keep still; and sat, inwardly amused alike at 
 himself and them, upon the marble bench. It was 
 an early hour of Sunday, and the park was almost 
 deserted, so that no great effort for decorum was 
 necessary. The day, however, promised well, and 
 a pale gleam of sun made the cold stone terraces 
 more friendly. Far away, at mid-distance in the 
 famous vista of wood and water, some boys were 
 trying the ice of the great canal. Nothing near at 
 hand spied at the merry meeting, unless the eye 
 of some gloomy guardian in the Palace above, wait- 
 ing his time out for a fee ; or the yet more stony eyes 
 of the classical statues, which seemed to-day to have 
 crept out of their late cover furtively, to warm their 
 limbs in the winter sun. 
 
 Withdrawing his eyes from the clear lines and 
 flat colors of the prospect he knew by heart, Horn 
 directed them to Patrick, marveling anew at his 
 
44 HERSELF 
 
 grace and vividness, for it had not been his lot to 
 meet many handsome men. The boy had his hat 
 off, and was talking eagerly about himself, as 
 Horn was sure by shrug and gesture. She was listen- 
 ing, little Miss Clench, standing still for the moment, 
 her hands folded on the knob of her neat umbrella. 
 She was dressed in black as before, and wore what 
 he supposed was her Sunday hat. At least it sprang 
 backwards in the line of elegance, and carried a 
 Viking-wing to either side. The gallant pose of the 
 wings seemed to crown her well, light, slight and 
 determined as she was. The instinct of her choice 
 was right, Mr. Horn decided (since he had full 
 leisure for it), emphasizing that fearlessness in her 
 that he thought he had discerned. Now, as the pair 
 wandered back to him, he saw her face beneath its 
 brim, colorless as he had said to Pat, with that slight 
 ash-tint across skin, brows, and hair alike, that seems 
 common to many American-born women. The girl's 
 hair had no certain color, though prettily disposed; 
 her eyes were an ordinary grayish blue, well-lashed, 
 and full like Patrick's of quick-changing expres- 
 sion. She seemed a little shortsighted, squeezing 
 them as she came towards the sun; or else it was the 
 contrary, and she was trying to focus them on 
 Geoff ry's face. 
 
 " How is the neuralgia 4 ? " he said, feeling he must 
 speak as they approached. 
 
VERSAILLES 45 
 
 " Better," she said, coming to a stop. " I have 
 had it out." 
 
 "The dentist was rude to her," said Patrick, 
 advancing to her shoulder in brotherly fashion. " I 
 wish I had been there." 
 
 " It was my fault," she returned, " for going to 
 a cheap dentist. That is the way I do, sparing where 
 I should not. A man who makes you so comfortable 
 as that, you should be ready to pay well." 
 
 " A dentist ! " Patrick cried. 
 
 " He is a great man, I can tell you, to those that 
 are in pain. He fills the world for them. There 
 must be dentists and doctors, and they are to have 
 their money. But I don't say," said Miss Clench, 
 " that he's at liberty to be impertinent for his fee." 
 
 "Are you poor*?" said Pat, asking easily the 
 question Horn had longed to insinuate. 
 
 " I have enough," said his cousin, not the least 
 offended, but gazing at him fixedly. 
 
 "Does Brian send you money, then?" 
 
 "Well, he has done so; but I earn as well. And 
 I hope," she said, "soon I shall earn more." A 
 pause, Patrick regarding her with a comic brow. 
 
 " How old are you, I'm wondering, after all? " 
 
 " Well," said Miss Clench, " my father made a 
 mistake. He told Madame Barriere I was fifteen 
 when he brought me here. But I found out, and 
 charged him afterwards, and he admitted it." 
 
46 HERSELF 
 
 " More? " queried Patrick. " What's the figure, 
 then?" 
 
 " Less," said Miss Clench, with dignity. " My 
 age is seventeen." 
 
 " Seventeen? Oh, the darlin' ! " 
 
 " Now, Patrick, be quiet." She retreated on the 
 gravel. " Oh, you are like him," she murmured. 
 
 " Like Brian, is it? So Kathleen always said." 
 
 " You call her that ! " said the girl. 
 
 " Since it was the name she told me." 
 
 " I caught the trick from him as well. Listen, 
 Pat: do not be too like him. What I mean is, it's 
 not for everyone to be like Brian, and succeed." 
 
 "Did he succeed?" 
 
 "I believe," said Miss Clench guardedly, "he 
 lives a most successful life." 
 
 " In love, or war or finance? " 
 
 " Do not," she said, her pale cheeks flaming sud- 
 denly. She winced as well, and turned her steady 
 eyes away. 
 
 " I will not, cousin what is your name, by the 
 way? " 
 
 " My mother called me Harriet." She resumed 
 her pose of demureness. 
 
 " And she did well," said Pat politely. " I will 
 do nothing, Harrie, but what a loving cousin may." 
 He sidled up to her, absurdly handsome and engag- 
 ing. 
 
VERSAILLES 47 
 
 " Stand where you are," Harriet said, and 
 stamped her foot. 
 
 " Now listen. I'm respectable here. I've a posi- 
 tion yes, a position to maintain. I have got to 
 maintain it, for the sake of myself and all of them. 
 Be good now, will you not? " 
 
 But Pat, his eyes dancing, his Irish blood on fire, 
 found it increasingly hard to be good. Pat needed 
 his chaperon badly. 
 
 " It's like this," Harriet continued, in her tired, 
 rather dry, little tone. "It is best you should know 
 it at once, and it's all you need know about me. 
 We've all got to make our lives, and we can't all be 
 geniuses. Brian was a genius, granted. He's a great 
 man, and I'm little. I've even got the idea, though 
 you will blame me, that we can't afford a repetition. 
 That's my mother's fault perhaps, and the fault of 
 the anxious life we had together: I need not speak 
 of that. My mother and yours, Patrick, were not 
 alike, and mothers, as you'll allow, have got to mat- 
 ter. Someone must make a stand, mine said to me, 
 when I was only eight. She tried to and tried vainly, 
 and so I took it from her. I've made a stand. I am 
 
 " she looked at him under her lids " I'm 
 
 powerfully practical. I am, Pat; my accounts come 
 right always. At the least, I don't go to bed before 
 they do." 
 
 There she stopped breathless, or expecting him to 
 
48 HERSELF 
 
 crow. But he only gazed in dumb admiration, and 
 she turned in despair to Horn again. 
 
 " Make him see it, will you? " she cried plain- 
 tively. "It's needful for him to know. You must 
 see it's needful, do you not? since we are left, 
 and we are but two." A shaft of genuine entreaty 
 reached him, wistful and delicate through her gray- 
 blue eyes. 
 
 Horn rose and put a hand upon the boy's shoulder. 
 
 "He'll see it, Miss Clench," he said; <'he does 
 already. We are there in Paris, the pair of us, to 
 serve you simply. And give me the word at any 
 time," he added, smiling, " if you want to get rid 
 of him." 
 
 " But I want him there," she cried. " It never 
 could be that I mean. I only had to say it because 
 because it's best to get it over." 
 
 Horn shook Pat slightly, to make him speak. 
 Touched as he was, he hoped that the silence of the 
 youth might be emotion ; but he only appeared to be 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Is it over? " he enquired. 
 
 " It is," said Harrie. " The tooth is drawn." 
 
 "You have the conscience," said Pat slowly, as 
 though needing to repeat it. " Geoffry, she's con- 
 scientious." 
 
 " And a very good thing too," said Horn. 
 
 " Not good," said Harriet, " but necessary." She 
 
VERSAILLES 49 
 
 watched them a minute. "Oh," she murmured, 
 " and all the time I'm longing to play with the pair 
 of you." 
 
 " You can play then, darlin' ? " Pat cried 
 eagerly. " When? " 
 
 " On Wednesday, as I told you, I am free." 
 
 " Come and play with me in Paris on Wednes- 
 day." 
 
 "You mean it? Patrick will you be my 
 correspondante? " 
 
 " With pleasure, if I can. She sounds feminine." 
 
 " She must be feminine," said Harrie. " That's 
 the point. Are you up in the laws of Public Instruc- 
 tion? Do you know what a correspondante is? " 
 
 " I hope I will, when you write to me." 
 
 " that's not the sense of it! You're hopeless. A 
 correspondante is a respectable person, recognized 
 by the school direction as qualified to take me out." 
 
 " I'll do that," said Patrick. " I'll take you off 
 if " 
 
 " Listen ! I'm serious. I never had one all the 
 years I was at school. All the others had always, and 
 I used to pretend theirs were mine. But it is not the 
 same. One of my own a person of my own " 
 she wrung her gloved fingers unconsciously together 
 " I have never had at all." 
 
 "I'm not respectable," said Pat regretfully. 
 " Horn may do." 
 
50 HERSELF 
 
 " I am not female," said Mr. Horn. " Why not 
 Madame Rochette^ She's my housekeeper, Miss 
 Clench. She writes a beautiful letter, if that is all 
 that is needed." 
 
 "It is not needed really," Harrie reassured him. 
 " I only like to believe I have someone there. You 
 see, I am no longer a pupil now at the school, and 
 Mme. Barriere has no right to make enquiries, trust- 
 ing me as she should. It's only by old habit that 
 she does it." 
 
 " Were you not always so trustworthy*? " queried 
 Pat with a spark of hope. 
 
 " I gave her some trouble at the first of all." 
 Miss Clench's eyes glinted an answer to his own. 
 " You see, I was younger than she thought. I am 
 now. There's always that to be said for me." 
 
 " She will let you go unquestioned then," said 
 Horn more gravely. 
 
 "Unquestioned, Mr. Horn, she will not; she 
 loves questioning. But it's she will be unanswered 
 if she does." 
 
 "There's the spirit," said Pat, approving her. 
 
 "Well," said Harrie. "Isn't it my day 4 ? She 
 gave me the whole of it, of her own accord. I've 
 worked for it, that I know." She drew a long breath. 
 "Well, tell me, it's settled then. I'll dream of 
 this to-night." 
 
 " Pat meets you," said Horn. " Or Madame 
 
VERSAILLES 51 
 
 Rochette if you prefer. You come to lunch with 
 me, if you will honor me, Miss Clench. After that 
 
 " he made a gesture that conveyed, " You may 
 
 frisk your fill." 
 
 "It's lovely," said Harriet, regarding him pen- 
 sively. " All clear till midday. But " she swung 
 about " you and I, Patrick, will make no plans." 
 
 " Not we," said the youth, his exultation springing 
 at every look he had of her. " Harrie, I must beg 
 of you to wear that hat." 
 
 " This? It's my new hat, I may tell you, put on 
 the first time this morning. But Mme. Barriere 
 doesn't like it. She says the feathers must come 
 
 out." 
 
 "What, never! And cripple the bird? You'll 
 not stand that, Harrie, surely." 
 
 "There are some things I must stand," she 
 answered. " I expect that is one of them. It seems, 
 the hat's a little too " 
 
 " Flighty," supplied Patrick, without the small- 
 est effort. " Well, now I have a picture of the 
 woman. Did you ever hear the approach of that im- 
 pertinence, Horn? " 
 
 Mr. Horn said modestly nothing, knowing not of 
 such customs, nor of what degree of impertinence 
 was possible from one woman to another but re- 
 gretting the Viking-hat. 
 
 " I am always," Harriet pursued, " trying to be 
 
52 HERSELF 
 
 tame as she'd have me; but I suppose that something 
 in me is always breaking out. This hat, for instance, 
 which I bought because it was cheap and I liked it, 
 is not tame; it's wild. It spread-eagles a little too 
 obviously. It shows something in me that never 
 should be there. I dare say she is right, the poor 
 woman, and means well to me." All this in the same 
 slight, weary tone, and gazing upon them tranquilly. 
 
 "What can she do to you?" demanded Pat. 
 
 " She can do a great deal. It's my fate she holds 
 between her hands." 
 
 " In paying you, you mean? " 
 
 " In recommending me. I am not going to stay 
 forever in this little place, perhaps you had better 
 know; I hope to go as a governess to England." 
 
 "To England? Where?" 
 
 "Some great family in the country, with little 
 children to care for. Good French and music is all 
 they ask, and the salary is double what I have. Some 
 old friends of Brian's, Mr. and Mrs. Escreet, have 
 been kind in recommending me; but of course they 
 ask a letter from Madame too before they quite 
 decide." 
 
 " When's it for? " said Pat, excited. 
 
 " The month of April, they're coming home from 
 Nice, and I'm to join them then." 
 
 " Horn, my guardian angel, do you hear this? I 
 thank you for your sound advice. Now we'll be 
 
VERSAILLES 5$ 
 
 over there together, the pair of us, and at the same 
 season. You'll let me see you in England, Harrie 
 dear? " 
 
 " It depends on my employers." 
 
 "Her employers the way she says it! And 
 what does Brian say to your governessing like this 
 on your own account? " 
 
 "Brian will know of it," she said, "when I 
 arrive." 
 
 " Will you not sit down? " said Geoffry: for sud- 
 denly her voice failed, and he thought she must be 
 weary. So Harrie sat on the stone bench, her 
 umbrella held across her knees, and the two tall 
 men stood to either side. So sitting, it seemed to 
 one of them, she had the ease of a princess; but her 
 little face had a gray shadow other than that of the 
 beech hedge, and her forehead was frowning. Pat, 
 it would seem, saw nothing of the change her father's 
 name occasioned. He spoke easily as ever, though 
 with ready emotion. " Isn't Brian ever coming to 
 you, Harrie?" he said. She met him bravely and 
 at once. 
 
 " When he has finished his affairs, then he will 
 come." 
 
 "What are his affairs?" 
 
 " Why, what they have always been. You to ask 
 that!" " 
 
 " Has he a new love upon him? " said Pat, with 
 
54 HERSELF 
 
 the easy interest of one who enquires as to a new 
 situation, in the working world. 
 
 " It seems he is lost for her this time entirely," 
 said the girl of seventeen. " I have not even heard 
 it through him, the affair is too serious." 
 
 " Is she a singer again ? " said Pat. 
 
 " It seems not, if those by whom I heard are right. 
 She's not professional at all, a young thing probably. 
 Indeed, they said he'd never get her, but you know 
 what that saying is to Brian. When I heard of it, it 
 was popularly said he had got his work for years to 
 come." 
 
 " And when did you hear*? " 
 
 " In June, from friends of my mother's. From 
 himself," she added, hastily supplying his question, 
 " nothing for over a year." 
 
 " And where," Pat gaped, " does the money come 
 from?" 
 
 " I tell you, I make it. They keep me on at 
 school, do you see, being useful for the English. I 
 can get on," she said. 
 
 " Get on 4 ? but it's half your life gone, wanting 
 him." His frankness seemed to the Englishman un- 
 feeling, but Harrie only smiled a little tender smile. 
 
 " Half my life," she said, " dear Pat. You see 
 sitting here but the half of me." 
 
 " But oh ! " he mocked her, " what the whole 
 must be." 
 
VERSAILLES 5o 
 
 Harriet did not answer beyond another slight 
 smile, nor seem at all impelled to flirt, easy as it 
 would have been with such a partner. She had 
 clearly too many pressing cares, for such entirely 
 youthful pastimes. Horn could not make out 
 whether her sobriety was merely a matter of habit, 
 and of pretending to be older than she was owing to 
 Brian's " mistake " : or whether it was the true es- 
 sence of her birth and upbringing. It melted at 
 moments easily, as he had seen, but it melted only 
 to resettle., leaving an effect of childish dignity; not 
 unlike that of a young queen in exile, resigned to 
 the loss of all she had once owned, and still knew in 
 heart to be hers. 
 
 She was at least extremely loyal to the father, the 
 one possession she still passionately claimed. Again 
 GeofTry noted, shadowed as it were in her, as it had 
 been in Pat before her, the man's hopeless attraction. 
 
 " Brian had been very good to her," she plain- 
 tively repeated in his hearing; for when Harriet 
 declared she must go, and they all turned their steps 
 to the station, Horn walked a little ahead, in the 
 manner of a careful body-guard, leaving his little 
 pair together. Yet owing to their vivacity, he could 
 not avoid overhearing, and had much to ponder on. 
 
 That time Brian came to France, the last time his 
 daughter had seen him in the flesh, they had spent 
 a radiant week in Paris, and he had taken her to the 
 
56 HERSELF 
 
 Opera nightly, and even once to a great singer's 
 private room. He had bought her charming clothes 
 as well, some of which she had still ; for, as she con- 
 fided naively, her figure had not changed, she having 
 been a well-grown girl at twelve. Patrick sympa- 
 thized intensely, and being infinitely more curious 
 as to Brian than as to the best of Harrie's little 
 affairs, drew her on the subject with great adroitness 
 and lightness of touch. 
 
 Well, after that, Harrie admitted, the amusement 
 stopped; presumably the money, whencesoever de- 
 rived, ran out. The next thing was the jolting tram- 
 ride to Versailles, and the memorable interview with 
 Madame Barriere. Harriet had tried during the in- 
 terview to keep her father " good," but she admitted, 
 upon the apt suggestion of Pat, that Madame was 
 not a well-favored woman; also that, as that lady 
 always expected to keep the lead in conversation, 
 Brian, of necessity, talked her down. Madame was 
 left gaping, with nothing to say, since most of her 
 projected utterances had been supplied, dramatically, 
 by the opposing party; but she was not, as it even- 
 tually appeared, too favorably inclined to little 
 Harriet, the girl thus left on her hands. 
 
 The character given her by her father Harrie had 
 to live down, since it could not possibly be lived up 
 to. Her pathetic situation, also beautifully sketched 
 for Madame's benefit, was believed by that lady to 
 
VERSAILLES 57 
 
 be " blague," as various other items in the conversa- 
 tion proved later to be. Madame did not in her 
 heart believe that Harrie's mother was either re- 
 spectable, or dead; and the indescribable limelight 
 thrown by such histories, for a French mind, was 
 cast upon the little trimly built, decorous figure, 
 daintily robed in dark colors. That the school- 
 mistress kept her suspicions to herself may be ad- 
 vanced in her favor: and that they ever leaked out 
 at all, was more due to the girl's preternatural 
 instinct, than to Madame' s indiscretion, as is later to 
 be seen. 
 
 Beyond the main facts of all this, which Miss 
 Clench sketched to her cousin in their easy chatter, 
 she spoke not at all of her personal feelings, nor of 
 the innumerable infinitesimal jars and miseries from 
 which she must have suffered; nor did she hint at 
 the drudgery and solitude which must have been her 
 lot. It was Horn, quick and sympathetic in his 
 imaginative insight, who supplied the intervals of 
 the events which Morough found merely amusing; 
 for he felt that something besides the facts she gave 
 was needed to account for the shadow on her face, 
 and the line he had seen in full sunlight on her 
 brow. 
 
 Harriet had done some " collecting," she assured 
 her cousin, and had not been entirely unblessed by 
 fortune in that matter, in her little backwater at 
 
58 HERSELF 
 
 Versailles. Madeleine, the quasi-friend who had 
 lately turned her back on her, was collectable, 
 though the daughter of an old family, and " almost 
 too refined to live." Another of the mistresses, a 
 German-Swiss, heavy-footed and sentimental and 
 terribly conscientious, had blossomed into collect- 
 ability in one evening, when Harrie discovered her 
 passion and genius for music. 
 
 , Pat' wanted to know about the appearance of this 
 pair of persons; and being informed that Madeleine 
 de Bois-Severac was pretty, and Bertha Lindt was 
 not, pursued his enquiries after Madeleine. 
 
 Geoffry had leisure to note and wonder at Har- 
 riet's unchildish suppleness and patience with him, 
 as though centuries of experience of such natures 
 had been hers. The tacking maneuvers she accom- 
 plished in talk to follow him were not mere laisser- 
 aller a chance breeze shifting the sails but the 
 guiding hand of experience and discretion. She was 
 watching always, easy as she seemed; and only just 
 at the moment of farewell, she became for five 
 minutes young again. 
 
 " I just wanted to tell you," she said, as she took 
 Horn's hand. " It's awful to lie, isn't it? But if I 
 have to about Wednesday, I shan't stop short of 
 some good ones. You are an old friend of my 
 father's is that quite impossible? " 
 
 "Not at all," said Geoffry, basking in the soft 
 
VERSAILLES 59 
 
 beam of her eyes upon him. " An acquaintance of 
 mine saw Mr. Clench in Dublin five years back, and 
 spoke to him twice." 
 
 " Did he, indeed? But that was lovely of your 
 acquaintance. You are a Mr. Roche tte wasn't 
 it? Or have I mistaken your name? " 
 
 " Rochette," Horn agreed. " And my wife writes 
 admirable letters at an instant's notice when 
 required." 
 
 " I will not forget it. And may Heaven pardon 
 the lies I'll tell, if I tell them. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Horn. It was ' chic ' of you to come. ' Chic ' is 
 the best thing we can say of anybody at Versailles, 
 and so you will understand." 
 
LITTLE Miss Clench went home from the station 
 rather thoughtful. The excitement of hearing a 
 tongue from the past and the heart of her own land, 
 in dispersing, left her plunged in a world-weariness 
 which was equally the inheritance of her race. She 
 would have said in her quaint tongue that she was 
 grieved for Patrick's going from her; and left out 
 of account such details as the strain for months past 
 to save out of a small allowance, the aching desire 
 for her father's news: or more immediate, the fact 
 that she had not slept well, owing to pain, for a 
 week. 
 
 She was longing for a little friendly talk with an 
 equal to relieve the feeling that weighed on her, and 
 when she saw ahead of her in the market-place the 
 plump figure of the daughter of the house, Mile. 
 Gene vie ve Barriere, she hurried to overtake her. 
 This, like many of Harrie's impulses, was rash; for 
 Mile. Barriere was returning from Mass, where 
 Miss Clench herself had been supposed to be; and 
 
VERSAILLES 61 
 
 she laid herself open at once to a well-laid train of 
 suspicion and enquiry. 
 
 She knew Genevieve after a fashion very well, in 
 the sense of having been much in her company. She 
 had spent much time and vivacity on instilling 
 English into her somewhat impervious intellect, and 
 her marked success in making her talk that tongue 
 had led to her first paid engagement in the Barriere 
 household. The young lady did not at least refuse 
 to look at her, as she had done by all Englishwomen 
 hitherto presented to her sight. A trifle of commer- 
 cial instinct on Mile. Barriere' s side may also have 
 entered into the affair: for Miss Clench absorbed 
 good French so fast, that it became a matter of 
 national honor to keep the traffic equal, and gain at 
 least as much as she gave. 
 
 Mile. Barriere was not a bad girl, but she led a 
 somewhat ungrateful life, which had soured her 
 temper. She was tied by duty and lack of initiative 
 combined to her mother's pension ; refusing to teach, 
 she remained half housekeeper, half handmaid, when 
 she privately considered she was fit for better things. 
 The sight of Miss Clench, with her little air of pos- 
 sessing her own soul, and her power of humorous 
 mockery of herself as well as of other people, tended 
 always to augment this discontent. There was 
 between Harriet and Genevieve in these latter days 
 a sort of armed neutrality, which one was top 
 
62 HERSELF 
 
 prudent and the other too languid to break. The 
 French girl was, or thought she was, exactly of 
 Harrie's age, and there were intervals in her habit- 
 ual assumption of superiority when she openly 
 expressed envy both of her freedom and her loneli- 
 ness. 
 
 Miss Clench's first remark touched the sore place 
 unconsciously. 
 
 "Where is Lucile ?" she said, alluding to the 
 bonne who was always attached to Mile. Barriere 
 when she went to Mass alone. 
 
 " Lucile is buying beetroot," said Genevieve. " I 
 sent her off. I have no need of her, and she is too 
 afraid of me to tell. Besides, I gave her a ring 
 yesterday for the fete." 
 
 " Did you? " said Harrie, with a pang of remorse. 
 " I had nothing for her but my old hat." 
 
 Mile. Barriere threw a supercilious glance at her 
 companion's head, and her brow knit anew. Miss 
 Clench, for a so-called Englishwoman, was too well- 
 dressed: though how she managed it on next to 
 nothing, Genevieve spent time and curiosity in vain 
 to discover. 
 
 " And where may you have been? " she asked. 
 " I did not see you in the Church." 
 
 " No," said Harriet. " I took a walk in the Park 
 instead. It was such a fine morning, and friends of 
 
 mine came over." 
 
VERSAILLES 63 
 
 "Friends*?" said Mile. Barriere astonished. 
 What did Miss Clench mean by suddenly having 
 friends? 
 
 "Yes," said Harrie, warm with the memory. 
 " My cousin and another." 
 
 In French, there was nothing equivocal in the 
 genders, and the girl's eyes opened wider. But she 
 did not express surprise, for in her duty-conversa- 
 tions with the English girl, she had always made out 
 a vast contempt for the prejudices under which her 
 mother's old-fashioned mind was wont to labor. 
 This revolt she declared, as to-day in casting off the 
 bonne, on all occasions when her mother was not by. 
 Harriet, though at times annoyed at her weakness, 
 believed these professions to be sincere, and saw no 
 harm in encouraging them a little, since it was on 
 this score that the girl claimed her sympathy. 
 
 Mile. Barriere noticed after some minutes that 
 her companion was biting her lip, and was sure she 
 was regretting her confidence. The confidence itself 
 was rolling round her brain, gathering as it rolled a 
 wealth of furtive suggestion. It was an unusual 
 lump of new material for consideration, criticism, 
 and eventually for close discussion with her inti- 
 mates. Such matter of talk did not occur every day 
 at Versailles, where subjects of conversation were 
 threadbare with constant use. This would wear, 
 Genevieve felt, for some time. Formulated, it had 
 
64 HERSELF 
 
 four parts, each capable of extension. The self- 
 contained Miss had a cousin, the cousin had a friend, 
 both masculine gender, and she avoided Mass to 
 meet them, and wore a new hat. 
 
 ' You have extremely mauvaise mine to-day, 
 cherie," said Mile. Genevieve, suddenly affectionate. 
 " You have surely been too long in the sun." 
 
 "I'm wanting sleep," said Harrie simply. 
 "You'll observe I'm staggering for want of it. 
 Christmas night I had none, what with midnight 
 service and the toothache; and last night you might 
 have said I missed my tooth. I suppose the pain 
 had occupied my thoughts more than I knew." 
 
 She smiled, but Genevieve did not find anything 
 amusing. She was weightily deciding that Miss 
 Clench had lost her looks, what looks she ever had, 
 and if she could not lose her figure and pretty gait, 
 there was nothing about her sensationally attractive. 
 A girl like that did not need a bonne in the street, 
 consequently any comparison between them was 
 barely possible. 
 
 Having arrived by measured steps at this point, 
 she felt kindly enough to offer some titbit of interest 
 in return. Being in her mother's confidence, she 
 had a store of such little secrets, which she used with 
 instinctive economy. 
 
 " Fraiilein Lindt is leaving at the New Year," 
 she said, drawing closer to her companion. 
 
VERSAILLES 65 
 
 " Never ! " said Harrie, stopping, her brow knit- 
 ting tight. 
 
 " Yes, it is at last decided. And she will know 
 this evening." 
 
 "But the New Year? She should have more 
 notice. It is too hard on her." 
 
 " Ma chere, she is impossible. Dirty loud 
 her voice, you know, and the noise she makes on the 
 piano: she thinks of nothing but the piano. The 
 pupils detest her, and Madeleine has twice com- 
 plained. She told Maman before she left she would 
 speak to her own mother in the holidays." 
 
 " Well," said Harrie, " I shall speak to Made- 
 leine. The little cat, when poor Bertha mended her 
 lace for her, and helped her in her practicing for 
 weeks for nothing. Genevieve think ! What 
 can Bertha do in a week? She has nowhere to go. 
 It is cruelty." 
 
 Mile. Barriere shrugged her plump shoulders. 
 
 " Such things," pursued Harriet warmly, " can 
 only be done in a private place. Down there at the 
 big school, it would be impossible." 
 
 " If you say so to la chere Maman," said Gene- 
 vieve, " you will be sent packing as well." Indeed, 
 there was frigid jealousy in the Barriere institution 
 of the growing reputation of the great public school. 
 The small seminary could only disguise its isolation 
 in a backwater of the great river of state education, 
 
66 HERSELF 
 
 bearing its offer of cheap instruction to all, by an 
 assumption of superiority, and an adroit appeal to 
 those parents for whom retirement connotes distinc- 
 tion, and high prices a high polish. 
 
 " I have a mind to say so in public and follow 
 her," cried Harrie. " It is heartless." 
 
 " You have a heart for all," murmured Mile. 
 Barriere. 
 
 She could not understand how, with Madeleine 
 de Bois-Severac's friendship and countenance at 
 command, this amazing girl could choose so 
 promptly the other side. Madeleine, a general 
 favorite and the pride of the school, had confided to 
 Genevieve that she would have carried off " la petite 
 anglaise " to her mother's chateau for the holidays 
 as she had indeed half-promised to do, had it not 
 been for her sudden and tasteless friendship for the 
 vulgar little German. Genevieve could not believe 
 Harrie had so little penetration as not to discover 
 this, until she heard her openly lament Madeleine's 
 infidelity. Genevieve was not without hopes of get- 
 ting the next invitation herself, could she manage a 
 promising affair with sufficient tact and foresight. 
 She was thinking hard as hard as her brain-power 
 would admit, while she talked to Harrie on the 
 homeward way. Her thoughts on the whole were 
 profitable also, for Mile. Barriere seldom wasted her 
 time; but she had leisure to note that a young officer 
 
VERSAILLES 67 
 
 on the opposite pavement, one of the notably well- 
 behaved military contingent in her town, was re- 
 garding them thoughtfully while he twisted his 
 moustache; and she even had the chance to languish 
 a little for his benefit, since security, in the person of 
 the bonne Lucile, with arms as red as her beetroot, 
 was now puffing steadily in her wake. 
 
 At ten that night Harriet was in Fraiilein Lindt' s 
 tiny room, helping the poor creature to stifle her 
 sobs. Stifling was necessary; for firstly, Fraiilein 
 Lindt sobbed aloud, and secondly, though the 
 younger children in the neighboring room were 
 sleeping soundly, the great " silence-bell " had rung 
 more than an hour since, and the house had a mouse- 
 like or rather a cat-like stillness. The unseen eye 
 of sleepless Surveillance watched over that lady-like 
 establishment, and under its roof one never felt 
 alone. 
 
 " I asked her to mention a point where I had 
 failed in my duty," Fraiilein Lindt sobbed to Harrie 
 in her heavy French, " and she could find nothing to 
 say. There is nothing to say, for I have done all 
 and more than she bade me. The hours she gave me 
 for my art I have rigorously observed and never 
 exceeded not though the hour found me in the 
 middle of a scale. If I have forgotten myself occa- 
 sionally when interrupted, can she rightly com- 
 
68 HERSELF 
 
 plain*? The time was mine by arrangement; I 
 bought it by so many hours of grinding toil it was 
 my only recreation." 
 
 " Time is the hardest thing in the world to buy," 
 said Harriet sententiously. " Sometimes I think 
 time never is your own: so many people are tearing 
 at it, as soon as you come to think." 
 
 " Not to me," sobbed Fraiilein Lindt. " Those 
 hours to me were silence, Nature's vast silence and 
 her harmony." 
 
 Harrie's mouth twitched. Bertha's hours of prac- 
 tice had been so far from exhibiting Nature's silence 
 for the other inhabitants of the house. Then, re- 
 membering the woman's intermittent inspiration 
 and real gift, she grew serious again. 
 
 " Try for an English situation, Bertha," she mur- 
 mured earnestly. " You will be happier there. 
 See, come with me to Paris on Wednesday, and we 
 will go to a registry office together. So good at 
 music, and three languages, there must be something 
 in the market that will suit you." 
 
 "No," said Fraiilein Lindt; "I am not required. 
 I have always felt it, and now I know." She lifted 
 her ugly, tear-worn eyes. "You, dearest Miss, 
 elegant little creatures like you and Madeleine, are 
 welcome always, and to all the world. But I have 
 nothing to attract." 
 
 " Bertha, you have genius. Is genius nothing? " 
 
VERSAILLES 69 
 
 "It is not for sale," said Fraiilein Lindt with 
 finality. " I do not even wish to offer it. I have no 
 courage left to strive, and I am better in my grave." 
 
 " You are better in your bed," said Harriet 
 sensibly. Bertha's weighty gloom had power to 
 overwhelm her own slight miseries, to numb her 
 senses by pounding, as it were; but it spurred her 
 mind anew to passionate activity. She had at 
 moments a child's fear of the violent, ill-regulated 
 nature, enclosed in iron bonds of her self-imposed 
 duty, but never completely incapable of breaking 
 through them. She had tried Bertha all ways in her 
 moods, but had found no surer way of managing 
 her than her favorite pose of dry, light-handed 
 reasons, though now while she reasoned, helping her 
 into bed, her voice was trembling with pity and 
 indignation. 
 
 " I have begged to leave finally on Friday," 
 gasped Fraiilein Lindt, crawling into her narrow 
 bed, " before the girls come home. I gather Madame 
 has already replaced me, for she made no difficulty. 
 I meant to ask for my extra half-term's salary, but 
 her cruelty so oppressed me I could not. I could not 
 formulate an application. I shall I shall not 
 willingly look upon her face again." 
 
 " Nobody willingly looks upon Madame's face," 
 said Harrie. " She'll give you a letter of recom- 
 mendation, I hope*? " 
 
70 HERSELF 
 
 " She has done that, though I have not dared to 
 read it." Bertha reached for a neat envelope, and 
 extended it in her shaking fingers. 
 
 "It is all right," Miss Clench reassured her, hav- 
 ing read it through by the light of the tiny lamp. 
 " You are sure to get something soon. What about 
 going back home in the interval*? " 
 
 " I never could," moaned Fraiilein Lindt, " un- 
 less to die. There are six others, and they do not 
 need me." Indeed, Harriet knew that the great 
 awkward bird, uncomfortably gifted, had been 
 kicked out of the parental nest, and left to live as it 
 could. After reflecting a little, she asked Bertha 
 what money she had. 
 
 " Sixty francs," said the poor thing, " and my 
 opera-ticket for Wednesday night. Ah, with how 
 glad a heart I had meant to go." 
 
 "Do you wish to get rid of the ticket*?" said 
 Harrie, more strenuously practical than ever. 
 
 " No oh, no. I shall keep it and attend. 
 It means three hours of glory and forgetfulness 
 for me." 
 
 "Collectable," thought Miss Clench. "Only 
 they can be happy in the face of such uncertainty. 
 Well, Bertha, think now of that opera all you can, 
 and you will sleep. What is it going to be*? " 
 
 " Rheingold," said Fraiilein Lindt, her swollen 
 eyes tight shut, and her strong blunt fingers clasped 
 
VERSAILLES 71 
 
 dramatically. The German syllables rolled from 
 her mouth as though they actually contained riches. 
 
 " But that is the fine music for sleeping upon," 
 said Harrie, lowering and mellowing her tone. She 
 could do this at will, as some birds do in a single 
 phrase, dropping its tired little timbre completely, 
 and speaking full and quietly. " Remember how it 
 opens with the river flowing, Bertha, curling and 
 marching along, like some that you have at home. 
 Those are the sounds to take you into dreams." 
 
 " Speak go on speaking," said Fraiilein Lindt 
 intensely, with the face of a sleeping prophetess. 
 " I value friendship more than operas ; and there is a 
 treasure hidden in your voice, beloved Miss, greater 
 than the gold beneath the Rhine." 
 
 Harriet, in the dim light, had also knit her fingers 
 together; sorrow and sympathy, and the memory of 
 the music she adored, had almost broken her. But 
 she murmured on till midnight, barely thinking, 
 speaking nothings light as air, to which her Celtic 
 instinct lent the fall of poetry. When her friend 
 was at last asleep, she herself was but half conscious, 
 and she could only just stagger to bed. 
 
 She slept intermittently, and dreamed of Bertha 
 and Patrick, as though some impulse of her subcon- 
 sciousness had already combined them. She woke 
 before break of day, and by the light of her little 
 " pigeon-lamp," still with her friends in mind, she 
 
72 HERSELF 
 
 reckoned out her own resources. Sixty francs would 
 barely keep the improvident Bertha for a week; yet 
 she herself had little more, though her situation was 
 safe and her salary owing her. Nevertheless she had 
 in the savings bank quite a goodly store no less 
 than the sum of all Brian's presents to her since she 
 began to earn. Harrie looked through her deposit- 
 book and added it up with an earnest brow. Anent 
 this money she had a fixed superstition: it was not 
 hers nor Brian's, but Kathleen's, and so, of course, it 
 was now the property of Kathleen's son. The ques- 
 tion now perplexing her was, could she make him 
 take it, or even venture on the offer. It bore no pro- 
 portion probably to the debt her father really owed : 
 a paltry little twenty pounds, languishing unused. 
 Kathleen herself had never claimed or admitted the 
 debt, and her son had probably forgotten it. Well, 
 could Harriet in that case " lend " a little of it, 
 temporarily, to Bertha Lindt? It was a mighty 
 problem, both moral and financial, to a child of 
 seventeen. 
 
 There was poetry in the bank-book, too. Each of 
 those entries timed one of her father's letters, and 
 marked a season of joy. Brian had destined each 
 sum in his droll fashion, adding not unfrequently a 
 comic account of how the money had been won or 
 earned, in order to demonstrate to his young critic 
 that he had come by it honestly. Here was " candy 
 
VERSAILLES 73 
 
 for Christmas in case I forget," a letter character- 
 istically dated early in August. Here were " fifty 
 francs to buy her a long new feather in almond- 
 green, for this rainy season will surely have spoiled 
 the old." Here was another small sum for a strenu- 
 ous purpose, vigorously underlined. Cora Warden, 
 the Californian prima donna, was singing for a week 
 in Paris, and Harrie was to get a seat at whatever 
 price, to hear her in Carmen. Harrie had heard 
 Cora Warden from the gallery, after two hours' 
 patient waiting on a Sunday afternoon, and she had 
 sent Brian the opinion demanded; but she had stored 
 his dollars none the less, with the toilsome devotion 
 of an ant, and had watched the little sum grow with 
 the amused satisfaction of one who certainly had not 
 saving in the blood. That the proceeding contained 
 an implied reproach to her father the girl never 
 imagined, for she was far from condemning his mode 
 of life. His proceedings were himself peculiar to 
 the make of man he impersonated, a make from all 
 other points of view delightful, and only a very 
 little harassing from this. His gifts to her had ever 
 been charmingly offered and imagined, if oddly 
 timed. So long as Brian loved her, Harrie's instinct 
 was to labor for him as minutely and constantly as 
 a hundred ants could do; and when he forgot and 
 neglected her, she bowed her head, shrugged her 
 little philosophic shoulders, and laid up her slight 
 
74 HERSELF 
 
 store against the evil day when any might dare to 
 attack him, and he might have to fall back upon 
 even a daughter's support. 
 
 " I must talk to Patrick to-morrow," she resolved, 
 shutting the bank-book with a sigh, and laying it in 
 its hidden place. " The boy has a clever face, and 
 who knows but he may be earning after all ! " 
 
 After that she wrote two notes, still with the bent 
 brow of strenuous decision : one to Madeleine 
 de Bois-Severac, setting keenly forth poor Bertha's 
 situation, and giving it as her opinion that the least 
 Madeleine could do, having deprived her of a good 
 place, was to ask her mother to recommend her to all 
 her connections, and if possible find her a better one 
 soon. 
 
 The second note was to Pat himself, requesting 
 him to excuse her to Mr. Horn, since she had busi- 
 ness on Wednesday morning, and was to lunch with 
 a friend. She would join him at two, she said, any- 
 where he chose to select, and he would be a " good 
 boy not to complain of her." 
 
 Patrick did complain, aloud and volubly; and re- 
 venged himself by making a hurried round of the 
 theaters, and buying two very good and expensive 
 seats at the Opera Comique, which were all that 
 were left, since in Christmas week one cannot choose. 
 He did not tell GeofTry Horn of this extravagance, 
 
VERSAILLES 75 
 
 and Horn did not enquire, for he felt he had inter- 
 fered sufficiently in what was really a family affair. 
 Besides, when Pat had paid his morning visit on 
 Tuesday, and had left his message, Geoffry felt 
 himself a little depressed, for his work was not ad- 
 vancing, and he was in the state of mind to gnaw 
 the fingers and take small things hardly. 
 
 He went in a shamefaced manner to Madame 
 R6chette and countermanded the exquisite lunch he 
 had ordered, explaining that " cette dame " had 
 been detained by her affairs, and was unable in con- 
 sequence to honor him. Madame Rochette, who 
 adored and pitied Geoffry in about equal propor- 
 tions, watched his face while he spoke, and said a 
 private " Humph ! " at the end. The lunch she 
 eventually gave him for one person instead of 
 four was, if possible, more exquisite than that he 
 had countermanded; but she noticed he ate it with- 
 out either attention or remark. And this was rare, 
 for Horn commonly liked his food, and talked to 
 her very freely, being interested in detail in every 
 member of her family, and all her pet schemes of 
 economy for him and for them. 
 
 The fact was, that while he ate his truffle 
 omelette, and his vol-au-vent, and his " plumpoud- 
 ing froid" and chocolate "mousse," Horn's mind 
 was taking long and perfectly fruitless excursions 
 in all directions, and the goal of its wandering was 
 
76 HERSELF 
 
 the real reason of little Miss Clench's change of 
 mind. It perplexed and harassed him very much, 
 having beneath all his culture the kind heart of a 
 child, that his presence, or even his existence in the 
 abstract, could in any way be disturbing to this girl 
 of seventeen. Of girls in the flesh he knew nothing, 
 though he had dissected the workings of the feminine 
 heart on paper a hundred times. He was sensitive 
 extremely as to such : afraid of going near the fragile 
 house they lived in, lest an awkward step or rough 
 breath might shatter its iridescent dome. He had 
 listened to Pat's hearty talk of his little cousin 
 almost with shrinking; and he was supremely dis- 
 gusted disgusted to nausea with a certain 
 paper-maiden, who filled a subordinate role in his 
 forthcoming play, and who had pleased him exceed- 
 ingly in the invention. This little Vanessa would 
 not do: she must come out; and the furious elimina- 
 tion of Vanessa's portrait had been all Geoffry's 
 work for the two days past. 
 
 A novelist's imagination, when it trespasses on 
 daily life, is a very tiresome thing. Horn had rarely 
 been so imprudent as to break the glass wall between 
 his books and humanity before. His books were 
 delicate structures, full to the brim of himself: for 
 being a shy man, he had not played with red-hot 
 life very much, though he had turned it over care- 
 fully with the critic's pincers. To-day his imagina- 
 
VERSAILLES 77 
 
 tion broke loose, stravagued, as Pat would have said, 
 and played him the strangest tricks. Miss Clench 
 was already in Paris, it informed him at one o'clock : 
 and having finished her delicate, mysterious girl's 
 business, over which he drew a veil, she arrived at 
 the rendezvous she had appointed the rendezvous 
 where Pat was not. Horn was sure he was not, for 
 when was Patrick ever punctual*? After waiting a 
 time, she would get indignant, that neat-minded 
 little girl, and sure that her cousin was ill, or her 
 letter gone astray, she would come up the Boulevard 
 du Montparnasse, seeking the only house whose ad- 
 dress she knew. She was bound to come (Geoflry 
 wandered to the window), and as she looked at the 
 houses and counted the numbers, the ill-mannered 
 art-students, who inhabited all the attics in the bye- 
 streets, would look at her and possibly address her. 
 (GeofTry leant his gaunt arms on the balcony, and 
 screwed his eyes to peer along the street below.) 
 Ignoring them beautifully, as a well-bred girl could 
 do, Miss Clench would find the house, speak to the 
 door-keeper, climb the three flights, and ring at his 
 bell, a neat, discreet little ring. Mme. Rochette 
 would go, creaking the boards as she moved, and 
 wiping her hands. She would open the door and 
 well, Horn was glad Mme. Rochette was there, for 
 a wandering girl, Clench's daughter or no, would be 
 glad to see her robust outline and kind, shrewd face. 
 
78 HERSELF 
 
 Mme. Rochette had a girl of her own, and spoke of 
 her in a way that Horn approved. He somehow 
 thought the sight of her would bring Harrie inside, 
 if only for a few minutes. And she would sit there, 
 on a low chair in the salon, and balance her slim 
 umbrella across her knees with two slim hands; and 
 she would say, in a voice already familiar and 
 unique to his ears : " I must tell you, I only came to 
 you because " 
 
 At this point the bell did ring, and Horn sat down 
 hastily at the table, and tried to believe he was 
 thinking about something else. It is terrible how a 
 middle-aged man's thoughts may wander in the half- 
 hour of coffee-cups after lunch, that most admirable 
 moment of the working-day. After an interval, 
 Mme. Rochette opened the door with a jerk and 
 entered. Mr. Horn summoned his most ordinary 
 tone and said, " What is it? " 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur," said Mme. Rochette tran- 
 quilly. " The coffee-tray, if monsieur has finished." 
 
 '"Oh, yes," said Horn, removing his elbow from 
 it with agility. He added lightly, "I thought I 
 heard a bell." 
 
 "Ah? Monsieur has sharp ears." 
 
 "Was it anything?" 
 
 " It was only a young person," said Mme. 
 Rochette, " arrived to beg. The concierge should 
 not let them in." 
 
VERSAILLES 79 
 
 " Really? " said Horn, more discountenanced 
 still; his eyes were fastened to the outspread pages 
 of his manuscript. " What did she I mean, what 
 did you say? " 
 
 " I told her she should be ashamed," said Madame 
 cheerfully, clattering the china together, " and sent 
 her about her business. She had no need to begin 
 her history, for it was written in her face." 
 
 Her master remained stationary and did not lift 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Remember another time," he said, " to come to 
 me." 
 
 Madame Rochette opened her mouth a little over 
 the coffee-tray, and stopped dead. She thought of 
 three apt and eloquent answers simultaneously, but 
 she said none of them. She retired instead in 
 cautious silence, for Mr. Horn's voice had been both 
 dry and sharp. 
 
VI 
 
 THE novelist's imagination was, of course, com- 
 pletely wrong. Any Irish beggar could have told 
 Horn that a Brian or a Patrick may scamp or dawdle 
 over all other engagements, but they will be neither 
 remiss nor behindhand in an appointment with a 
 woman. Pat was at the omnibus-bureau, which 
 Harriet's prudent mind had selected, ten minutes be- 
 fore her, and had full time to pass in review the 
 constantly changing stream of human beings that 
 lively little stage affords, and use his sculptor's eye 
 on them much to their general detriment. He did 
 this all unconscious ; for in the bulk he intensely ap- 
 proved of the Parisian crowd, which at any moment 
 could be trusted to amuse one of his idle hours 
 and Patrick allowed himself plenty. 
 
 Yet his eyes had been wonderfully busy, as was 
 proved when Harriet did appear, by his dragging 
 her off promptly to the Luxembourg Gallery, the 
 nearest place where he could refresh his gaze on 
 something beautiful in form and limb. They walked 
 round the statues together in great accord, chatter- 
 
VERSAILLES 81 
 
 ing without intermission of their personal affairs for 
 the first half-hour, and discussing what was before 
 them not at all. The museum was so full of people 
 that it almost represented solitude; for nobody could 
 pay attention to one special pair amid so many, 
 especially as both had caught by a singular imitative 
 art the exact air and allure of that quarter of busy 
 bohemians. Pat's soft hat was pitched at an angle 
 similar to that of three-parts of the young men in 
 the building, and his brown hair was neither too long 
 nor too short to be remarkable in his community. 
 His build and soft blue eyes came in as usual for a 
 little cordial notice on the part of the more inquisi- 
 tive and tender-hearted people who had found seats, 
 and had thus leisure to stare about them; and a few 
 cast on Harrie a passing glance of envy. Yet even 
 so she earned not an instant's disdain, and even 
 found some sympathy: for she matched her partner 
 sufficiently, and played up to him well. 
 
 Occasionally the easy couple paused in their 
 wandering and gazed a minute, still talking. Occa- 
 sionally Harrie raised the steel point of her slim 
 umbrella to guide her companion's eyes, and Pat, 
 still talking, nodded. Once it was over the lovely 
 little crouching back of the Rodin Danaide, he 
 jerked his modeler's thumb with a movement that 
 approached a caress; and two minutes after, as 
 though the moment's impression had reminded him, 
 
82 HERSELF 
 
 he seized a pause, and turned the conversation to his 
 work. 
 
 Harrie was intent at once; for Pat, who had been 
 constantly reminding her of her father, now came 
 into the family, as it were, by strides. His definite, 
 arrogant, uncompromising views on art, in almost 
 ridiculous contrast with the soft drollery of his 
 speech and expression; his childish impatience and 
 annoyance with those who thought otherwise; his 
 equally naive assumption in the beginning that all 
 the world agreed with him, and that he was only, in 
 the most extravagant statements, finding words for 
 a popular view were alike in a vein that brought 
 all the past back to Harriet's clinging memory. 
 Patrick, like Brian, was an aristocrat on that sub- 
 ject, and that subject alone; for like Brian, though 
 he boasted abnormally of his race and ancestors, his 
 outlook on society, and his habit in it, was that of 
 easy equality, with no pretension whatsoever. Pat 
 made no demand on the world except to give him 
 beauty, but of that he exacted a supply. If Paris 
 failed in the commodity for a moment of the year, 
 he took an expensive ticket into the country, and 
 was hot on its tracks again. When tied by other 
 distractions to the town, he nosed it out in the most 
 unlikely places, and wasted half an hour admiring 
 a sunbeam or the cloud-reflections in a puddle, when 
 he had gone out to buy bread. He was one of those 
 
VERSAILLES 83 
 
 people a class apart in humanity who always 
 hang on a river parapet; and he knew the view by 
 heart, in both directions, from every one of the 
 seven-and-twenty bridges that Paris boasts. Harrie 
 could see him, in her tender imagination, lounging 
 with his soft hat crushed over his brow, and his soft 
 eyes resting on the ever-flowing current beneath him, 
 so much more useful than he, but which to him 
 represented loveliness, and loveliness alone. 
 
 There was a practical side to Harrie's close atten- 
 tion too, as well as a sentimental one ; but she gained 
 no clear assurance, from any of her cousin's tirades, 
 that the work of his heart was pecuniarily profitable. 
 On the contrary, she was assured that it was impos- 
 sible in Paris even to get adequate recognition, with- 
 out a little balance at your banker's to help you on. 
 There was " Cupid in Exile," for example, the 
 nearest Patrick had ever come to a " really straight 
 expressive thing," patiently awaiting a miracle for 
 his translation into marble and the Salon. Patrick 
 did not boast about his work extensively, but he 
 " had an idea " that Cupid would pass the critics 
 without many words wasted, though there would be 
 nothing fit for him to look at on arrival. Cupid, 
 Harrie gathered, would bear this in order to be 
 looked at himself; and seeing him through Patrick's 
 eyes, she began to love him even as his creator did. 
 
 "He's in exile," said Pat, with infinite sad ex- 
 
84 HERSELF 
 
 pression, " and so'm I, and so's you and all of us." 
 They stood at the top of the sculpture room and 
 looked back upon it. " Look round at this little 
 roomful smirking, Harrie, all in their pretty white- 
 ness. They came to their own with no fuss, because 
 their owners had the ducats in pocket, no doubt. It 
 troubles me at times to think that Cupid of all 
 boys in creation has not got home. After all, 
 there'd surely be a few to care for him." 
 
 " So there would," Harrie agreed, following his 
 eyes to the innumerable holiday couples circulating 
 affably in the hall. " And there's no way of stretch- 
 ing to pay for his debut, Patrick? He would not be 
 as expensive as a girl." 
 
 " The next," said Patrick, his eyes coming to rest 
 on her, " will be a girl, very probably." 
 
 " I'm asking you in earnest," said Harrie. 
 
 " The only way to stretch to pay him," said Pat, 
 " would be to stretch my credit with Horn. And 
 I've a notion he won't stretch to it, to tell the truth. 
 It's surely a pity, but he's beginning to see through 
 me." 
 
 "How much do you owe him?" said Harrie, 
 frowning lightly as she had often frowned on Brian. 
 
 " I meant to pay him some to-night," said Pat, 
 giving a jingle to his pockets. " I've got my allow- 
 ance come to me very timely. It'll be some twelve 
 hundred francs, I dare say, by now. Not but what 
 
VERSAILLES 85 
 
 he can stand it easy. He seems to have a banker 
 that trusts him, Horn." 
 
 "A childhood's friend, possibly," said Harrie. 
 " Speaking sense, Patrick dear, does the money come 
 to him, or has he done the work to earn it? I should 
 like to know about Mr. Horn." 
 
 "Why 4 ?" said Pat, his eyes strolling over her 
 with untiring satisfaction. 
 
 " Because I seem to have heard his name. It's a 
 name spoken of somewhere, I am sure." 
 
 " I do not know where it should be," said Pat, 
 " unless in heaven, a place where I hope you will not 
 go yourself just yet. Horn is a good man, with a 
 heart as tender as a baby's, and a voice in anger to 
 which the King of England himself would give 
 heed. He has written some books, they inform me, 
 in the place he came from." 
 
 " Books? " said Harrie. " I have had barely any 
 time for English books. Did he ever write a maga- 
 zine article? " 
 
 " I'd be ready to be sure he did," said Patrick, " if 
 you will be sure as well." 
 
 "Ask him for me, then, Patrick: and you need 
 not tell him I was enquiring." 
 
 " But that will be the only part of it I'll remem- 
 ber," protested the young gentleman. 
 
 "After all," said Harrie, as though to herself, 
 "you must learn some time to be useful. Come 
 
86 HERSELF 
 
 now, and let us go on an omnibus somewhere. My 
 head is tired of this heat, and so many white things 
 at once are worrying me." 
 
 So they aired themselves on an omnibus, and 
 either the keen east wind, or her thoughts, made 
 Harriet silent. Presently Pat saw a shopwindow 
 which offered tea, and observed that the three letters 
 drew him. 
 
 "What's tea?" said Harrie. "I believe I've 
 forgotten the smell of it." 
 
 " Which is no doubt how you've not got a red 
 nose," said Patrick. 
 
 " Have you ever looked at all the women in a tea- 
 shop?" 
 
 " Naturally not, since it's five years since I've 
 drunk it." 
 
 " Would you come back to it? " said Patrick. 
 
 " With passion," said Harriet, "as to all things 
 Irish. The teapot on the hearth is where our exiles 
 leave their heart, isn't it? to keep it warm till 
 they return." 
 
 So the next time the omnibus stopped, they got 
 down, and walked at leisure along an unknown 
 boulevard till they found the tea-shop of their first 
 choice. It may be remarked that they passed many 
 other places, and better ones, so powerful is senti- 
 ment on the least occasion. 
 
 They were at first a party of three in the shop, for 
 
VERSAILLES 87 
 
 there was an extremely friendly waiting-maid, and 
 Patrick at least was not capable of the rudeness of 
 repulsing her. She had missed her day out, it 
 seemed, owing to some despotic ordinance: and 
 Patrick wanted to know with whom she had been 
 going to walk, and Harriet, what they paid her for 
 the extra service. She thought them both delight- 
 ful, but did not fail to charge them heavily, whether 
 for the tea or her enlightening conversation. 
 
 There was a brisk war of words between the 
 cousins over the bill, and then Harrie paid it. 
 When it had disappeared, and the waitress also, 
 Miss Clench leaned her elbows on the table, and 
 looked in her companion's face. 
 
 " I want you to listen to me a moment," she 
 said, in her most capable manner. " That money," 
 she indicated the coins he had laid out on the table, 
 " is Mr. Horn's. At least destined for him, and due. 
 You've mentioned as much lately." 
 
 "And what then 4 ? " purred Patrick, whom tea 
 had put in the best conceivable humor. 
 
 " You and me are all the family, all that's left of 
 it at least, for the moment. I don't like you to be 
 taking a stranger's money: I'd sooner you used 
 mine." 
 
 A pause. "Have you got any?" queried Pat: 
 as it were, open to persuasion, but reserving a choice 
 to his private sense of delicacy. 
 
88 HERSELF 
 
 " I have some of my father's, and you're the first 
 claimant on it, for he used your mother's, as you 
 know. I'm to suppose you have heard that story." 
 
 " You are to suppose it, mavourneen. But you 
 will not let it trouble you." Pat became the picture 
 of deprecating courtesy. 
 
 " I will not," said Harrie, " when the debt is 
 fairly paid. Have you any means of knowing what 
 it was?" 
 
 " None short of asking Brian: and it's not you or 
 myself would do that. I have never," added Pat, 
 with obvious sincerity, " thought at all about it." 
 
 " If I had thought you had," returned Harrie, " I 
 should not speak so freely." She extended involun- 
 tarily the little right hand of friendship, and Pat 
 grasped her bare fingers. 
 
 " Our situation," she said, after a pause of eager 
 thinking, " is not quite common. Most people meet 
 to make history, do they not*? But you and me 
 have history behind us. Do you feel it the same 
 way? " t 
 
 " Powerfully," said the boy, dropping his long 
 lashes. " There are men behind us, and women you 
 don't see now. When I think of them all on my 
 honor, Harrie, it's back, and not forward, I'd be 
 going if I could. Whenever the noises stop, in this 
 city or my first one, all the past is singing to me. 
 Sometimes I might say, as you said that day we met, 
 
VERSAILLES 89 
 
 it's but the half of me that is here at all. The waste 
 lot that we are ! " He struck the marble table. 
 
 " I thought so," the girl said, watching his down- 
 cast face intently. " Only you must go forward, all 
 the same. You shall not be waste, your mother's 
 son. Listen now again and tell me. What steps 
 have you now in front of you, that you could 
 take?" 
 
 " Nothing but Cupid, and the English school." 
 
 " The school is a fixture, is it not? " 
 
 "Worse luck," he said, still not looking at her. 
 " It's got uglier by being certain, as things do." 
 
 " Well," said Harrie, " Cupid will not get uglier 
 by being certain, and that certainty I can give 
 you." The boy lifted his eyes, luminous suddenly. 
 "You'd like it, wouldn't you?" she said. "He 
 shall turn white, and step upon a pedestal, and I 
 shall be proud to see to it. Once on exhibition, you 
 may sell him, so it's only what is the word for 
 money spent like that? " 
 
 " I'll tell you several," said Patrick, " when I be- 
 gin to think, but there's no word good enough I can 
 lay tongue to at present." He laid his other hand 
 on hers. " Oh, but now indeed I'll have the heart to 
 finish him," he said, and drowned her with his 
 expressive gaze. 
 
 " Finish? " she cried, "but you must! He is to 
 be the very best you can do in this life, before the 
 
90 HERSELF 
 
 other falls on you. Think of that and work to 
 Easter as you have never worked. As for the good 
 words, give them to Brian, for this is him, not me. 
 Would not Brian launch your Cupid, if he was 
 here*? None readier, as you know, in a work like 
 that." 
 
 " You make it better at every word," said Pat. 
 " It's as though himself were there. Speak low like 
 that, and I'll listen forever." 
 
 " Listen to the sense," his cousin warned him. " I 
 would make my voice like a corncrake's if it would 
 bring sense nearer to you. I shall give you the 
 money as you need it," she added, having unlocked 
 her hand, " and you will pay Mr. Horn a bit at a 
 time, in the way that seems most natural. I wish 
 you to be free of him, do you understand 4 ? " 
 
 " I follow," said Patrick, lifting his brows. " But 
 Horn's a good fellow." 
 
 " Just because of that, because he's a true friend, 
 and English, I wish you to be free. The English are 
 
 not like us, in money things I mean " The girl, 
 
 feeling ungrateful, stopped. 
 
 " Don't you like Horn? " said Pat, with a glint 
 df eagerness. 
 
 " I do not know him." She colored, and he mis- 
 interpreted the blush. 
 
 Though he played fast and loose with facts, Pat 
 had a great tenacity for impressions; and he set 
 
VERSAILLES 91 
 
 down in some corner of his mind, where impressions 
 were safe to keep for years, that Harriet had an 
 antipathy for Mr. Horn. It raised his spirits, in a 
 manner he made no effort whatever to explain, be- 
 yond that in some way the consciousness cut the pair 
 of them off more completely from the common 
 world, and so left them nearer together. 
 
 "Are you two married 4 ?" said the shop-girl, 
 when Pat gave her his generous fee. 
 
 " Not yet," he replied. 
 
 "Never," said Harriet smoothly. "We're too 
 near in blood. Had you not noticed we were brother 
 and sister? Well, to think of that." 
 
 " That was a slap for me," said the young gentle- 
 man in the street, looking at her through his eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 "It's my real feelings, and she drew them out of 
 me. The question," said Miss Clench with decision, 
 " was impertinent." 
 
 " You think she meant more? " 
 
 "They always do in this city. Their spoken 
 word swims in meaning, yet it hits its purpose clean. 
 Our language," added Harriet, with truth, " is apt 
 to go more roundabout." 
 
 " You talk clever enough for a book when you 
 forget," scoffed Patrick. " I'd tell that to Horn for 
 his new piece, if I'd a chance to remember any of it." 
 
 " Just in those ways," said Harrie, coming nearer 
 
92 HERSELF 
 
 to confide, and taking his arm, " in putting off rude 
 people, and getting what I want, and making my 
 way, I am clever. I've made myself be it, by prac- 
 tising." 
 
 " You've wit enough to make the way for two," 
 said Pat, saying with his admirable carelessness 
 exactly the right thing. 
 
 " That's what I've practised," said Harrie, show- 
 ing a little flush of excitement. 
 
 " You mean to be two, darlin' ^ Well, it's not 
 you that would have the difficulty." 
 
 " I mean to be two, before many years are out. 
 Pat, do you think I could bear it forever, being left 
 like this*? I must have him with me, I have deter- 
 mined it." 
 
 " It's Brian," said Patrick, disappointed. " Well, 
 so long as it's no other man, but one, and that's my- 
 self. How will you catch him, let me hear." 
 
 " Oh, if I dared to tell you ! Some time I will." 
 She stopped, to shake and unfold her little umbrella, 
 for it had begun to rain. She lifted her chin, and 
 looked skywards, the shape of brow and jaw clean- 
 marked under the sharp line of her hat. It was a 
 grand look of mockery and defiance she presented to 
 the last light of the wintry sky. Pat appreciated it, 
 as he appreciated the steely gleam thrown off here 
 and there from wet patches of the rain-swept boule- 
 vard, along which sparse yellow lamps now returned 
 
VERSAILLES 93 
 
 an answering glow. He loved, as all do who have 
 studied them, a great city street between the lights, 
 its glass catching an unwilling sunset, its trees bend- 
 ing, and its pavements sleek with rain. And the 
 little figure at his side was in tune with it, welcom- 
 ing rain and wind, and night and day, good fortune 
 and ill alike, so she could follow her course and see 
 one desire clear at the end of it. 
 
 " Come under the shelter," said Pat suddenly 
 compassionate in the midst of his admiration. " It's 
 gusty, and you've not the strength to stand not 
 to mention your fine hat will be spoiled entirely." 
 
 Harrie laughed, succumbed, and followed him. 
 She had no notion where they were, and she greatly 
 doubted if Patrick had either; but she did not intend 
 to trouble herself to-night, the whole day's adven- 
 ture was too preposterous. She thought of Madame 
 in her little office, of Genevieve in the kitchen, and 
 her eyes danced gleefully. What would they say 
 what could they think to see her here? 
 
 They stood together during the shower under a 
 porte-cochere in the unknown street, and conversed 
 with a stray cat that was also sheltering there, and 
 noticed a rainbow through a space in the houses, and 
 pursued easy theories as to where they were on the 
 evidence of placarded omnibuses which passed them. 
 Harrie did not refer to her interrupted confidence, 
 but she was a little more absent than she had been, 
 
94 HERSELF 
 
 and when the gleam of sun definitely died out, and 
 the rain grew simultaneously lighter, she had the 
 curious impulse to look at her watch. 
 
 " What's that for*? " said Pat, surprised. 
 
 " The watch? For seeing the time." 
 
 "Who's silly now? What are you thinking of, 
 to look at the clock at all, unless it's supper-time? " 
 
 " I thought I might be home to supper. You see, 
 the other maitresse is out as well." 
 
 " That's the more reason for you to be. Home to 
 dinner, and you call that a day! Listen: you have 
 to come to the Opera to-night with me." 
 
 " The Opera? Patrick dear, I cannot. I have 
 not the money, nor the clothes for it, nor the time." 
 She lifted a look to him, comically imploring. 
 
 " I have the tickets," returned Patrick serenely. 
 " And I've time for two as well, and your clothes 
 will do. It's only the little opera, and it's not the 
 grandest seats I've taken." He showed her the slips 
 of paper, with a mixture of childish exultation and 
 cajolery, almost irresistible. 
 
 " It's the hopeless boy you are," sighed Harrie, 
 having ejaculated at the figure. " How can you 
 and me afford that, standing as we are? Oh dear, 
 oh dear, and who's singing? " 
 
 Patrick told her, and what. " I should not have 
 asked," said Harrie, her brows lifted and looking at 
 the rain. 
 
VERSAILLES 95 
 
 " They've nothing tremendous," said Pat, " but I 
 thought you'd like it better than nothing to finish 
 the day." 
 
 " Be quiet with your modesty. You're as proud 
 of yourself as you can be. Why didn't you warn 
 me?" 
 
 " I was late to get them," said Pat cheerfully. 
 " I tried for the ' Rhine-gold,' but all the seats were 
 gone a week ago. That would have been brighter 
 for you than Orpheus' lamenting. But it's a respect- 
 able piece," he added, with a glint at her sidelong. 
 " Nice for a little girl to see in my company." 
 
 " ' Rheingold's ' what the other mistress has gone 
 to see," said Harrie. " But she got leave to wait for 
 the last train. And I said I should certainly be 
 home at nine to put the children to bed, for Madame 
 is dining with her brother in Paris, and will fetch 
 the Fraiilein home." 
 
 " And why should it be you? " said Pat. 
 
 " Well, I'm a lot younger than either of them," 
 said Harrie demurely. " Bertha Lindt must be 
 twenty-seven, and Madame' s twice that. Besides, 
 I'm there to be useful, that's my raison d'etre." 
 
 "Your what?" ejaculated Pat. "I'll find you 
 another if you leave me alone. Raison d'etre in- 
 deed, the ideas you have ! It'll be time enough when 
 you're ninety to be useful, I hope." 
 
 " I doubt it'll be too late, then," said Harrie; but 
 
96 HERSELF 
 
 her smile was surrender. " It won't be so late as the 
 big opera after all," she murmured, " and I can go 
 before the ballet. I dare say I'll catch the train 
 before the last." 
 
 " You shall catch any train you wish," said Pat, 
 with most cheerful optimism, " or all of them, so 
 long as you do not think or trouble about it, at the 
 time or now." 
 
 "I must go and buy some gloves," Harrie ob- 
 served to herself. " The expense you put me to, 
 wicked boy." 
 
 " I'll go and buy them with you. I'd like to buy 
 you gloves," said Patrick. " And after that we'll 
 dine at a good place. Now let us consider what we 
 shall have for dinner, you and me." 
 
VII 
 
 GEOFFRY HORN dined with a friend, a critic on 
 some paper. When invited to help fill a box at the 
 Opera Comique, in order to pass judgment on a new 
 Alsatian contralto, he agreed with some unwilling- 
 ness. His play was teasing him, as such things do, 
 and the blank which the little Vanessa had filled in 
 its personnel seemed to crave for occupation. Geoffry 
 was aware of this craving, and little else. It was 
 no remedy for such hungry discontent to go and see 
 other people enjoying themselves. He preferred to 
 return and mope at home. There was always the 
 chance, too, that Morough had got back from his 
 outing, and was inclined to talk about it. Morough 
 was an amusing fellow 5 especially when he had had 
 a pleasant day. 
 
 So pondering, Horn declined the invitation 
 absently: and then, seeing his friend's face, changed 
 his mind and accepted. It seemed poor Vauthier 
 was alone, which he had not realized; and after all, 
 the singer might conceivably be able to do justice to 
 the music. She hailed at least from the German 
 side of France. 
 
98 HERSELF 
 
 As things turned out, the entertainment soothed 
 him. The Gluck public is not a noisy one, and 
 as was fitting to Orpheus' shadowy story house 
 and stage were continuously dark. The singer was 
 not first-rate, and M. Vauthier had enough after 
 the second act, and determined to retire to the 
 " Varietes," whither he invited his companion to 
 attend him fruitlessly. 
 
 " Oh, well," said Vauthier with a shrug, " then, 
 all I can say is, you had better find a little lady to 
 fill my seat hem?" He looked at Horn's long 
 melancholy figure with affection, for he liked him. 
 Horn could both listen and talk, a combination of 
 qualities which is, after all, very rare. 
 
 " The little lady is already in occupation," said 
 Horn. " I may mention she is coming back, Jacques, 
 thanks to your company and Elysian melody." 
 
 " You and your Vanessas," scoffed Vauthier, who 
 was in his confidence. "It's my dinner you have 
 to thank, more likely. You should eat more, my 
 friend, or these abstractions never will come true. 
 Come and get a drink before parting, hey? " 
 
 Horn went agreeably, being used to the necessity 
 of changing place often and rapidly in Vauthier's 
 company; the only thing he refused to change was 
 his mood. He was dreamy, and Vauthier scoffed at 
 him in vain. He did not even trouble to study the 
 couples scattered about at the little tables of the 
 
VERSAILLES 99 
 
 buffet, though they occupied a retired corner excel- 
 lently adapted for spying. Vauthier made the best 
 of his chances, and interspersed his friend's mono- 
 logue on his peculiar view of stagecraft with a 
 running commentary on the company. Only when 
 the bell rang for the last act, and the hall began to 
 clear, had he leisure really to attend to Horn and 
 his lay-figures, which seemed even to that strange 
 person more alive, more momentous, more serious 
 in their significance and the destiny they fulfilled, 
 than any of the merry throng flirting about him, at 
 which he refused to look. 
 
 Nor did Horn seem in a hurry to return to Gluck's 
 private dream-world on the stage. From where he 
 sat the music was very soothing, being sufficiently 
 distant to veil its faults in execution. Horn was a 
 bit of an exquisite, and after a long and mixed 
 experience, still showed shyness in attending the 
 performance of that select circle of things he really 
 loved. The story went of him that on a gala opera- 
 night, when the first of the " Ring-cycle " was to 
 be given, he had begun by turning his back on the 
 stage; after an interval he had then stopped his 
 ears, quite absently, and remained to the end of 
 the act with his eyes on the score. At the close 
 he agreed with his neighbors that the music was 
 wonderfully persuasive, and left the theater, to 
 everybody's satisfaction and chiefly his own. Yet 
 
100 HERSELF 
 
 this story, or as much of it as was true, belonged to 
 his youth; and the years that had intervened had 
 brought tolerance with them. He had at least some 
 small personal knowledge of the crowd of poor 
 earnest artists, more cramped and hustled as one 
 went down the ladder, and often more deserving 
 also. The heaven of his private ideal had not dis- 
 appeared, but it had enlarged its gates to take into 
 account humanity, each member of it fighting for an 
 ideal as sweet to them as his had been once to him, 
 and many of whom had staked and lost far more 
 than he had ever ventured in the strife. 
 
 For GeofTry Horn, in spite of small ups and 
 downs of fortune, had been incorrigibly prosperous. 
 Money, the key to almost all the beauty of life, 
 clung firmly to him, generously though he handed 
 it out to all who needed help. Being a just man, 
 this abiding sense of possession had also lent him 
 humility in regarding the crowd, among the toiling 
 and scuffling masses of which his art found its 
 material. Had he been now in a pawn-shop, instead 
 of this gilded pleasure-house of the bourgeoisie, he 
 would have been less inattentive to his surroundings. 
 It was only the eternal theme of vanity wearied him 
 rather, and turned his mind for pasture in upon 
 itself. 
 
 " Well, I must be going," said Vauthier at last. 
 " It would need more time than I can spare to prove 
 
VERSAILLES 101 
 
 you wrong. You will appreciate the desire, mon 
 cher, nevertheless. Your view of women in itself 
 Sapristi ! who is that? " 
 
 Horn started at the same moment, for the little 
 electric thrill he felt in Vauthier's arm stirred him 
 as such symptoms do. 
 
 "What now?" he said. 
 
 " That girl of all midnight marvels ! American, 
 is she? She must be American, to be alone." 
 
 Then Horn saw her, and knew that his Vanessa 
 had come to life indeed. A slight pale girl in black, 
 with a white-winged hat slung on her arm, had 
 stepped into the now open space and approached 
 the buffet. Nothing remained of the throng, for the 
 last act had started, but a group of young men 
 drinking round a table and leaning on the counter. 
 Neither of the friends in their retired corner could 
 hear for what she asked, for her voice was low. 
 But they saw the waitress stare, the group of men 
 pause open-mouthed, and the waiters whisper and 
 rake her insolently with their eyes. Before it could 
 reach the next stage of muttering or mockery, 
 Geoffry Horn was on his feet. He disentangled his 
 long limbs from the impeding furniture with a 
 clatter, and went forward with swift steps to 
 her side. 
 
 " Miss Clench, you will allow me," he said, using 
 French with the instinct of diplomacy. " A glass of 
 
102 HERSELF 
 
 water, is it? Kindly serve this lady quickly, and 
 bring us our addition. The gentleman has to go." 
 
 " Bien sur he has to," muttered the admiring 
 Frenchmen, " But he speaks well, the long American. 
 It was neatly done, upon my word." 
 
 Geoffry had no more need of their approval than 
 their criticism. He disdained it for himself and 
 loathed it for Harrie. She looked, he thought, ex- 
 traordinarily pale, and he was tormenting all his 
 faculties to conceive how she should come there, 
 lonely and left by Patrick, her true knight. Tired 
 as she plainly was however, her eyes had not lost 
 their spark, nor her wits their resourcefulness. She 
 did not start at Horn's intervention, nor express 
 surprise, but greeted him with a slight smile, as at a 
 familiar friend new found. He brought her back to 
 his own retired table, and presented her to the 
 astounded though rapturous Vauthier. Horn really 
 was " impayable," Vauthier had been deciding; with 
 the English, at least the English of his make, nothing 
 was impossible. They did all things, whether in 
 character or hopelessly out of it, with the same 
 bland, immovable front. Here was Horn, the 
 hermit, whose amusement was a paper stage, attach- 
 ing to himself a real girl, in the most neat and 
 dramatic manner conceivable, without a wink or a 
 blush. He just annexed her, and brought her along, 
 in order to prove Vauthier at all points wrong about 
 
VERSAILLES 108 
 
 him. In the rush of these perplexed and admiring 
 sensations, the young man was only sure of one 
 thing, which was that his own retreat had sounded. 
 
 " Enchanted," he murmured, delicately bowing, 
 and retiring as he did so. He hardly looked at 
 Miss Clench, but he knew her, as afterwards appeared 
 in his descriptions, from the tip of her little shoe to 
 the last feather of her hair. She looked at him 
 quite absently, for her inner distress was asserting 
 itself. It needed a minute, even after Vauthier's 
 departure, for her to choose and find a seat. Then, 
 while Horn fussed among the glasses, she was able 
 to collect herself, and grip her thoughts again. 
 
 " You think it's odd of me to be here," she said, 
 in her worn little tone at last. 
 
 " Not at all," said Horn at random. " Delighted. 
 Quite a dramatic encounter." 
 
 " There you're mistaken," said Harrie, gathering 
 force. " Dramatic' s no word. It's quite an ordinary 
 thing that has happened, but of course it needs 
 explaining." 
 
 "They have quarreled," thought Horn. "Oh, 
 my prophetic soul, the Irish ! " But he said, " There 
 is no need to explain anything for me, Miss Clench. 
 You are too tired, for one thing." 
 
 "Well," she said, in the pause. "And what's 
 the other?" 
 
 " I," said Horn, blushing, " am not worth ex- 
 
104 HERSELF 
 
 plaining to. I mean, I am just a bystander, there 
 to be useful as I said before." 
 
 She bowed her fair head, a very little. "You 
 were useful a minute since," she said. " I admit it, 
 and I thank you." 
 
 " You said you collected the useful people," said 
 Horn, wondering how he dared to say it. " If you 
 will just collect me, and count on me, it's all I ask." 
 
 " Oh," she cried, protesting, " as if I ever meant, 
 useful to me ! Excuse me if I defend my word, but 
 it's not so easy to be collectable as that." She 
 rested her head upon her hands. " It's silly I am," 
 she murmured vaguely, her eyes searching the hall 
 as though for possible escape. 
 
 Horn's heart beat madly, with pity and rage, but 
 he kept his front of serenity. He seized any attain- 
 able generalities to give her time, for he really 
 feared she might faint. 
 
 " I count society as a pie," he observed, " or a 
 pudding, shall we say*? Some bring plums to it, 
 some sugar and spice some salt some build up 
 the solid substance, some leaven it with merriment. 
 Few but can add a grain to its goodness, and none 
 but can at least give things a stir. Am I talking 
 nonsense 4 ? " 
 
 " No," she said. " You have my idea. To stir is 
 the thing." She seemed watching him round her 
 hand rather nervously, Horn realized that he had 
 
VERSAILLES 105 
 
 taken her aback, this resourceful little woman, just 
 as he had at their first meeting. Whatever her 
 quaint philosophy was, she could not work him in. 
 Her eyes seemed enquiring, shyly curious, ringed 
 with genuine fatigue as they were to-night. 
 
 " To stir is the thing. Whatever you do," said 
 Geoff ry, admiring himself, " you mustn't stand aside 
 and say the whole is useless muck, and there are 
 better receipts for making it." 
 
 " No," she agreed again. " After all, they never 
 have, the great ones, have they? " 
 
 " And," he concluded, rolling the remnant of 
 liqueur in his glass, " you must not, whatever you 
 do, spend all the time nibbling at the paste." 
 
 " Not all," she assented, and sighed. " Oh, you 
 know, then, it's all right. How did I come here, at 
 all, to talk to you? " 
 
 In the blank pause, a distant ineffable cadence of 
 Gluck's pure melody reached them. It fell into 
 Horn's dream, and he thought eternity spoke. 
 
 " Listen," said Harrie, " I am going to tell you, 
 and you can judge me silly as you like. Only you 
 never know where the commonest things will lead 
 you, and mine have led me here. . . . Patrick 
 is just Brian, Mr. Horn, and I know him I may 
 say I have known him for years. You cannot judge 
 for the Brian sort like for other people. He's been 
 angry with me, and doubtless Brian would have 
 
106 HERSELF 
 
 been as well. At dinner first he got excited, for we 
 talked of old things, and the dinner he chose was 
 very good. Then I told him how I must take the 
 early train, how it is necessary to my position, and 
 disputing it uplifted him the more. When we got 
 here the chorus calmed him a little, as indeed it 
 would calm souls condemned. That music is collect- 
 able, Mr. Horn," she diverted, " for it has done 
 nothing but good since it first blew into the world. 
 It's not all music you can say that of, is it 4 ? " 
 
 " It's very little," said Horn. 
 
 "I think so. Well, where was I?" Her brow 
 knit above the downcast eyes he watched. " In the 
 entr'acte we walked out to get cool, and I found the 
 poor thing I mean the other mistress that I know 
 at Versailles. She has been dismissed, and has noth- 
 ing to live on but her genius, which is not worth a 
 sou to her naturally. She lived through an awful 
 week for the sake of hearing the performance of 
 'Rheingold' to-night; but she got confused with 
 going round the registry offices all day, and stupid 
 with it, and having got to the opera-house over there, 
 she found she'd lost her ticket." 
 
 Horn made a sound, for suddenly he saw. 
 
 "Yes, I need hardly tell you, need I? Those 
 things happen to the people who can least afford it, 
 I mean in any way. All the people who go to 
 1 Rheingold ' to show their clothes had their tickets 
 
VERSAILLES 107 
 
 tight in their gloves. As for her, she was nearly 
 frantic. She ran on here, for it starts a little later, 
 and paid I don't know what for a ridiculous seat. 
 If I had known she should not have been so cheated. 
 So up she went to the sky, and tried from there to 
 hear the music that is her right that is surely her 
 right as a musician, Mr. Horn. But she couldn't for 
 the people chattering outside, and the heat inside 
 which made her sick. So down she came in the 
 interval to where I found her crying in the foyer." 
 
 " And you gave her your seat for the last act." 
 
 " I did, when I had got Pat round. He is very 
 good-hearted, when you get at him. I could not 
 have got Brian to it so soon." 
 
 " Didn't he offer to give up his own seat, Miss 
 Clench?" 
 
 " He was ready, but that I would not. Two girls, 
 we should have been found out and bothered, Bertha 
 being what she is and unable to keep still: but he 
 being a man can manage it." The girl paused, 
 breathing deeply, as at the recollection of the 
 struggle past. " He'll be tired of her by now," she 
 said, " and his kindness too. I said perhaps I would 
 stay for him, but as things are, I shall have to go 
 and catch my train." 
 
 "How long did you stay up there?" demanded 
 Geoffry. 
 
 " Not long," she said. " There's no air at all, 
 
108 HERSELF 
 
 she's right. But I wanted to wait for the other Air 
 the Aria if I could." She paused again a 
 minute, listening. " Not that the woman could sing 
 it," added Harrie, in her lower sweeter tone. 
 
 "The woman" was singing at the minute; dis- 
 tant echoes and cadences reached them, and Horn 
 saw the girl's fine throat work, though the expression 
 of her eyes was still veiled. 
 
 " You sing, don't you, Miss Clench? " he said. 
 
 " Chut," she answered, glancing once. "I do 
 that is, I shall." 
 
 " Is that your secret? " 
 
 " One of them. How did you know it? I have 
 longed to tell many people and couldn't, Patrick 
 among them." 
 
 " I don't count," said Horn. 
 
 " You mean I can just talk to you, like the furni- 
 ture? Oh, the blessing it would be to have some- 
 body like that when I am vexed with things. 
 . . . I don't know what my voice is worth," she 
 said, still low and rapidly. " I may be wrong about 
 it altogether, but Brian will know. I shall never 
 sing till I can sing right, and sing to him. I have no 
 use for a voice but that, to catch and keep Brian. 
 
 It's a net, just a little net I've made " She was 
 
 using her loveliest low tone as she spoke, and had 
 half risen, her eyes on him sidelong. 
 
VERSAILLES 109 
 
 " You do not mean you are going," he said. " Pat 
 will never forgive you." 
 
 "It's my train and my head. I might as well 
 tell you. I cannot get in to tell him: nor could 
 anyone, however useful by nature, unless the police. 
 I am just going away, and I am sure from all points 
 of view it is better so." 
 
 "Is she afraid of him?" thought Geoffry. He 
 had an idea. " If you wait a little, Miss Clench, 
 Pat could escort you to the station, and I could 
 escort your friend." 
 
 " Oh, dear " she gazed, brows up " and 
 what would Madame say, seeing us all*? For 
 Madame will be at the station too. No, I'll be good 
 and go home by the eleven-thirty. I'm determined 
 it's better. I ought never to have come at all." 
 
 "Are you sorry that you did*?" 
 
 "Sorry 4 ? with that first act in my ears? It 
 was a Clench thing to do, however, for my duty lay 
 before me plain." 
 
 " If you had not come," said Horn, following her 
 slowly, as she retreated to arrange her hat, " you 
 could not have helped Fraiilein Lindt." 
 
 " I have not helped her, to mention. I ought to 
 have done much more, seeing how she's placed. I 
 had forgotten quite about her when I saw her there, 
 and her poor eyes reproaching me. Do not come, 
 
110 HERSELF 
 
 Mr. Horn," she paused at the top of the stairs. 
 " The aria will be beginning." 
 
 " I have no wish to hear it." 
 
 " You should, then. She'll do it better than the 
 rest, for she'll have studied it for her last effect. Do 
 the poor woman justice. Go and do it, will you 
 not?" 
 
 As she looked at him, the spark in her eye became 
 a smile, yet he felt the will of this child of seventeen 
 very keenly. 
 
 " I could get you a cab," he pleaded. 
 
 " I can get all the cab I want. Now you will 
 make me miss my train, disputing with you. Didn't 
 I go about New York at nine years old? I am quite 
 a " she hesitated and took the usual word 
 "practical person." 
 
 Geoffry touched the hand she extended, and was 
 going, when he glanced back in spite of himself. 
 Harriet had settled her veil, gathered up her skirts, 
 and was preparing to descend. Very small and 
 black she looked in that colossal, dazzling place, 
 deserted as it was, but for the theater servants at 
 the door. 
 
 " Will you please excuse my saying just one 
 thing, Miss Clench," murmured Horn, leaning on 
 the rail. 
 
 Harrie looked round, one hand on her skirt which 
 was lifted deftly off the stairs. He took the picture 
 
VERSAILLES 111 
 
 of her look, brows oddly raised and lips together, 
 while he spoke ; but he spoke firmly none the less. 
 
 " You are simply the most romantic person I ever 
 met." 
 
VIII 
 
 PATRICK, deserted by his cousin, was exceedingly 
 sulky in Fraiilein Lindt's company for exactly five 
 minutes, and then she and he made simultaneously 
 the same remark on a fine phrase, and he discovered 
 that she was a person of what he called " sense " 
 that is, sensibility. When he first saw her, wrapped 
 in heavy gloom, her hat knocked crooked in the 
 crowd, and her large blunt-fingered hands twitching 
 with agitation as she gripped and explored a clumsy 
 beaded bag, Pat thought, especially with the con- 
 trast of his little Harrie beside her, that he had never 
 seen such a scarecrow. But the sympathy of the 
 soft-tongued pair, and the certainty of her music, 
 had metamorphosed Bertha in a few minutes. She 
 took her hat off, put on her gloves, and became 
 beaming and confidential. Seen side-face she was 
 not too ill-favored; and when she spoke in lowered 
 tones to Pat of his cousin's angel-nature, and his own 
 affability in adopting the exchange, he began to see 
 why Harriet had collected her. Over the music, her 
 claims became yet more clear. Her taste and judg- 
 
VERSAILLES 113 
 
 ment had a delicacy which her appearance and man- 
 ner lacked. She contradicted Pat and spurred him; 
 she nodded with fervor a dozen times at his witty 
 commentary on the acting, a light in her eye, and a 
 broad finger on her lips. She was, in short, barring 
 her unfortunate features, a good companion and a 
 clever woman. Patrick only remembered to sigh for 
 the truant Harrie at intervals, till the great crisis on 
 the stage was over, love triumphant, and the scene 
 changed for the ballet. Then he apologized and 
 said he must go: giving as a reason when pressed, 
 that Cupid was a friend of his, and he could not see 
 him travestied. Fraiilein Lindt's eyebrows lifted to 
 her hair, as she regarded him, drinking in his aspect. 
 
 " You would rejoin the beloved Miss," she inter- 
 preted with her ponderous sincerity. 
 
 " That is what I meant," said Patrick, " more or 
 less." He leant with one knee on the seat, his 
 roguish eyes flashing over her, marveling whether 
 the strange animal she looked could reach the mean- 
 ing of his situation, as well as that of the music on 
 the stage. 
 
 " You love her," murmured Fraiilein Lindt. 
 " Ah, but you must and she needs kindness so." 
 
 "Are they not good to her there"? " said Patrick. 
 
 " Not as we others understand it," said the Swiss 
 woman. " Also, all the kindness Miss your cousin 
 receives, she gives away again full-handed. It is 
 
114 HERSELF 
 
 love, real love, she needs." Fraiilein Lindt clenched 
 her powerful hands, speaking her own language, 
 which Pat understood sufficiently. 
 
 " Good night, Fraiilein Lindt," he said, a spark in 
 his eye. " You're well in the right of it. I am 
 happy to have met you, if only for this short time." 
 
 " You and she have made my happiness " 
 
 Bertha was preparing to vociferate : but he was gone. 
 So she merely wiped her eyes, smiled broadly once 
 on vacancy, and proceeded to devote herself solidly 
 to the last sweet dregs of her cup of pleasure. 
 
 Harriet, meanwhile, had missed the train before 
 the last at Montparnasse, and resolved, in view of 
 the probable incursion of Madame Barriere if she 
 waited, to take the tram-route instead from the 
 Louvre terminus. To come across Madame in a 
 public station, and be scolded for truancy in a train, 
 was too hard a thing to bear in prospect, more 
 especially as Pat himself might at any moment break 
 in upon the colloquy, and Harrie had no wish at all 
 for Madame to see her and Pat together. 
 
 So, with a little moue of forced patience at the 
 perversity of things, she took her decision, and was 
 transported to the quays, whence she walked to the 
 omnibus-bureau, and, sitting demurely on a bench, 
 looked out for her tram. Fortune was steadily 
 against her, for one Versailles car had just gone out, 
 
VERSAILLES 115 
 
 and while she watched patiently for the next one, a 
 dear friend of Genevieve's who had also been to the 
 play and was returning to Montreuil, walked into 
 the office. 
 
 Harrie, who felt unequal to the task of being con- 
 tinuously agreeable, still less confidential, with this 
 young person, presently seized a chance to slip out 
 of the crowded little cabin and stand upon the 
 bridge. It was not so decorous, of course, but 
 infinitely more beautiful as a waiting-place. Few 
 spots are more suggestive of romance than the Pont 
 des Arts on a moonlit night: and this was a night 
 sweet to Harriets Irish instincts, coldish and windy, 
 with long rags of brown cloud which never quite 
 left the moon's face clean, though she seemed here 
 and there, near or far, to catch a burnished point of 
 river or city tile in which to wink reflectively. 
 Meanwhile, under the light bridge the river swirled, 
 shouldered, and muttered past, plotting many 
 rebellious pranks, doubtless, if the rainy season 
 would only persist a little. Ensnared by the charm 
 that only big rivers know, Miss Clench watched it, 
 leaning a little bare hand on the railing, and singing 
 through the water-noises all unconscious to herself. 
 
 " And is it singing to the Seine-maidens you 
 are 4 ? " said the voice of the graceless one beside her. 
 
 " Oh, Patrick ! " she cried, swerving with a start 
 that was almost cruel. 
 
116 HERSELF 
 
 "Here, you bad boy? Did you not stop with 
 Bertha to see her safe? " 
 
 " She'll be safe," Patrick asseverated, " with a 
 face like that on her. It's yourself I was concerned 
 about purely, and have been since you left my side. 
 Harrie, darling, and did the Seine-maidens like the 
 song 4 ? " 
 
 He was on fire with elation and excitement at 
 the success of his last maneuver. She felt rather 
 than saw it plainly. He was in his most dangerous, 
 most charming, most impish mood, and she was all 
 alone with him, on the open bridge, at twelve o'clock. 
 Tired as she was, she knew she must set her wits 
 to work again, or all the impression she had made 
 at infinite pains throughout the strenuous day would 
 be undone in a rush of his uncontrollable spirits. 
 
 " How did you find me 4 ? " she cried. 
 
 "I just took my chance," he said. " I knew the 
 luck was good to-night by the twinkle of the moon. 
 You weren't at the West Station when I got there, 
 so I thought I'd try some others, and looked in here 
 on the way to them. It is not the night for train- 
 riding, after all. I might have known you'd be on 
 the bridge." 
 
 " How could you know I was before you? " she 
 cried. 
 
 " Oh, that," he said easily. " A fellow at the door 
 had seen you go." 
 
VERSAILLES 117 
 
 " Noticed me? " cried the little woman. 
 
 " Noticed the wings of you," laughed Patrick with 
 a pretty gesture, " our little bird. And now it is a 
 singing-bird, which had never struck me at all, 
 though I knew it all along." He put an arm about 
 her as she stood. Harrie trusted fervently she would 
 not be spied by Mile. Durand. She stood quietly, 
 and frowned at the fleeing water, seeking with all 
 her wits to check his mood. The Pont des Arts is 
 unlike other bridges: there is not a shadow on all 
 its length. They were in far too public a position 
 even to dispute gaily as they had done all day. 
 Retreat on the Louvre side was impossible, for he 
 would certainly follow her, and the bulky tram was 
 approaching the bureau. She must stand where she 
 was, watch Mile. Durand climb in, and slip into a 
 place at the last moment, as far from her as possible. 
 Meanwhile she must quench Patrick by some means. 
 
 " The Seine-maidens are fat," she said drily, " and 
 their river's dirty. They have no singing-voice like 
 the ladies in the Rhine ; and as for a treasure to keep, 
 they're occupied in storing sous for the rag-pickers 
 of the Latin Quarter. I shouldn't wonder if they 
 pick them out of the pockets of those who sink. 
 Scraping not singing that's the spirit of the 
 Seine." 
 
 " You're heartless now," Pat murmured; " and if 
 I believed you thought what you were saying but 
 
118 HERSELF 
 
 I do not. They're not such bad girls, at all, I tell 
 you, and they're better-dressed than their German 
 cousins and as for their song, you have but to 
 stand against me here, and give ear to what they're 
 repeating." He was pressing behind her, until she 
 clutched the bridge-rail not to shrink from him. 
 " You're ungrateful too, darlin'," he whispered, 
 " for it was just there they saved my life for me 
 under the bridge." 
 
 "Your life?" she gasped, with a start he felt. 
 " Pat, you are surely romancing. I am silly to be- 
 lieve you, and there is my tram going to move. I 
 have to go." 
 
 " It's not the last one," Pat cajoled her. 
 
 " It is. I heard them saying so at the bureau." 
 
 " It is not, mavourneen, because I enquired; a man 
 with a braided hat that knew about it and reassured 
 me very agreeably. There is another one soon, 
 within the hour, that will suit you well." He 
 clasped her arm with a hand whose power she real- 
 ized, and pressed her to his side. She hoped he did 
 not feel the hammering of her heart. 
 
 " Patrick," she said, low and pleading, " I have 
 to go." 
 
 " How long is it," he teased, " since you said that 
 first to me, at dinner while the band played that fine 
 waltz to us*? And how long is it since I first said 
 you had to stay*? There are musts by day, for the 
 
VERSAILLES 119 
 
 people that will make them, but never under the 
 moon." 
 
 Harrie watched the train of well-lighted cars 
 move away, slow but insidious, like a bulky ark of 
 respectability, and within it Mile. Durand, Gene- 
 vieve's bosom-friend. Of course it was better that 
 lady should go, if there was another tram to follow ; 
 but she had little faith in Patrick at this juncture, 
 and seeing the lights retreat along the quays, her 
 heart sank curiously. 
 
 " Running I can catch it," she murmured. " It 
 will stop again. Patrick Mr. Morough listen : 
 if you love my honor, let me go." 
 '- "Your honor, little one?" he laughed. "Mr. 
 Morough has it in his care." 
 
 " I have given my word to be back." Her voice 
 shook, for indeed his tone had been childish. 
 " There's honor in the professions, and I'm a pro- 
 fessional woman." 
 
 "Well, I'll keep the woman," said Patrick 
 promptly, " and we'll let the professional go. 
 Harrie, you are not anxious to get back to that rat- 
 hole, not in the heart of you." 
 
 " My God," she muttered in French, " and are all 
 Clenches mad completely"? What am I to say to 
 him that he'll believe?" 
 
 " I'll believe all," the boy cried low and swiftly, 
 11 but that you want to leave me. Now I have found 
 
120 HERSELF 
 
 you out, in this great trap of a world, why should 
 we part again? The trick was not worthy of the 
 race we share, to cast me off as you did to-night. It 
 was not yourself that did so, Harrie, for you must 
 know by now that my heart is yours. Can I be 
 wanting you, Brian's own little daughter that bears 
 his name? Do you know what himself has been to 
 me? Do you know what Kathleen was? Have 
 you their whole story in mind, when Ireland held 
 us all in the beautiful days, that you can take a 
 steam-tram to separate us, on this of all nights in 
 the year?" 
 
 She merely clenched her hands and bowed her 
 head. Resources were slipping from her, and she 
 would not own it. She still held herself motionless, 
 for she felt that a movement would madden him, 
 but her eyes, under an anxious brow, were searching 
 the many moving lights of the neighboring Place, as 
 she hoped against hope to see another tram arrive. 
 But deep in her heart she knew the last was gone, 
 and she alone with him in this monstrous capital of 
 Paris. 
 
 " What were you singing lately on the bridge? " 
 said Pat, ever lower and more slyly sweet. " ' Che 
 faro,' was it not, in a voice your father would have 
 followed. ' Que ferai-je sans Euridice,' Harrie 
 what will I do without her, now and along my life? 
 I was thinking that already in the play, when the 
 
VERSAILLES 
 
 Orpheus-boy was searching, and the pretty ladies 
 passed him by. They would have none of him, 
 would they, not a wink or a smile even, in passing, 
 for they knew he was set on one. Harrie, there 
 have been many girls I have known up to now, 
 shadows of shades all of them but henceforward 
 there is one. I tell you it, for I know. When I saw 
 you under the sun of the gardens, so little and proud 
 and fair, my heart stood still in my side. Would 
 you know that moon in the sky from the moon in 
 the water, darlin' ? That is how it will be with me, 
 the one real thing where few things in the world 
 are real. Do not say I am protesting. The blood in 
 my veins may be against me, but I am sure it will 
 be so. I'll live loving you, and it will be loving you 
 I'll die." 
 
 Still Harriet stood near him, thinking hard. Was 
 she frightened? She hardly knew, her excitement 
 was such pain. In the loneliness of her life, it was 
 sweet unspeakably to be " two " at last, and she felt 
 springing in her at each of his low words the Celtic 
 kinship of soul, the network of ancient sympathy 
 that drew them close together. How could she fear 
 a tongue like that, that brought the best things of 
 her past so near? She had more fear of herself, 
 indeed, for a rebel-leap of her blood betrayed her, 
 with his soft speech, and the river-murmur, and the 
 witchery of the night. She might scoff as recently, 
 
122 HERSELF 
 
 and shield herself with the grim realities of Paris, 
 but Paris of all towns casts away after sunset all 
 that makes for reason or for right. She watches 
 lovers above all with an easy sympathy, a smile of 
 endless tolerance, as though to assure that the lover's 
 toll is lighter there than in any other city they could 
 choose. Harriet was a child, but a child of im- 
 pression and impulse, and owing to her father's fail- 
 ings, she had begun to live very early. Her breath 
 she felt coming in long gasps, the river-song entan- 
 gling her she knew she had to guard herself, and 
 soon. 
 
 " Patrick," she said quietly, not to clash with his 
 mood. " We have had a lovely day, a day to 
 remember, you and me. You would not spoil it for 
 me now." Her tired little tone had a tremble that 
 was almost babyish, but its stillness served. " You 
 would not hurt me really," she said, " would you 
 Kathleen's son." 
 
 "Me"? If I hurt a hair of you, I would throw 
 myself under that bridge, as I have done once before. 
 The Seine-girls should have me for supper," he 
 cried, " and welcome to the feast." 
 
 " I thought you would not," said Harrie. " Then 
 you will walk with me now to that omnibus-house, 
 and you will ask the man if indeed it was the last 
 tram, and there's no way left of getting to 
 Versailles." 
 
VERSAILLES 123 
 
 " I will," said Patrick, moved by her tone, " if 
 you will say you do not hate me first." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I do not," she said. " You are 
 only one of them." Her quaint eyebrows lifted, and 
 she turned up to him a straight glance. It was 
 dangerous, for Orpheus himself could not have been 
 more charming in the moonlight than was Kath- 
 leen's scapegrace son. 
 
 " Do you ask me to care for you," Miss Clench 
 enquired, " in that same way, after a day's ac- 
 quaintance 4 ? " 
 
 "I'd ask it always, but I'd never expect." The 
 boy's tone grew keenly sadder, as he leant upon the 
 bridge. "It's the great good thing I am seeking in 
 your love, the thing of which my mother warned me. 
 I must find the horse to ride, mavourneen : but when 
 I get him, there'll be room for two. You little 
 strange fairy," he said, holding her at arms' length 
 with gentle fingers. "I'd never ask you to come to 
 me, except in your own way. I have only held you 
 here awhile, while the time was true for it, to tell 
 you what I must tell, the thing that was aching in 
 me. Now you will not go far from me, Harrie : you 
 will not do that? " 
 
 " Not for long," she said, with wonderful steadi- 
 ness, for her thoughts were whirling again, and she 
 was near to tears. He had no purpose to harm her, 
 no cunning to deceive, his very caresses carried no 
 
HERSELF 
 
 menace that she need fear. Some absurd, ancient 
 strand of honor, the thin vein of silver in a royal 
 race, made the woman and the kinswoman she was 
 she a schoolgirl of seventeen all to him, put 
 her little foot upon his neck. He was nothing but 
 a dog, most soft of heart, most passionate for service, 
 most utterly reasonless in the manner and time he 
 chose to show it. And like a dog one could 
 not be angry with him. So Harrie felt, while she 
 was half-crying with mingled remorse, irritation, and 
 anxiety. 
 
 She thought, indeed, there was no more than this 
 in her feelings; only as she moved and he followed 
 her, she held a hand clutched to her side. She knew 
 not what it was, but something had shifted there, 
 and it was not pity or anger only that she felt. The 
 stronghold of her youth was shaken, by this, her 
 first passionate declaration of love. Her blood was 
 coursing differently, she felt a shyness of herself. 
 The daylight would doubtless set things right, solve 
 the vast impending problem that was shadowing 
 her, curb the new tide of troubling life, and make 
 Clench's daughter " practical " again. It was to be 
 expected it was to be hoped, indeed that day- 
 light would. 
 
 "What will you do*?" said Patrick easily, when 
 they had ascertained beyond further question that 
 all trams and trains were gone. " Will I take a little 
 
VERSAILLES 125 
 
 carriage at the corner there, and drive you out 
 in it?" 
 
 "You will not," said Harrie, "with my purse 
 empty and yours. Do you consider at all what it 
 would cost, at this hour of the morning, to drive to 
 Versailles?" 
 
 " I am considering it," he said, catching remorse 
 from her troubled tone. " It is not to be thought of, 
 darling, that it should cost you anything, now or 
 ever, to be good to me." He looked at the water. 
 " The thing to be done is always there, if one can 
 "catch hold of it," he said. 
 
 " I have done so," said Harriet. 
 
 " And so have I," returned her cavalier. " It is 
 the same idea we have, at the same moment entirely. 
 We go together to my lodging, to the Englishman 
 Horn. He will not be gone to bed, I am sure, for his 
 habit is And why are you laughing? " 
 
 She had only laughed a single thrill, and her head 
 sank into the little comforter she threw round her 
 chin. 
 
 " They're mad," she murmured into it, " the dear 
 things, completely mad. Mr. Horn, indeed, of all 
 names to pick out in this life or the next. . . . 
 Patrick, you'll obey me now, for I need it." Clear- 
 ing a little sob of laughter from her throat she spoke 
 steadily. " I am tired of the day, and shall not be 
 sensible long." 
 
126 HERSELF 
 
 " I am yours, darling," said Patrick, puzzled and 
 troubled more and more. 
 
 " Do you know a hotel, then, not on this side 
 but the other, that is cheap and quiet for a girl 
 alone?" 
 
 " A hotel? " 
 
 " Yes. You must think for me, and quickly. I 
 have not been much in the town." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Do you know one, Pat? " she pleaded, after 
 waiting. "Are you thinking really?" 
 
 " To be sure," he murmured, " but it's Horn 
 would remember the names." 
 
 " I will not go to Mr. Horn," said Harrie sharply. 
 " I will not see his face." 
 
 " Indeed," said Pat, " he is not what you think." 
 Her hand was on his arm, and her troubled brow 
 was raised to him. " Harrie," he said, " I will find 
 the one I know, though the name's gone from me. 
 It will not be hard to find, over there in the little 
 streets." 
 
 " It is not far to walk? " she said faintly, clasping 
 to her side the slight store in her bag. 
 
 " Not far, no. I have thought of that. I have 
 thought," he assured her eagerly, " of all the things. 
 Are you not the most precious thing in the world to 
 me, that I should let you set your foot in a wrong 
 place? " 
 
VERSAILLES 127 
 
 It was reassuring so far as it went. She was 
 really too tired to debate it, and had to trust him 
 throughout, since she had trusted him already so far. 
 
 They went together, and in silence, across the 
 swirling, muttering river that is the heart of Paris. 
 Harrie might have thought had not all imagina- 
 tion been drowned in weariness that the Seine 
 was disappointed. 
 
IX 
 
 "AND what do you wish, Miss Clench," said 
 Madame Barriere, in a manner of pathos that was 
 rather over-acted, " that I should think of this? " 
 
 Madame Barriere was never a beautiful object in 
 her morning deshabille, still less when she had come 
 home late, and enjoyed herself a little too much the 
 night before. Added to this, Fraiilein Lindt had 
 kept her waiting at the station, and they had nearly 
 missed the train. Madame's nerves, always deli- 
 cately susceptible, had been absolutely rasped by 
 Fraiilein Lindt' s calm behavior she a subordinate 
 already dismissed, to whom Madame had offered the 
 priceless advantage of her countenance for the jour- 
 ney home from Montparnasse, at an hour when 
 respectable governesses should have been in bed. 
 She had talked at length to Fraiilein Lindt on the 
 homeward way, and, as Harrie had too soon to dis- 
 cover, Fraiilein Lindt had talked as well. 
 
 " I missed the train," the girl said, with rather a 
 sleep-walking utterance. " And the tramway." 
 
 " And how," said Madame, " did you succeed in 
 
VERSAILLES 129 
 
 doing that, when you left the theater a full half-hour 
 previous to Fraiilein Lindt? " 
 
 " I had to decide which to make for," said Harrie, 
 " and I decided on the tram. I missed it, that 
 is all." 
 
 "Ha, but is that all?" said Madame, with un- 
 pleasant humor. " It is possible you had not heard 
 that I was traveling by the midnight train? Thus 
 I could have convoyed you respectably, had you 
 cared for it." 
 
 " I had heard it mentioned," the girl said, frown- 
 ing slightly. She felt tired and stupefied a little, 
 after her adventure of the night, and an early ride to 
 Versailles. She had not even breakfasted, preferring 
 to come direct to Madame. Also, the armor her 
 short experience had prepared against attack seemed 
 now singularly insufficient and thin. She had not 
 expected this dry aspect in the schoolmistress, as 
 though Madame was moving politely through forms, 
 over a tacit understanding with an experienced 
 sinner. It froze her with nervousness of she knew 
 not what to come. 
 
 " Where did you pass the night? " said Madame, 
 lightly as it were, her steely eyes roaming about the 
 room. 
 
 "In a hotel in the Rue Racine. Here," said 
 Harrie, tossing it down, " is its card." Madame did 
 not even deign to examine this poor device. 
 
130 HERSELF 
 
 " With whom," she pursued, " did you pass the 
 day? " 
 
 " I think you know," said the girl, rousing a little. 
 " It is a pity to ask me what you know already." 
 
 " Answer me," said Madame, folding her hands. 
 
 " I was with my cousin. We had arranged it." 
 
 " Your cousin lives where ? " 
 
 Harriet told her. " He is studying sculpture," 
 she added. 
 
 " Sculpture," said Madame. " You had arranged 
 it when?" 
 
 " When I saw him here on Sunday." 
 
 " Yes," said Madame. " The gentleman is an 
 agreeable personage, I hear." 
 
 " I am glad Fraiilein Lindt found him agreeable," 
 said Harrie. 
 
 " That will not serve you," said Madame sud- 
 denly. " You think to persuade me you were three, 
 unaware that I know all the truth." 
 
 Harriet had never hoped that Bertha, that truth- 
 ful flounderer, would not tell all the truth when 
 pressed by a cunning tongue. She knew enough of 
 both women for that, though she did not tell 
 Madame so. 
 
 " We were not three, indeed," she murmured. 
 " It's pairs that have done the harm." 
 
 " What's that you're saying? " said Madame, who 
 heard. She gathered her forces, and flicked the lace 
 
VERSAILLES 131 
 
 trimmings of her morning-gown. The bracelets she 
 liked to carry on her stout arm continually caught 
 in a ragged portion of the lace. This impeded 
 gesture, and Madame liked her gesture to be free. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," she said, with authority, and 
 her most studied air. " I have no wish to be hard on 
 you. But you are my daughter's age, and I judge 
 instinctively as I should judge her in a like case; 
 in a like case," repeated Madame, " if a like case 
 were possible. You have preserved a good character 
 till now; you have lived down, in a manner I can 
 approve, a certain reputation." 
 
 " What reputation 4 ? " said Harrie. 
 
 " Not entirely of your fault or of your making," 
 the preceptress pursued, " though you have defied 
 me at times as you know." 
 
 So Brian was to be in it too not only Bertha 
 and Pat. For the first time the girl's pale cheeks 
 glowed, for she was too quick not to guess the 
 insinuation. That cheerful hour Brian had spent, 
 so greatly to his own contentment, so little to the 
 benefit of Madame's dignity or self-esteem it was 
 set down in the bill, as it were, with many other 
 unpaid items; and no item was to be overlooked. 
 
 " You have been," said Madame slowly, " we will 
 say, imprudent. We will say you have been igno- 
 rant, in meeting this person unknown to me, both 
 in Paris and here." 
 
132 HERSELF 
 
 " I was imprudent not to tell you," said Harrie, 
 thinking of Gene vie ve, "I confess it." Madame 
 stared at her a minute. 
 
 " That," she said, " is not what I mean. In what 
 concerns myself, I ask nothing. Even had I dreamed 
 of asking to direct one of your crazy nation, since I 
 paid you a salary for the direction of others, you 
 have strictly been out of my charge. At most," said 
 Madame, with the pathos again, " I could pray you, 
 I could entreat you as a directress of youth, not to 
 suggest ideas to the innocent girls among whom I 
 have encouraged you to live." 
 
 Genevieve again, obviously: she was the innocent 
 girl. Harrie, gazing out of the window, felt her lips 
 twitch at the idea of her suggesting anything to 
 Genevieve. 
 
 "As to your story of the hotel and the missing of 
 the train, you offer it to me, Mademoiselle, and so 
 I must take your word. The explanation " she 
 gazed stonily at the hotel card " is quite complete. 
 But is my disappointment in you less for that? " 
 
 " I am sure it is not," Harriet longed ^o say, in 
 sheer sympathy. It was so necessary, clearly, to be 
 disappointed in her, since Madame abandoned the 
 other charge; particularly as she had made clear 
 before she abandoned it, that she gave full credit to 
 every word of it, both implied and suppressed. 
 
 " I requested you," said Madame, with a nice air 
 
VERSAILLES 133 
 
 of coming to business after a harmless diversion, " to 
 take charge of things here since we were out. That 
 you disregarded or forgot. Are we to say forgot? 
 I know you are absentminded." 
 
 Harrie had forgotten one commission among a 
 mass of little errands given her, the previous 
 Monday in the town. As the commission was for 
 Madame's hairdresser, and happened to be urgent 
 and delicate, it had not been forgiven her, and was 
 clearly to be added to the list. 
 
 " I did not forget," said Harrie. " I was tempted 
 by an entertainment offered me, and I knew 
 Genevieve was here." 
 
 " Genevieve? " cried Madame, shocked. " I ask 
 you, do I ever leave her in charge? " 
 
 To do Madame justice as a mother and guardian, 
 she never did. " Genevieve can do nothing with the 
 children, as of course you know. They would not go 
 to bed, and made her cry with their ' sottises,' and 
 she has a headache, poor child, this morning. As for 
 Leontine and Pierrette and the little Gogoffs, they 
 were not asleep when I came in at half-past twelve; 
 I was stunned to find them dancing; and as your 
 room between was found to be unoccupied " an 
 awful pause "I was driven myself to inhabit it 
 all night." 
 
 Harrie's heart sank only a little lower at this 
 information. She had reason to be thankful that 
 
134 HERSELF 
 
 Brian's letters were safely locked in her trunk 
 Brian who had enquired regularly after the health 
 of " the Barriere." She had no doubt that Madame 
 had enjoyed herself over her bottles, books, and toilet 
 equipment, or that she had ferreted out her savings- 
 bank book, and constructed discreditable theories on 
 her little balance. 
 
 " A letter," said Madame, pressing the forefingers 
 of her fat hands together, " has arrived last night 
 for you from Madeleine de Bois-Severac, and 
 awaits you in your room. Its contents I can divine. 
 It is no doubt to inform you that you have 
 succeeded." 
 
 " Succeeded? " 
 
 The girl's brows knit, as she stood there pull- 
 ing at her glove. Madeleine, the last of her 
 collectable group, was she also arising in the hostile 
 ranks to ban her? 
 
 " This morning," said Madame, " I have a letter 
 from Madame de Severac, which informs me that 
 Madeleine is to go at once at once to school in 
 England " Madame bent to a small sheet of paper 
 on the table and read aloud " ' swayed somewhat 
 also in the matter, dear Madame, by your known 
 opinion, and that of the amiable Miss who has lately 
 taught her.' " 
 
 " It was when she was unhappy about her 
 examination," said Harriet, with an effort. " Her 
 
VERSAILLES 135 
 
 accent is very bad. I did say once, what is true, that 
 she would pick it up quicker in England." 
 
 "And you our English teacher," said Madame, 
 sharp and dry. She dropped the forefingers of her 
 joined hands, and united, all unconscious, the next 
 pair. " I interviewed the successor of Fraiilein 
 Lindt in Paris yesterday. You are probably aware 
 that Fraiilein Lindt is leaving us to-morrow*?" 
 
 " I know it." The girl's voice thrilled. 
 
 " Ah, yes, Genevieve has told me that you dis- 
 approve. It was possibly you that prompted 
 Fraiilein to claim her salary? The proceeding was 
 ill-advised." As though doubtful whether or no to 
 put up another finger, she played a silent tune on 
 the remaining three; when she stopped, the ring- 
 fingers were stationary, tip to tip. " As I was say- 
 ing, Fraiilein Lindt' s successor who is a German 
 from Germany has passed some three years in 
 your country, Mademoiselle, and has the language, 
 in consequence, like a native. It has been a little 
 a leetle prejudicial to own, as I must ever in 
 frankness do, that our resident maitresse, though of 
 English blood, was born in America." 
 
 " I'd not ask you to insist upon the English 
 blood," said the daughter of Clench, in her dry, 
 dainty tone. 
 
 " How? " ejaculated Madame: and then held up 
 a fat hand. " No, do not tell me; I do not want to 
 
136 HERSELF 
 
 know. You are excited, Miss, and we know in this 
 mood you say ' sottises ' before you are aware." 
 
 " I am ready to go," said Harrie, tilting back her 
 white-winged head; for the hat still crowned her, 
 and, with the rings of hair beneath it, had been 
 annoying Madame at intervals. The girl's whole 
 light presence was attractive, terribly attractive, in 
 the crisp, complete manner that the French must 
 own. Miss Clench was not " seduisante " the 
 thing Genevieve strove wildly to be seductive was 
 not at all in her genre: she was " provoquante," a 
 challenge. Only the bold would ask for a shot at 
 such a mark, but they would compete for it, 
 laughing. Madame felt all this in her experienced 
 soul, and being of her nation, appraised the object 
 before her justly while she condemned. "I am 
 ready," said Harriet, " to go." 
 
 Madame' s plump hand was lifted anew, depre- 
 cating such brusque methods. 
 
 " You had arranged, I think, to stay till Easter. 
 I am still responsible, and shall not act hastily. 
 I was engaged yesterday on a letter to that Mrs. 
 Champion Champion, is it? " 
 
 " It is written so," said Harrie. 
 
 "I never studied English," returned Madame, 
 who was not a fool. " I have been, this morning, 
 with some trouble some delicacy rearranging 
 my phrases." 
 
VERSAILLES 137 
 
 " Oh," said Harrie, flushing high, " do you not 
 think, Madame, that you could have let them 
 stand 4 ? " 
 
 " Do not mistake me. The first letter, in a pro- 
 fessional life, has a special value and significance, a 
 value beyond all others. I am to launch you, Miss." 
 She gesticulated. " I am responsible : and for your 
 sake and this lady's, I must consider profoundly any 
 statement to which I put my name." 
 
 "Mrs. Champion is English," said Harrie, her 
 voice shaking. " Might you not let her judge*? " 
 
 "Exactly, I shall let her judge. Truth," said 
 Madame, with real fervor, " is the thing for which 
 I strive; and thus for an hour past I rearrange the 
 phrases and strike out words." She looked com- 
 placently at her writing-block, which was covered 
 with fine-pointed penmanship, in the bluest of ink. 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "She will not be home till the spring," said 
 Harrie. 
 
 " She passes through Paris in April," said 
 Madame, in measured tones. " She is disappointed 
 to find you a Catholic. She is sorry you do not sing." 
 She stopped to observe the victim. "To be of that 
 faith in your country is of course unusual," she said. 
 
 " It has been useful," said Harriet, " here." 
 
 " Useful? " queried Madame, who had employed 
 her constantly to take the girls to church, especially 
 
138 HERSELF 
 
 at the early hour. " I have wondered sometimes, 
 Miss, if you were serious about your religion." Her 
 eyes ran up the graceful figure, and rested on the hat. 
 
 " Would not Mrs. Champion prefer me if I were 
 not? " said Harrie. Madame stared for a minute. 
 
 " On the contrary, she seems a most serious lady," 
 she said, " and devoted to her children. The eldest 
 son is at Oxford, and would not, I gather, be in 
 your charge. Did you speak, Miss*?" 
 
 " No," said Harrie wearily. 
 
 " The second is also at a public school near 
 Wind sor. The three youngest, two girls and a 
 boy, are at home. They would be the affair of the 
 governess, you or another as the case may be." 
 
 " There is another, then," said Harrie, dropping 
 a hand at last to the back of a chair. She had stood 
 very long on her feet, and Madame had not signed 
 her to be seated. " The other is a Churchwoman, I 
 suppose, and she sings, hem? " Impatience over- 
 came her at the Barriere methods. 
 
 " Without doubt," said Madame. It was well for 
 the young person before her to think less of herself; 
 also, in view of the letter she had prepared for Mrs. 
 Champion, and its possible result, this alternative 
 candidate, whose existence had been hinted, would 
 shield her own proceeding. Miss Clench had been 
 counting a little too gaily on this post, to which the 
 salary attached was absurd, twice as much as any- 
 
VERSAILLES 139 
 
 one in Madame's household had ever earned. 
 " With three young children," said Madame, " she 
 is right to be careful. I should be careful myself." 
 
 " I am good with children," said Harrie. 
 
 " I said so, in my earlier letter." 
 
 " And the present letter " 
 
 " Contains information on some further points for 
 which she asked." 
 
 Harriet advanced a step. " You will show me the 
 letter, I suppose," she said, with an edge on her sad 
 little tone. 
 
 " But certainly not," said Madame, folding it with 
 quivering hands. "Be satisfied that I have done 
 my best, for you and for her." 
 
 The girl looked at her a minute, and the trouble 
 and vagueness in her gray-blue eyes would have 
 disturbed a better woman. Three years make a vast 
 difference to the manner of judging a growing girl. 
 If Madame Barriere had known her defaulting 
 maitresse to be seventeen, instead of twenty as she 
 reckoned, the childishness of that expression might 
 have moved her to more mercy. But now, the quiet- 
 ness of lassitude seemed to her indifference, or that 
 insolence of the foreigner, the thing she could never 
 understand. Whether guilty or no, the girl's be- 
 havior was outlandish, and her youth and charm 
 were unfortunately against her. 
 
 " I have done my best," repeated Madame. 
 
140 HERSELF 
 
 "My father's friend, Mrs. Escreet, will have 
 spoken for me," said Harrie to herself, her young 
 brows knit with that old habit of strain that was so 
 noticeable. 
 
 Madame thought, " I wish you joy of your 
 father's friend " ; for she was a fundamentally un- 
 educated woman, and her thoughts moved in the 
 kitchen, as it were, while her voice spoke in the re- 
 ception-rooms. Her pen, more exquisite still, wrote 
 things she could never aspire to say: thus the nearer 
 one approached to Madame, the greater was the 
 disadvantage. 
 
 " You are fatigued a trifle," said Madame, put- 
 ting her various papers together with growing con- 
 tentment, for she was relieved that the girl had not 
 obliged her to lose her temper. " I advise you to 
 retire, and gather your thoughts a little. A trifle of 
 recollection is what you need, after a soiree of 
 pleasure. When I hear from the lady any definite 
 news, I will inform you of it. En revanche, when 
 you have anything to say to me, I will give you an 
 opportunity. One has many opportunities," said 
 Madame, patting the papers into piles, " short of 
 Confession, which should be for the graver sins. I 
 cannot forget, you see, that you were once my pupil. 
 Consequently, should you want advice, should you 
 have misgiving, should the confession you make in 
 Church move you to further confidence I am 
 
VERSAILLES 141 
 
 always there, awaiting you. Remember that, my 
 child." 
 
 "I remember it," said little Miss Clench. "I 
 thank you." And she turned, dazed, to the stair- 
 way. 
 
 The fact was, as Genevieve had already discov- 
 ered, Madame Barriere was madly curious. 
 
FRAULEIN LINDT sat at the piano, for a parting 
 revel. Her communing with the keys was, to her 
 own imagination, strictly private; but the noise she 
 made shook the house, at intervals, from top to 
 bottom. Bertha had descended to the schoolroom 
 simply to collect her music, w r hich slid into the inter- 
 stices of her green tin trunk; but in turning over the 
 well-worn sheets her purpose was diverted, and 
 instead of packing it, she sat and played. After all, 
 were not limited hours of practice over, perhaps for- 
 ever, and was she not free as air? It was a great 
 thought, and inspired her. She played despair, and 
 she played defiance, and she played derision; then 
 she played long-drawn, languishing regrets; then the 
 furniture ceased rattling, and she leant a powerful 
 elbow on the piano, and remained for five minutes 
 in black brooding and depression. Presently a left 
 hand crawled irresponsibly upon the keys, and sug- 
 gested a new motive. Life returned slowly to the 
 rigid statue, the right hand fell from her face, and 
 she dashed into playing again. This sequence of 
 
VERSAILLES 143 
 
 events occurred frequently, so often, that the other 
 occupants of the room had plentiful time for conver- 
 sation in the intervals of harmony. 
 
 " Look at her," giggled the small girls, who were 
 engaged in finishing their little gifts for the New 
 Year over in the corner of the schoolroom by the 
 window. Fraiilein Lindt was, to these young ob- 
 servers, a perpetual harlequinade; whether she 
 pounded the piano in a didactic passage, or caressed 
 it yearningly with a tilted head, or whether she 
 merely sat majestic as now, her broad back vibrating 
 to a succession of powerful chords. She was to 
 Leontine and Pierrette, and the little GogofTs, in- 
 expressibly funny. Yet nothing, in all her dramatic 
 changes, equalled the recurrent, pensive pause in its 
 humorous effect. 
 
 " Look at her now, do look," Leontine gasped, as 
 Bertha's head subsided. 
 
 " Fraiilein Lindt is in love," murmured a Gogoff 
 in a lilting tone (the Gogoffs were imps). 
 
 " Fraiilein Lindt is in love," said the other aloud. 
 " Do you hear that, Mademoiselle*? " 
 
 " Chut, child," said Gene vie ve, who was by way 
 of taking charge of the group, and directing their 
 needles when necessary. 
 
 " Mademoiselle is laughing," whispered an imp. 
 " Say, Pierrette, shall I go to the piano, and ask her 
 who it is?" 
 
144 HERSELF 
 
 " Thou wilt not dare," said Pierrette, for whom 
 embroidery had temporarily relaxed its charms. 
 
 " I dare and I go," said the Gogoff. " Fraiilein 
 Bertha, say Fraiilein who is it you are in love 
 with?" 
 
 Fraiilein Lindt turned her head, and the tears 
 were in her pale blue eyes. She had been, for five 
 minutes, most unhappy, as her looks betrayed; but 
 she loved childhood that is, in the abstract 
 and she smiled as well. " One day thou wilt love 
 also, my little one," she said, " something larger 
 than thyself." 
 
 " He's larger than herself," confided the Gogoff, 
 rushing back, amid an ecstatic flood of giggles. 
 But all giggling, not to mention further pranks, were 
 shortly drowned, for Fraiilein Lindt, again proudly 
 playing, began to sing as well. 
 
 " Er, der herrlichste von Allen," she sang, in an 
 untrained, powerful, not unpleasing voice. The 
 child's question had brought her thoughts round to 
 Miss Clench, the angel-natured girl, on whose cause 
 she had spent so much misplaced enthusiasm in her 
 conversation with Madame Barriere. Love was the 
 theme of Bertha's song and of her thoughts: it 
 thrilled her voice and illumined her ugly face. 
 Love for him for him that graceful youth with 
 the blue eyes and generous heart, who had shared 
 his pleasure, and his opera-programme, and his in- 
 
VERSAILLES 145 
 
 most thoughts with her for half an hour. 
 " Holde Lippen, klares Ange, heller Sinn und fester 
 Muth " : transparent of spirit and bright of eye, was 
 he not all that indeed*? And faithful faithful 
 was he not? What youth had ever crossed her gaze 
 more like the young hero of Teutonic legend, a 
 Walther, a Siegfried, a Parsifal only not a Tris- 
 tan, for such as Monsieur Pat could love but once. 
 She had destined him; she, Bertha Lindt, and her 
 most beloved Miss was to be happy. What matter 
 schools, or salaries, or even separation*? Sooner or 
 later, in the last act of all, he " der herrlichste," the 
 noblest, would step to her side. 
 
 "Tenez, voila Miss," said the wickedest little 
 Gogoff, whom Harrie chid most frequently in the 
 bedroom, and who loved her in consequence. " Miss 
 approach listen : Fraiilein Lindt is in love." 
 
 Owing to the noise of the song, the little Gogoff 
 spoke loud. Her accent also was sharp and clear, 
 but she would not have been heard had not Bertha, 
 according to a not infrequent habit, broken off 
 suddenly and short. 
 
 As it was, the words stood out on silence : Bertha, 
 catching the girl's eyes across the room, blushed 
 crimson all over her face and neck and Harrie 
 knew that it was true. She felt a little frightened 
 in the realization, a little pitiful; but she could 
 scarce spare pity for Bertha now." 
 
146 HERSELF 
 
 "That sachet will not be finished for the New 
 Year, Sonia," she said to the Gogoff at random; and 
 then turned to Genevieve, while Bertha Lindt began 
 to play furtively again. 
 
 " Genevieve," she said, " is this true that Made- 
 leine is returning? " 
 
 " She returns to-morrow, 5 ' said Mile. Barriere, 
 looking her up and down while she spoke, as is the 
 manner of some people to express the critical atti- 
 tude. " Merely for a few hours, of course, to col- 
 lect her things. Madame her Maman awaits her 
 in Paris, where they are to remain over the fete. 
 About their subsequent plans as to that, you 
 know best." 
 
 " I know nothing," said Harriet. " I wish to see 
 Madeleine, to ask her a question, and I have much 
 to do. Do you know the train by which she 
 arrives? " 
 
 " The three-twenty," said Genevieve. " But I," 
 she added, " am going to meet her. Maman has 
 arranged with her mother that I should." 
 
 "Good," said Harriet absently. Bertha was 
 playing divinely, and the music made her feel that 
 somehow somewhere there must be sense in 
 things. She wore a little black apron, in the neat 
 French fashion, and she stood twisting her fingers in 
 it for a moment. " Will you ask Madeleine, Gene- 
 vieve, to come up to my room for an instant, when 
 
VERSAILLES 147 
 
 she arrives? There is your English lesson at six: I 
 am really afraid of missing her." 
 
 Genevieve nodded, still reviewing her with wide- 
 open eyes in her inexpressibly insolent fashion. Her 
 game of rivalry with Miss Clench on the subject of 
 Madeleine de Severac was drawing to its close; but 
 the last trick should be hers. The charming spoiled 
 girl, the reigning princess of the provincial school, 
 was to be torn from the Barriere clutches as they 
 suspected by Harrie' s fault. Well, Harrie at 
 least should not gain by the ruse. So thought Gene- 
 vieve, her ears distracted also by the flood of music 
 pouring steadily from a further corner of the room. 
 
 Harrie stood a short while longer, twisting her 
 little apron and gazing from the window on the 
 court. The little GogofT, pulling at her wrist, was 
 chattering to her, and she answered absently. 
 Bertha was playing " Rheingold," coaxing a whole 
 orchestra out of the worn piano, and the poor, 
 simple thing loving Pat. Bertha was happy and 
 glorious, though she was to pass the next night in a 
 gloomy little Paris hotel, with no prospects and a 
 green tin trunk for all possession and that night 
 the eve of the great fete, her own Sylvesterabend. 
 Bertha had the secret, the noble gift of joy, the tears 
 that are tears indeed. She loved without shame or 
 fear, she hated without remorse, she laughed as little 
 Sonia laughed, and she gave without stint, of neces- 
 
148 HERSELF 
 
 sity, throwing all she had into those piano-tones, 
 that others might hear what she heard and be con- 
 soled. She was collectable, Bertha: most collect- 
 able. . . . 
 
 Personally, Harriet was not sufficient unto her- 
 self, much less could she afford at this moment to 
 fling encouragement to others. She wanted help 
 not such advice as Madame offered, but something 
 much more direct and bracing. She could not re- 
 main in this place for many days longer, it was evi- 
 dent: the only thing in all her situation that was 
 clear. As for advisers, there was the priest, a kind 
 old man but somewhat conventional; there was 
 Madeleine, capable enough and powerful to aid, if 
 she would but bend her wilful thoughts. There was 
 also the headmistress of the great State school, who 
 had been most courteous and understanding, on one 
 occasion when the girl had been driven to appeal to 
 her. But that lady was Madame's hated rival; to 
 go to her was to burn her ships, to lose her last 
 chance of credit with the Barrieres; and credit, even 
 that of the Barrieres, might be useful before long. 
 
 Harriet turned and went slowly to her room. 
 She took a sheet of paper from her " buxard," and 
 having lifted her eyebrows at it for a period began 
 to write. 
 " DEAR MR. HORN," the letter began, 
 
 " I have lost my situation, and shall not re- 
 
VERSAILLES 149 
 
 main at Versailles. I told you I had been foolish in 
 going at all to the music with Patrick, and that was 
 how it proved " 
 
 She got so far, and then stared at it again, with a 
 hovering pen. Pat's note was already written 
 most easy it had been to write. Pat would be vastly 
 annoyed by it, doubtless, but not anxious, and cer- 
 tainly knowing the family as he did not 
 surprised. He would just wait, consoling himself 
 with imagery and art, until the next change of Fate's 
 kaleidoscope threw them into each other's arms. 
 
 But Mr. Horn was different. He was one of the 
 people like Harriet's self, born to responsibility, 
 careful and concerned. He had taken her very seri- 
 ously in the theater that night, she was sure of it. 
 He had even called her romantic, which showed not 
 disdain exactly, but a slight sense of authority, or 
 tutelage. It was ridiculous, but Miss Clench had a 
 sense of something owing to him, as if he really had 
 been her " correspondante " all these years. She 
 could not go to see him, if for no other reason, be- 
 cause Pat was in the house. It was impossible to 
 imagine herself haunting that pair of men, fawning 
 on them, in her desolate condition. She had to cut 
 herself neatly off, to shroud herself sedately : and so 
 these letters must not be sent off until just before 
 she made her move. In any case they must wait, for 
 she had to withdraw her bank-balance before she 
 
150 HERSELF 
 
 could finally fasten Patrick's envelope; so Mr. 
 Horn's also might just as well be left unfinished. 
 
 Then the strain of her mind quite suddenly 
 snapped, as between the lights it had a way of 
 doing; and she left her planning and pondering al- 
 together, and curling a foot under her in the chair - 
 a childish habit she dreamed, holding her shoe. 
 Harrie could have arranged such a pretty world, 
 with all these charming people, if things had been a 
 little different from what they were. She was sure 
 Patrick's Cupid was lovely, for instance, though she 
 had given herself no leisure to see it. How amusing 
 it would be to make a little money, and under an 
 assumed name, to buy Cupid and keep him in the 
 family. For he was a Clench Cupid, not a doubt of 
 that, and it was a question if any alien critic would 
 even see the joke. Cupid was a great joke doubtless, 
 under all his beauty, since Pat Morough had made 
 him. 
 
 There was Madeleine too. Suppose Madeleine's 
 mother should desire a girl to accompany her to 
 England, and introduce her a little to English ways. 
 Harrie had done her duty by Madeleine strenuously. 
 She had corrected the same mistake twenty times in 
 a conversation; and she had read Brian's favorite 
 Swinburne and Morris to her, to help her to the 
 rhythmic ideal in English verse, an ideal as to which 
 Madeleine was completely and pathetically at sea. 
 
VERSAILLES 151 
 
 Madeleine would be an enchanting companion upon 
 an English tour, delightful to watch and to dispute 
 with; and her family was unusually lavish, and 
 prompt in payment. . . . 
 
 Then there was Brian, her beloved. Suppose 
 there was a letter from Brian, at this moment on its 
 way, timed to fall upon the New Year, and bring 
 her all her heart again, and the promise of his com- 
 ing. Even if he had married the New York girl 
 and Brian's campaigns could never be supposed to 
 fail Harrie could bear a stepmother, for the sake 
 of his company. She just wanted him " around," as 
 her old companions used to say. She wanted to see 
 his teasing smile, and feel his big hand. She would 
 not be jealous, just because another girl who was 
 married to him liked it too. Oh, yes, she did want 
 Brian sorely. . . . 
 
 Her head was low on her arms upon the table, 
 when there was a frightened knock at the door, and 
 little Sonia Gogoff hurried in to say that Fraiilein 
 Lindt was crying dreadfully in the little cloakroom, 
 and they did not know what to do. 
 
 Genevieve received sufficient encouragement from 
 Madeleine at the station to set her up in her own 
 esteem, and give impetus to her .projected confi- 
 dences. 
 
 Formalities had to be got through first regrets, 
 
152 HERSELF 
 
 laments, excuses : a passage in which each girl acted 
 her part perfectly, and neither betrayed in eye or 
 voice that she saw right through the other's attitude, 
 and was disguising her own. Genevieve was furious 
 with Madeleine for throwing over the household of 
 Barriere; Madeleine was radiant at quitting Ver- 
 sailles and her dear companions to travel as a grown 
 young lady; but these natural emotions were turned 
 to suit the occasion, trimmed into neat phrases, and 
 nicely adjusted into a short scene which did credit 
 to both. 
 
 They took a long way home, though Mile. Bar- 
 riere had promised her Mamma to return direct. 
 There were urgent reasons for disobeying. Gene- 
 vieve had a most fascinating store of gossip, and 
 Madeleine had brought some sweets from Paris in 
 a pink paper packet. Further, it could be argued 
 that the straight way home was by little streets, 
 where no girl so smart as Madeleine could walk in 
 safety. Thus, since in Versailles all big roads lead 
 to the castle, it was natural to go up one great 
 avenue and down another, with a look into the 
 pleasure-grounds, and a pause by Neptune's basin, 
 on the way. 
 
 It was close to the latter fountain that Mile. Bar- 
 riere's most thrilling confidences took place; and for 
 a period the superior Madeleine seemed really 
 impressed. 
 
VERSAILLES 153 
 
 "And what of him?" she demanded. "Have 
 you seen him'? " 
 
 " No one has seen him, ma chere. But she has 
 had him, heaven knows how long." 
 
 "And you mean she never told a soul? It can- 
 not be as you think." 
 
 " Oh, it is a case, you may be sure of that." 
 Gene vie ve shook her head. " As for me, I have 
 seen signs of it for a long time past." 
 
 "Pouf!" said Madeleine, who in her heart de- 
 spised Genevieve. She fanned herself with a large 
 fallen leaf, looking extremely dainty, disdainful, 
 and abstracted. Madeleine possessed one of the 
 passive natures, which accept rather than offer devo- 
 tion. As for indiscretion, she spurred it by the cool 
 front she presented. 
 
 "They have been meeting constantly," said 
 Genevieve. 
 
 "You are lying, dearest," said Madeleine after 
 consideration and more fanning. " She cannot have 
 done that, or I must have known. I have known our 
 Harriet, remember, considerably well." 
 
 Genevieve was aware of it, and raged. 
 
 " She has even boasted, when the girls were dis- 
 cussing theirs, that she had none no passion, I 
 mean. She talks of her father like a lover, but that 
 is all." 
 
 "The English are secretive," said Genevieve 
 
154 HERSELF 
 
 curtly. She thought Madeleine an annoying cat, 
 but she took a sweet out of her pink bag. 
 
 Madeleine demurred again. " Only about their 
 digestions, and cosmetics, and so forth. I know the 
 English well, we have some in my family. Besides, 
 to be secretive one must have a secret. And for this 
 little Harriet, she is a child in heart." Madeleine 
 paused over a sweet, rejected it, and flung it into 
 the wide pond, across which a pair of swans 
 skimmed hastily to arrest the morsel before it sank. 
 Then she chose another, and proceeded. 
 
 " She pleases me, nevertheless. She has ' du 
 chic ' more than the others." 
 
 " The others " included Mile. Barriere, to whom 
 she spoke; the princess Madeleine was really rather 
 cruel. 
 
 " She has written to you, has she not? " said 
 Genevieve. This told, for the princess's delicate 
 brows contracted. 
 
 " She has, and I answered by return. A line or 
 two merely, for on Tuesday I was dancing." There 
 was a pause before Genevieve tried again. 
 
 " I left her consoling Fraiilein Lindt, who was 
 weeping into the piano." 
 
 " The dirty creature," said Madeleine smoothly. 
 " Fortunately, I shall not have to play my scales 
 to-morrow. I never could bear to touch the instru- 
 ment after she had been near it." 
 
VERSAILLES 155 
 
 "I think nothing of her playing," insinuated 
 Gene vie ve. " Her style is so bad, I was saying 
 yesterday to Maman. She has no taste." 
 
 The implied compliment failed on Mile, de Bois- 
 Severac, who had taste not only in music, but in 
 flattery. 
 
 " Her style and taste are beyond question," she 
 said dryly. "It is only that she looks like a sow 
 while she is doing it." 
 
 Genevieve sat silent sulking, and Madeleine's 
 little hand tapped the marble seat. She looked up 
 the Park and down, as if it all belonged to her. 
 She fanned herself as if the leaf she held was of 
 Watteau-painted silk. She threw a sweet to a swan 
 with an air of careless ownership. The type of her 
 face, more formed than that of most schoolgirls, 
 suited the surroundings well enough. It was the 
 drawing-master who had first discovered Made- 
 leine's likeness to Marie Antoinette. She had the 
 high-bridged nose and drooping eyelids, the curl of 
 the lip, even the spring of hair, which seemed only 
 waiting the moment to be powdered. To-day she 
 had her best clothes on too, and the Paris coiffeur, 
 with a feeling for style equal to that of the drawing- 
 master, had arranged a little curl to either side of 
 her neck. With the long black ostrich feather, the 
 envy of all her schoolmates, drooping over them, 
 she might have stood to represent the old regime, 
 
156 HERSELF 
 
 and Genevieve the baffled democratic rage of the 
 early eighteenth century. 
 
 After a time " He is handsome, did you say? " 
 she queried lightly. 
 
 " A dream," said Mile. Barriere. " Like Captain 
 d' Argent, but lighter on his feet. Quite young, 
 dark, and with heavenly blue eyes." 
 
 " You are inventing," said Marie Antoinette, 
 with a look of earnest interest. "How can you 
 know?" 
 
 " Ah," said Genevieve with a private nod. " He 
 is an artist, as one would expect." 
 
 There was a pause, Madeleine's eyes still droop- 
 ing, and her head turned aside. 
 
 " I do not follow, dearest," she said. " He has 
 not been here?" 
 
 " No, indeed. I got it out of her. She dribbles 
 information, especially after playing, if you get her 
 the right way." Another pause. "I mean the 
 Lindt, of course. Mon Dieu, she is a fool." 
 
 " You mean the creature saw him? " said Made- 
 leine, gripping the seat. 
 
 " My dear, she was introduced: thrown into his 
 arms, while we were all groping ! You forget," said 
 Genevieve carelessly, " that Lindt is the bosom 
 friend." 
 
 " This really is too much," said Madeleine to the 
 swans with pathos. 
 
VERSAILLES 157 
 
 " Did she not mention him in her letter? " said 
 Genevieve innocently surprised. 
 
 "Not a word not a word." Vehement fan- 
 ning proved a fine susceptibility. 
 
 " If he should arrive to visit her for the fete," 
 murmured Madeleine, " I did not promise Maman 
 to return to-night." 
 
 " My love," said Mile. Barriere, leaning forward 
 as her courage rose, " if our Miss has a rendezvous, 
 she will not let you know it. Did she tell you of the 
 former one? ha, you see." Genevieve did not 
 press upon the fact that the former interview had 
 occurred in Madeleine's absence. 
 
 Mile, de Bois-Severac rose, and took a stroll to 
 calm her agitation, as it might be on the stage 
 and ignoring her companion on the seat completely. 
 Soon she returned with her brows lifted, and a tiny 
 handkerchief crushed in her hand. 
 
 " Finish the sweets, in the name of Heaven," said 
 she. Plainly Genevieve was not to witness her emo- 
 tion. It was trying to Mile. Barriere's self-esteem 
 and hungry curiosity; however, she had made an im- 
 pression, and she could not leave the sweets to 
 waste. She shook them carefully out and filled her 
 mouth. 
 
 " Dispose of the bag," said the princess absently. 
 " I detest filthy papers on the walks. Ah, dear 
 heaven, I shall be sorry to leave all this." She 
 
158 HERSELF 
 
 looked up the Trianon Avenue, and over the swell- 
 ing arch of the winter trees, and round the imposing 
 marble pond: and really the luckless queen herself 
 could not have looked otherwise, when driven to 
 quit the haunts that had been hers. Madeleine, at 
 times, gave Genevieve the same feeling of sulky 
 helplessness that Bertha Lindt's inspired playing 
 had done the day before. She was terribly complete, 
 as a personality. 
 
 On the homeward way, the princess was absently 
 polite, and even more formal than at starting. She 
 concealed a secret wound beneath an air of finest 
 breeding. Neither this girl, nor any mortal that 
 looked upon her said Madeleine's manner 
 should know what she was suffering. She had used 
 the daughter of her late preceptress just to suck out 
 the scandal, and now she let her go. Genevieve, onv 
 reaching the house, had to admit that she had 
 gained, by the march so stolen upon the English- 
 woman absolutely nothing. 
 
XI 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after her musical revel even in the 
 act of sliding the sheets into the green tin trunk 
 Fraiilein Lindt's spirits sank like lead. She was 
 heavily miserable all that evening, and Harrie could 
 do nothing with her. She tried to comfort and en- 
 courage, quite in vain; she appealed to her pride, 
 for, tear-draggled and uncombed as she was, she was 
 the mockery of the house; but Fraiilein Lindt had 
 no dignity, none at all; she disdained all such false 
 supports, and with the aid of several wet handker- 
 chiefs she courted woe. She only showed, when 
 driven to extremes by her younger tormentors, a 
 furious temper which frightened Harrie, even while 
 she strove to calm it. Finally, she sulked, and 
 Harrie might have left her; only she was secretly 
 afraid, and could not risk driving Bertha to a belief 
 that she was abandoned. 
 
 On the Friday afternoon of Madeleine's visit, she 
 took Fraiilein Lindt to the station, certain that in 
 the majesty of her grief the green tin box would be 
 forgotten. Bertha had everything at parting, she 
 
160 HERSELF 
 
 ascertained: her ticket and that of the box, the ad- 
 dress of her hotel, and that of the most promising of 
 the situations vacant which she and Harrie had 
 discovered. Miss Clench tried to be cheerful and 
 bracing, and even said of this post, with a smile, that 
 she wished she had anything so good in prospect 
 herself. Then she waved a little hand to Bertha in 
 the train, and with the faintest shrug under her 
 scanty furs, went home. 
 
 " At last I see you," said Madeleine drily. 
 
 The little princess was waiting in Harrie' s room, 
 with nothing to look at but a fat letter, addressed 
 and lying open on the table. Nothing would have 
 induced Madeleine to look at that letter, though she 
 was absolutely thrilling with curiosity, and could 
 see the name perfectly well, and though no one else 
 on the premises would have scrupled, or refrained. 
 She merely speculated about it, with delicate raised 
 brows, gathering her ermine collar more tightly 
 about her neck, for Harrie's room was cold. She 
 knew well on what errand her former friend was 
 gone, for Genevieve had taken pains to inform her. 
 Matters were becoming very serious indeed, and 
 Madeleine began to think that a coup d'etat was 
 necessary. 
 
 Then Miss Clench came in. The two girls kissed 
 almost in silence ; and Harrie put her walking things 
 away, and patted her hair into order, with adroit 
 
VERSAILLES 161 
 
 little movements that were perfectly mechanical. 
 Singularly from the moment she appeared, Made- 
 leine's coup d'etat seemed further off. Queer as the 
 Irish girl was to her ideas, her elegance was as in- 
 dubitable as her charm. The princess, for all her 
 languid aspect, carried a little inner standard of 
 things as they should be, keen as a stiletto, against 
 the touch of which few of her acquaintance could 
 stand without shrinking. Harriet, when all criti- 
 cism was done, was as she should be in these essen- 
 tials of life, at least in Madeleine's opinion. 
 
 So the pretty little doll sat watching, taking to 
 pieces every movement, every garment the other 
 removed, setting it down against her when she 
 noticed a frayed collar, and in her favor when the 
 shaft of a winter sunbeam crept in to gild her hair, 
 exercising in short the whole armory of instinctive 
 criticism which her race have given them at birth, 
 and which seldom rusts for lack of use. No indi- 
 vidual in the world equals the French maiden of 
 sixteen to twenty in this peculiar art; and few 
 maidens in France were more fastidious than 
 Madeleine. 
 
 It was only when, having finished all her arrange- 
 ments, Miss Clench sat down at the table and burst 
 into tears, that all Madeleine's fine standards were 
 upset at a single sweep, and she turned into an 
 ordinary susceptible, simple-hearted schoolgirl. 
 
162 HERSELF 
 
 " Dearest, hush," she said, getting her arms well 
 round Harrie, and crushing the long feather and 
 little curls upon her shoulder. " Do you think I do 
 not know what you have suffered, left at the mercy 
 of these people^ They have worked you to death, 
 hem*? when you should have been resting. They 
 have misunderstood you, teased you, bullied you 
 hein? And ugly looks insinuations bah, but I 
 know it myself." 
 
 There followed a pause of delicate ministration, 
 with the eau-de-Cologne flask and cool little fingers ; 
 it was sweet to Harrie to be so cared for, during the 
 first few helpless minutes, and to receive this sisterly 
 consolation from the idol of the school. 
 
 "Really, Madeleine, I am all right," she said, 
 when she could speak steadily. " Oh, dear, 
 wouldn't you say I had nerves ! " 
 
 " Of course you have nerves," said the princess : 
 they were excellent things, she implied, to have. 
 
 "But I can't," cried Harrie. "I can't afford 
 them. Oh " she wiped her eyes "I suppose 
 it's these last days and then that poor thing 
 this afternoon " 
 
 Madeleine's hand lifted pathetically; it begged 
 to hear nothing of Fraiilein Lindt, whose case had 
 been closed and finished in her letter ; the distasteful 
 German was shut off, by fortunate fate, from their 
 communion. 
 
VERSAILLES 163 
 
 "Do you think I believe that coarse girl's 
 story? " she said. 
 
 "Gene vie ve? She's been discussing me? Bon 
 Dieu, she's a parrot: she only takes her mother's 
 opinion." Harrie leant her head upon her hands, 
 and the old line showed upon her brow. " I did 
 stay out all night, so I suppose they are right to 
 suspect me." 
 
 " They have greasy minds," said Madeleine, with 
 her smooth decision of utterance : and then she shook 
 off the Barrieres also. " But say, cherie, what an 
 awful misfortune. How could it possibly have 
 occurred? " 
 
 "Well," said Harrie, with a Clench twinkle, 
 " you should just have seen the trams. They ran 
 away like wild things, under my eyes. Out of two 
 trains and a tram, Madeleine, I could not catch one 
 flying." 
 
 Madeleine remained earnest, for she had no 
 humor: and what was rarer, little conscious social 
 pretence. "And you were actually alone?" she 
 cried. " Heavens, how alarmed I should have 
 been." 
 
 " I was not alone the last time, no," said Harrie. 
 " My cousin was with me. You never mean, Made- 
 leine, Genevieve has left out that? " 
 
 The princess looked the least trifle out of counte- 
 nance. " But surely that would make it worse," she 
 
164 HERSELF 
 
 murmured. "Alone with a man I suppose 
 Monsieur your cousin is a man? " 
 
 " He is," said Harrie, " and it made it worse. 
 Luck was against me, and has been all the week." 
 They both looked at Pat's letter, and then at one an- 
 other. The inmost confidence of a clever girl is not 
 so easily given, and in her heart Madeleine liked 
 Harriet for her reticence. To boast of a conquest 
 was vulgar simply, and though she was facile 
 enough in listening to her friends' histories, Made- 
 leine was seldom guilty herself of flaunting the dis- 
 coveries she had made on the threshold of life. She 
 capped a tale of triumph languidly, of course, when 
 the mere exigence of the game compelled her to com- 
 pete. But she had a pride which, in conjunction 
 with her prettiness, made her respected: as a girl is 
 respected who knows more things than she will say. 
 
 " See," said Madeleine, taking her decision and 
 sitting down. " I must go back to town to-night, 
 for we have a midnight party at the Cafe de la 
 Roche. My brother comes here to fetch me, as I 
 have arranged, at eight o'clock. To-morrow, 
 cherie, you must join us for the fete, and pass the 
 night at the hotel, if that porpoise below will let 
 you stay. If not, I will direct Papa to bring you 
 back and stop her odious mouth. It is all of the 
 most complete simplicity and it would be charm- 
 ing if you would get your cousin to join us." 
 
VERSAILLES 165 
 
 "Oh, dear," laughed Harrie, "and is that all 1 ? 
 Here is a new way to manage the world." 
 
 She gazed at Madeleine, though, and it was then 
 her heart warmed, as ever to things collectable. Here 
 they were, in one way or another, sweeping all 
 created things to their uses, and following their 
 orbits with serenity. Yet was it credible that 
 both Madeleine and Bertha should shine in the same 
 heaven*? 
 
 " But I am profoundly serious." Madeleine 
 raised her eyebrows. " Papa, Maman, Rene, were 
 all distressed that I had found no companion, espe- 
 cially as Rene has a friend. But there, the cousins 
 they proposed were too impossible! Fat, quarrel- 
 some, jealous mon Dieu! You will come, cherie, 
 and wear that sweet blue dress." 
 
 " I cannot," said Harriet gravely. 
 
 " But you can, since it is I that say it! Can you 
 not trust me 4 ? " said Madeleine. " Do you imagine, 
 in making such a proposal, I have not all in view*? 
 Now listen: it is clear you cannot stop here till 
 Easter, with this crew of people whispering and 
 grimacing. Grant me that at least." 
 
 "I grant it," said Harrie, taking the fine little 
 hand held out to her. "To tell the truth, I had 
 arrived there quite alone. I have been enquiring 
 to-day, and I have an address from Mile. 
 Chavanne." 
 
166 HERSELF 
 
 "And who is she?" said Madeleine, bearing in- 
 terruption patiently. 
 
 " The English professor at the school down 
 there." 
 
 "You went to the big school? Tiens and 
 Madame had not hydrophobia? " 
 
 " She has not heard of it yet, I hope." 
 
 " Let her hear, and snap your fingers," advised 
 Madeleine. "When she has foamed a little, she 
 will feel better. Well, I admire your spirit, dearest, 
 and you have now cut the ground under you very 
 completely, for she will certainly hear: but that is 
 not the point. To the devil with addresses for the 
 moment, since I have an idea." 
 
 " Give me all the idea to hug it," said Miss 
 Clench warmly, " and then I will go to Gene vie ve's 
 English lesson." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, how you distract one," said Marie 
 Antoinette, a hand to her head. "What can a 
 lesson matter, on New Year's Eve? " 
 
 " It only matters forty sous," said Miss Clench 
 meekly. " But that's worth taking." 
 
 " You are driving me frantic," said Madeleine. 
 " Mad." She rose and walked about a little. 
 " Now listen, before my brain turns at the idea of 
 forty sous mattering at all to a person with hair like 
 yours." Miss Clench laughed a little, but Made- 
 leine saw no joke. " Maman, who is desperate 
 
VERSAILLES 167 
 
 simply desperate at the idea of my leaving her, 
 though I broke it to her as slowly as I could, has 
 been crying for days. She has never got used to my 
 being at school, and the idea of me being as far as 
 London prostrates her. She is alterree," said Made- 
 leine, and put a curl straight. "It was proposed 
 first that a daughter of the family that receives me 
 should be received chez nous in exchange. I wel- 
 comed this, thinking of her solitude in the chateau 
 all the summer; but it seems, even from the first 
 Maman has had her doubts. Now it appears, the 
 thought of the English girl (whose portrait we 
 have received) oppresses her so terribly that she 
 would sooner pay my full board in England than 
 have her in Touraine." Madeleine turned about. 
 " I wish you would not look at the time, dear Har- 
 riet. I long for you to grasp our situation. I fear 
 I really fear you are thinking of Genevieve more 
 than me." 
 
 " I could never do that willingly," said little Miss 
 Clench. " I've ten minutes yet of strained atten- 
 tion." 
 
 Marie Antoinette then smiled at her and pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 " It is evident I cannot let Maman have sleepless 
 nights, merely owing to the portrait of a girl who 
 squints. It is equally certain she must have cheerful 
 companionship during my sojourn in your country. 
 
168 HERSELF 
 
 I have been," said Madeleine, a hand to her brow, 
 " really exceedingly perplexed." 
 
 "Do you wish for a suggestion?" said Harrie. 
 She thought she had never seen anything so charm- 
 ing as the little princess, inspired by her impulsively 
 beneficent campaign. Madeleine would have done 
 an ugly thing prettily, but this was a beautiful 
 thing. It warmed Harrie almost to remorse, for the 
 girl had been by no means always so unselfish. 
 
 " You must understand the whole first," said 
 Madeleine, raising a hand. " Papa is paying a great 
 deal for my board at this place, owing to special 
 provisions that they both have made, on heaven 
 knows how many postcards. That, and the jour- 
 neys, makes it impossible for Maman to pay a com- 
 panion for herself as she would have desired." 
 
 " Darling, wait a minute," said Harrie. " Does 
 she desire a companion for herself at all, Madame 
 your mother? " 
 
 "She?" said Madeleine, with a lift of the ex- 
 pressive brows. " I desire it for her; I have pointed 
 out its advantages; and that, at home, is enough." 
 
 " The biggest obstacle isn't there at all, when the 
 view is better without it." This the collector by the 
 table supplied, and wisely not aloud. " Proceed," 
 she murmured, collapsing. Madeleine proceeded, 
 to the crisis. 
 
 " The question is," she said, " if we could find a 
 
VERSAILLES 169 
 
 person unselfish enough to go. There is much to do 
 there, for Maman is impassioned for Nature, and 
 picks far too many flowers to go in the vases, and 
 leaves them about the floor. As for Papa, he talks 
 about nothing but hunting when he is at home, and 
 Rene, of course, goes next March for his service. 
 Most companions could not bear it, at least without 
 a salary. It is only for my sake " 
 
 " The ten minutes is complete," said Harrie, 
 " and I think the idea is finished, is it not? " 
 
 " I cannot think of anything more for the 
 moment," said Madeleine, drawing daintily back 
 from her embrace. She was a trifle shy of embrac- 
 ing, and had forgotten herself already quite enough. 
 " I will tell you if I do, later in the evening. There 
 is dearest Maman to be consulted, of course; but I 
 will do that, over her chocolate in the morning." 
 
 "And you really expect me to ask leave of ab- 
 sence again for to-morrow?" 
 
 "I expect it, yes," said Madeleine. "What a 
 sympathetic face your father has, dear Harriet: I 
 must give you a new frame. Ah, ah! I have not 
 told you about my etrennes; wait, it is too ex- 
 quisite " 
 
 " Later in the evening," laughed Harrie. " I 
 really cannot bear any more fairy-tales now." 
 
 Does a fairy-tale, in life, ever reach its end? 
 
170 HERSELF 
 
 That is one of the things Miss Clench pondered, as 
 she sat late that night at her window, her head upon 
 her hand. To be happy ever after is obviously too 
 dreary a finish to a cheerful tale; it is so vague that 
 it almost leads you to mistrust the whole; it is 
 better almost better that ugly life should el- 
 bow in, interrupt the plot, and that those pretty 
 dreams should remain fragments, never consum- 
 mated. So it had been with the fairy-tale of the 
 chateau in Touraine ; and so simply a mere grain 
 of schoolgirl jealousy had done it all. Fate push- 
 ing, Harriet had run up against the blank wall in 
 Madeleine: and now remained half-dazed by the 
 consequent shock, the glittering sherds of half an 
 hour's fancy tumbling round her. 
 
 It had been too fair, of course, too easy, that 
 promise of wealth and sun and sweetness and 
 leisure above all ahead, after this tangle of 
 anxieties. She should have suspected it at once, and 
 guarded herself against those childish hopes, and 
 this more childish disappointment. But she had not 
 guarded herself: Brian's daughter so often forgot to 
 guard till all precaution was too late. 
 
 Madame had heard of Harrie's mission to the 
 "big school," and suspected her plot to quit her; 
 that was the first thing, which might in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances have mattered little. In a place of 
 tattle like Versailles it was bound to happen, as even 
 
VERSAILLES 171 
 
 Madeleine had forecast. Then, on the top of that, 
 and Madame' s baleful looks over the supper-table, 
 the real bolt fell, which Fate had been preparing. 
 
 Madeleine was a little vexed in spirit because her 
 brother Rene had not come, in accordance with her 
 royal decree, to fetch her back to the expectant cap- 
 ital. She had collected her properties, paid the 
 servants, given away her school-books, and taken a 
 graceful leave of everybody, and now sat smil- 
 ing, though her foot tapped gently. She was most 
 eager, as a fact, to leave these schoolroom surround- 
 ings, this too-familiar atmosphere of ink-stains and 
 uniforms, and plunge into life and the Cafe de la 
 Roche. The hour was nearly eight o'clock by 
 Madame's ugly little timepiece; the minutes of the 
 Old Year were running out fast; even Versailles 
 was one wide hum of busy gaiety, and in Paris all 
 the world was in the streets, or swelling the festive 
 gatherings in public places. The little princess at 
 Madame's table expected and desired to be with 
 them, and greet as it should be greeted the first New 
 Year of her freedom, that means such worlds to a 
 young girl. She talked ever more languidly, and 
 her smile, though still sweet, grew absent. 
 
 Then the bell of the appartement rang. 
 
 "It is Rene," said Madeleine. "The tiresome 
 trainard. Well, Harriet, we shall expect " 
 
 But it was not Rene. It was a messenger : a mes- 
 
172 HERSELF 
 
 senger, as it seemed by muttered report, for 
 Mademoiselle 1'Anglaise. 
 
 Harrie rose, somewhat embarrassed by the looks 
 all about her, and went out to the vestibule. Fate 
 awaited her there, in the form of an entirely strange 
 man with a note. 
 
 " What is it 4 ? " said Madame, hovering dragon- 
 like in her wake. Madame did not find it consistent 
 with her duty of late to leave Miss Clench alone. 
 
 " I hardly understand," said Harrie, frowning 
 over the note under the gas. "It is Fraiilein Lindt. 
 She has been ill in the train, this lady says. . . . 
 Oh, mon Dieu!" 
 
 She turned white enough to frighten Madame, and 
 staggered back against the wall. 
 
 " What is it, child? " Madame snatched at the 
 note, which was withheld. " Good gracious, what 
 a time you are! What can it have to do with 
 you 4 ?" 
 
 What, indeed, a great many might have asked, 
 seeing the slip of a frightened girl on whom the 
 blow fell. 
 
 " She tried to poison herself," Harriet moaned, 
 staring at the written paper. "This lady was at 
 the station. Oh, poor thing, poor thing." Feeling 
 vaguely in the void, she clutched the cloaks hanging 
 on the wall to support her shaking limbs. 
 
 " Dead? " said Madame sepulchrally. 
 
VERSAILLES 175 
 
 " No oh, no. They carried her to hospital 
 the address is given; and she has asked for me." 
 
 " Well, you cannot go," said Madame. "It is 
 nothing of your business, or indeed of anyone's here. 
 Thank God, we have done with her." She did not 
 speak loud, for the messenger still waited at the 
 door; she had sidled on instinct into her little 
 bureau. 
 
 " Ton say it is nothing of your business? " said 
 Harrie, lifting her fair head. Her eyes shot sparks, 
 for, with all her trembling, the Clenches were a 
 fighting race. 
 
 Madame burst into ugly language the kitchen 
 in her had the ascendancy. What was it to her, if 
 her dismissed maitresse ate poison, and had an indi- 
 gestion in a train"? She had borne enough horrors 
 from the creature, while she was still about and 
 under her eyes. Now she washed her hands of her; 
 she might go to the devil in her own way, and as 
 rapidly as she chose; it was evident she would not 
 choose to waste time. 
 
 " I think you hardly understand," said Harrie. 
 " This lady a sister of mercy, I think is very 
 kind, and writes to me herself. Bertha Lindt has 
 used my name. She asks me to go, either to-night 
 or to-morrow, since she promised Bertha." 
 
 " You will go neither to-day nor to-morrow," said 
 Madame. 
 
174 HERSELF 
 
 " You cannot prevent me," said Harrie indig- 
 nantly. "To-morrow is the holiday." 
 
 " Holiday or none, you will not go to Paris. I do 
 not trust you," said Madame, " out of my sight." 
 
 The Clench in Harrie would have made a stand 
 and striven to go at once; but owing to the shock 
 and Madame' s violence, she felt physically giddy 
 and ill. 
 
 " Come with me, then," she gasped, holding to 
 the coats. " You owe her as much as will take you 
 to Paris and back." 
 
 " Nor that either," said Madame. " Come in and 
 sit down, child, in the name of reason. I have no 
 wish for the whole place to hear, and you will be 
 fainting next. I may go on my own account to 
 Paris, if I see fit. ... of all moments in the 
 year to be annoyed, good heavens! Disreputable," 
 she muttered, turning her back. She put a foot on 
 the fender a moment, swallowing as though to 
 master her rage. Nerves, she would doubtless have 
 named it; but one had only to glance at the expres- 
 sion of her rather protuberant eyes in the glass above 
 the hearth, to determine from what emotion she was 
 suffering. She was angry with Harrie, and furious 
 with Fraulein Lindt; but the person she would have 
 liked to tear limb from limb was the charitable 
 meddler who had sent the message. 
 
 " She won't die now, I suppose," she said, when 
 
VERSAILLES 175 
 
 she had sufficiently recovered from the tumult of 
 her feelings. " Here, let me see the letter." This 
 time she obtained it, and read it through suspi- 
 ciously, as though uncertain still it were not a ruse. 
 Behind Bertha hovered for Madame the shadow of 
 Pat, the dangerous man whom Bertha had so evi- 
 dently admired. She was quite capable of imagin- 
 ing the three were in league to deceive and defraud 
 her, as Miss Clench would have perceived, if her 
 wits had been as active as usual. 
 
 Having read, she went out and said something to 
 the messenger. The door slammed. 
 
 11 What is it? What is it? " The greedy faces 
 of schoolgirls filled the doorway, eager for excite- 
 ment, peering to catch a glimpse of the rebel Miss 
 Clench; for most of the household had heard some 
 travesty of her adventure. Madeleine alone stayed 
 in the background, disgusted to be abandoned by her 
 family, and too superior to betray curiosity as to the 
 bourgeois Barriere sensations. These occurred as 
 she knew periodically, in the kitchen and bureau, 
 and she had always coolly mocked at them. 
 
 "It is nothing," said Madame, returning and el- 
 bowing through the ranks of her inquisitive pupils. 
 " Miss Clench, that is all I wanted you for : I hope 
 you are feeling better." Then nerves got the upper 
 hand. " Go, do you hear, for goodness' sake, and 
 leave it to me. The business is unsuitable for a girl 
 
176 HERSELF 
 
 of your age to touch it is vile mismanagement 
 that you know anything of it. Let those who have 
 experience judge for you, and in heaven's name, let 
 me have my room to myself. Get away, Sonia, 
 from under my feet; keep quiet out there, you girls, 
 and take the little ones into the schoolroom. Gene- 
 vieve you may come to me." 
 
XII 
 
 " RENE has not come," said Madeleine, " and per- 
 haps the donkey is waiting at the station. He has 
 lost the address or he may be afraid of coming in, 
 you never know with boys. In any case, I can wait 
 no longer. I go." 
 
 She spoke coldly, a little: for she had sat below 
 for a long half-hour in the dismal dining-room. 
 Genevieve remained closeted with her mother in the 
 office, and Harriet, who presumably held the threads 
 of these interesting secrets, had not called her to her 
 room. This neglect failed to fall in with Made- 
 leine's idea of what was suitable, especially after her 
 agreeable efforts in Miss Clench's interest during the 
 afternoon. One's efforts merit some recognition, 
 after all, however deserving the object of them: and 
 now she had to make an excuse to intrude, which 
 was a thing she never cared to do, and barely con- 
 sistent with her dignity. She brought a cloak on 
 her arm, as though merely slipping in to say good 
 night. 
 
 "You are better, dear, I hope," she added: for 
 
178 HERSELF 
 
 Harriet sat at her window quite idly, and had barely 
 moved at her entrance. On the table by her now 
 there lay two letters, the former and a new one, 
 recently opened. 
 
 " I have not been ill," said Harriet. Then, as her 
 little friend approached doubtfully, she made a 
 movement. Even her lips seemed stiff, but she 
 forced herself to speak. " I thought you had gone, 
 Madeleine," she said. " But since you have come to 
 me, you had better hear. Sit down a minute, while 
 I get my thoughts." 
 
 The princess sat, with exquisite condescension. 
 Madeleine was not used to be ordered, nor ad- 
 dressed precisely in these tones. 
 
 " I cannot come to you to-morrow," said Miss 
 Clench quite bluntly. 
 
 "And why not*? " said Madeleine, lifting her 
 brows. 
 
 " Because Madame will not let me, so she says." 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu," said Madeleine. " How badly 
 you must have managed, dear. You should have 
 left it to me." 
 
 " And if I did go," said the Irish girl unheeding, 
 " it's not on parties and presents I could pass my 
 time. Madeleine listen : you were beautifully 
 generous to me this evening." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, I was not," said Madeleine, tap- 
 ping her foot. 
 
VERSAILLES 179 
 
 "Will you," said Harrie, still unheeding as her 
 purpose warmed, " take up that generosity, as it 
 might be a New Year's gift, and lay it all down in 
 another caused " Then, as the girl seemed puzzled, 
 " Will you do something for me? " 
 
 " Certainly, dearest," said Madeleine. In the 
 pause she added, " Please do not be so nervous, 
 Harriet. You cannot think how easily I catch 
 agitation from others." 
 
 " I am not," said Harrie. " It's only my heart is 
 cut in two." She reached a letter from the table 
 Madeleine's pulses leapt as she did so. " Read 
 that," she said, still with the brusquerie of deep 
 excitement. 
 
 It was doubtless natural in Miss Clench, wishing 
 to appeal to humanity, to offer a first-hand piece 
 of evidence; but it was rash in the present instance, 
 for the letter was written by one of the persons, 
 stranger to ornament, who take the poor and suffer- 
 ing as they are, and do not trifle with the language 
 that describes them. Among other plain statements 
 was one Harrie had perhaps forgotten : { ' The poor 
 creature, who is very sick, has confessed to me her 
 
 intention, and mentioned you by name " There 
 
 were other brief details of police and what not 
 it was not a drawing-room tragedy. 
 
 " Disgusting," said Madeleine, laying it aside with 
 more fervor than her still voice often had. She 
 
180 HERSELF 
 
 rose, most bitterly disturbed, and walked about as 
 though wishing to escape the picture. 
 
 " It is more than disgusting," said Harrie, taking 
 the letter she threw down. " It is cruel." 
 
 " And what hideous taste," the princess proceeded, 
 " to send such a document to you. No wonder you 
 half fainted." She looked herself over in the mirror 
 a moment and turned. " Harriet excuse me, I 
 must go." 
 
 " And my commission? " queried Harrie, her chin 
 on a little fist, and fixing her with earnest eyes. 
 " Will you not go to see the poor thing, Madeleine 4 ? 
 She only wants a word." 
 
 " No," the girl said, shortly and drily. 
 
 " It's for me I ask you to do it. I cannot go my- 
 self if they choose to make a claim on me. Madame 
 talks of going, but she will not. She's furious with 
 Bertha, and will have no mercy on her or me. I 
 have written but what is writing? It's a face she 
 knows that she wants, as we all want when we are 
 in misery and shame." 
 
 " You seem to know about it," said Madeleine, 
 quite at random. The lady of quality was vanish- 
 ing rapidly in the schoolgirl, and not a very un- 
 common type at that. She was so vexed and 
 helpless, that she found it hard not to cry: only it 
 was not an occasion for crying, and Madeleine 
 refused. She scratched instead, and spitefully. 
 
VERSAILLES 181 
 
 " I know what shame is," said Harrie, speaking 
 low, " though Heaven shield me not for my- 
 self. Madeleine, it's an awful feeling." 
 
 " I shall not go," said Madeleine. " You have 
 no right to ask me. Maman " 
 
 " Ah, leave Maman," cried Harrie. "' It's your- 
 self I am asking and have no right to ask 4 ? " 
 Then, as the princess remained, her pretty profile 
 turned towards her, " Very well, has she no right, 
 Bertha Lindt*? I have to say it, Madeleine." 
 
 " With the kind intention to shame me? " Made- 
 leine enquired. " I wrote to you about that, surely. 
 I thought we had finished that discussion." 
 
 " You cannot finish with injustice," said Harrie, 
 rising and thrusting aside her chair. " On my word, 
 I think in this world you never do." 
 
 "I am unjust, then; prejudiced. Well," said 
 Madeleine with a pretty shrug, " I must bear it." 
 
 " You do more than bear it," said Harrie swiftly. 
 " You are proud proud of your prejudices ! But 
 this is not one to be proud of, if it makes you do an 
 unkind thing." 
 
 " I am not unkind," said Madeleine, humping her 
 fur wrap crossly on her shoulders. " Really, you 
 are unreasonable, Harriet. The woman's nothing 
 to me, and she's a criminal, nearly. I will send a 
 note to her there : and Maman will send money, 
 I dare say." 
 
182 HERSELF 
 
 " You do not think of her as she is," cried Harrie, 
 as though in eager warning. "Think, Madeleine, 
 for surely you should know. What do they want 
 with money or messages? It is friends she wants 
 friends: it is people." 
 
 " Well, I am not a person," said Madeleine, with 
 an unmirthful laugh. " At least, not the person for 
 her. Ah, juste ciel! who is that?" 
 
 The princess's nerves had suffered too. Her 
 hand flew to her heart, and her fine brows were bent; 
 yet it was only a knock at the door. 
 
 " Your brother, Mademoiselle," said the sulky 
 voice of one of the disaffected servants of the house. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " said Madeleine, very fer- 
 vently. She gathered up her best manner again, for 
 it had been much disturbed. " Rene," she called, 
 " are you there? Come along, for mercy's sake, and 
 take this cloak. Well, Harriet," she said at the door, 
 for her brother was without, and formalities must 
 be preserved, " I am sorry we shall not see you 
 to-morrow. It is a pity, but " She shrugged. 
 
 Harrie did not say she was sorry, Madeleine 
 noticed. She seemed to be thinking, as she stood 
 with her hands behind her, under the single glaring 
 light of the tiny room. She was looking, oddly 
 enough, very pretty, with her brilliant eyes, patheti- 
 cally pale face, and gleaming hair disordered over 
 a knitted brow. Yet she seemed more abstracted 
 
VERSAILLES 183 
 
 than ill-tempered, and she reached for her blotting- 
 case, and scribbled a line on a sheet it contained. 
 
 " It would be asking too much to beg you to post 
 a letter at Montparnasse," she said, in her accurate 
 foreign French. " The hospital's in the station 
 quarter, and it might reach quicker, posted there." 
 
 "Certainly," said Madeleine coldly. "Here, 
 Rene." 
 
 " If Mademoiselle prefers, I will leave the letter," 
 said the young student without, who had not 
 spoken. "It is barely out of our way, and I can 
 put my sister in a cab." 
 
 " Thank you," said Madeleine, with a vexed 
 laugh. Knowing Rene, she perceived almost with- 
 out looking that he admired Miss Clench. This 
 happened, by an odd chance, to be the last straw 
 to her sadly tried nerves. " I am sick of this place," 
 she said clearly, moving out of the door with her 
 head held high, " and delighted to be going. I hope 
 I shall never see any face it holds again." 
 
 "Bon," said Monsieur Rene, and his humorous 
 eye met Harrie's. He was not, the look conveyed, 
 of Madeleine's opinion; but she had, as ever, to be 
 admired and humored in all she chose to do. He 
 wrapped his little sister up with an air of ready 
 service and protection that was pleasant and com- 
 forting to behold, and then, with a final jest, drew 
 her away with him down the passage. 
 
184 HERSELF 
 
 Harriet, left behind in a loneliness not much 
 differing from her former abandonment on the 
 first day of the holidays, relieved herself as then: 
 she soliloquized. 
 
 " You are not one of mine, Madeleine," she said, 
 gazing after the charming little figure, and the last 
 wave of the long plume. " I was mistaken I am 
 afraid I cannot have you. I I have struck you 
 off." 
 
 Then she cried for her eyes loved Madeleine. 
 
 Harriets little chamber was very quiet that even- 
 ing, for the children did not come to bed, and their 
 cheerful chatter in the rooms adjoining hers was 
 absent. The whole household was staying up, 
 according to the tradition, to watch the New Year 
 in; and unaccustomed fruits and biscuits, and some- 
 what questionable champagne, were being circulated 
 downstairs to celebrate the occasion, and relieve the 
 tedium of waiting for the impatient children. 
 Harrie herself did little but sit motionless in the 
 solitude for which she was thankful, her head upon 
 her hand. 
 
 She was only disturbed when there was a tiny 
 knock at the door, and a little Gogoff slid in. 
 
 "Yes, dear?" said Miss Clench mechanically. 
 Sonia, in a cracker-cap, pulled on anyhow, and torn 
 above the ear, was more imp-like in appearance than 
 
VERSAILLES 185 
 
 ever, though her black eyes were blinking under the 
 light. 
 
 " It is only I am getting very sleepy," whis- 
 pered Sonia, snuggling up to Miss Clench's side. 
 
 " Go to bed then, darling," said Harrie, smiling. 
 
 "But there are still seventy-six minutes on the 
 clock, Pierrette says. It was to wish you the 
 ' bonne annee ' and I wanted to be the first." 
 
 " Well, you are the first," said Harrie, " are you: 
 not? " 
 
 " It isn't come yet," objected Sonia. 
 
 " Who knows it mightn't be born bad," whispered, 
 Harriet, " unless you wish it for me now." 
 
 " I do wish it," said Sonia, relieved: " and and 
 that is all." She got up from the arm of Harrie's 
 chair. " Will you come and tell me stories," she 
 insinuated, " if I lie upon my bed? Because I have 
 got to keep awake for it, like Pierrette and the 
 others." 
 
 So Miss Clench having taken the precaution; 
 first of undressing the little GogofT told her 
 stories as long as it was necessary. She used the 
 beautiful low tone that she had used to Bertha, 
 which had already often proved its power with a 
 sick or wakeful child. As for the matter of what 
 she told, it dealt with unusual persons and most 
 improbable events, and was entirely wanting in 
 sense or order or consistency, or any of the qualities 
 
186 HERSELF 
 
 of a practical or practised narrator. As a matter of 
 fact, the narrator's mind was very absent all the 
 time. When Sonia was quite asleep she kissed her, 
 and went back to her room somewhat more satisfied. 
 She felt curiously, in the vague state of her sensa- 
 tions this evening, that with Sonia she had finished 
 something at least that needed to be completed. 
 
 Cheered in this unaccountable way, she cleared 
 up various other little bits of business, and packed 
 her small box almost full. The year was very old 
 indeed, tottering almost, when she turned to the last 
 matter that needed completing, and finished the 
 letter to Mr. Horn. Extracting the sheet from its 
 hiding-place, she read it over as far as it had gone, 
 and proceeded in a hurry. 
 
 " I have lost my situation " was how it finally 
 read " and shall not remain at Versailles. I told 
 you I had been foolish in going at all to the music 
 with Patrick, and that was how it proved. It was 
 not his fault at all, and he must not think it (not 
 that he will). I think I shall be wandering for a 
 while, here or perhaps in England, but you will not 
 trouble about me, for you know I can care for my- 
 self. I am explaining that all to him, and also that 
 I can be of no service to him for the time, which is 
 why I shall be quiet. Perhaps you will say it's easy 
 to be quiet when you are at your wits' end with a 
 boy, as I was with Pat. 
 
VERSAILLES 187 
 
 " I do not believe, sir, that you will let him go 
 far from you, and I feel through you that I hold 
 him fast. Is that too much for his cousin to expect, 
 that you will be the peg to fasten him 4 ? You are 
 always there, you said to me twice in the theater, 
 and we can never keep a dwelling, we Clenches." 
 
 Here her pen paused, and swallowing down 
 something in her throat, she continued even more 
 hastily : 
 
 " We are the mad people, all of us ; so you will 
 not be surprised if now and then I write you letters, 
 wanting Brian I mean when I have to send my 
 feelings far from me. I have written them before 
 now to him, when he left me no address, and sunk 
 them in the castle ponds. The reason I choose you, 
 though a silly one enough, you had better know. 
 There was an article I read long ago, when Brian 
 first left me. It was in an English magazine, and it 
 was called ' In Praise of Peace.' The name signing 
 it has come back to me lately, and it was yourself. 
 I was a little young girl at the time : and thinking I 
 wanted the thing you wrote of, I collected Mr. 
 Horn." 
 
 That was what came to Geoffry, on the morning 
 of the New Year. Quite early on the morrow of its 
 writing, with the not unwilling aid of a disaffected 
 servant, Miss Clench ran away from Versailles. 
 
PART II 
 FAROVER 
 
IT is Indian summer in an English garden: in a 
 county of roses too (one can count the shires where 
 they are natural to the soil), and blessed by the 
 richest breath of early afternoon. Winifred Escreet, 
 strolling through her little domain at Farover with 
 the slow, untroubled gait of a queen in full posses- 
 sion, could even decide at leisure to forgive Rosaline 
 for making her wait a full half-hour for singing. 
 Her thoughts were weighty and grave as she strolled 
 along the pergola-path, alternately lit and shadowed 
 as the sun struck through the leaf -clad bars above 
 her; yet not a seam showed on the handsome, serious 
 face under the plenteous weight of dark hair touched 
 with gray. Having fixed Rosaline Maskery's weekly 
 visit for three o'clock, prepared the music and or- 
 dered two kinds of sandwiches for the tea-tray at 
 four, she had set aside the earlier hours for coming 
 to a decision: or half a decision, for as yet her hus- 
 band had not shared and sanctified it. She had 
 thought it out carefully before luncheon, while she 
 collected rose-leaves for pot-pourri; and now, in this 
 
192 HERSELF 
 
 extra time on which she had not counted for little 
 Rosaline was seldom late- she was tidying her 
 mind upon the point: cutting the frayed edge of 
 her purpose smooth, as it were : removing wandering 
 little rags of doubt: preparing, with the easy, slow 
 humor which was her gift, the method of its produc- 
 tion and presentation to Gervase, when Rosaline 
 should be gone: Gervase, whose mind was as her 
 own, whose humor and taste it was no trouble to 
 forecast, so trained they were by old companionship 
 to meet and follow hers. 
 
 But for all the conning of this graceful campaign 
 which occupied her more serious mind, Winifred 
 was not above the consciousness by the way of a 
 sublime sense of suitability; of matching perfectly, 
 in dress and demeanor, the spirit of her garden and 
 the glamour of the autumn sun; of "composing 
 well," as the artist would say: for the happy land 
 of the Escreets bordered that of art, and they loved, 
 in a just measure, of course, to speak its language. 
 They had made, like many well-matched, childless 
 couples, by a process of careful filching from various 
 dialects, a language of their own. They spoke a 
 very little German when on the almost daily theme 
 of music; when dealing with the drama they spoke 
 a very little French; they skimmed the expressive 
 slang of the neighboring university when academic 
 subjects were uppermost; they had evolved a 
 
F A R O V E R 193 
 
 unique baby-language for the animals of the house, 
 and (in the strictest privacy) had been known to 
 apply it to one another. It was all done within the 
 limits of taste and tact, those civilized arts which 
 people like the Escreets study for us, raising the 
 standard ever higher, that the wary unchosen may 
 not catch it, try he never so hard. The study needs 
 leisure, and leisure the Escreets certainly had; 
 though their days were well laid-out, and they were 
 to their own minds busy people. After all, busy- 
 ness is simply a state of mind, as either of them 
 would have been prepared to argue for hours. Mrs. 
 Escreet was busy now, nipping off stray dead roses 
 as she trimmed her thoughts; and she continued busy 
 up to the very moment of Rosaline's appearance, 
 framed in the pergola archway. 
 
 Perfect all but the skirt, this the artist decided 
 as she turned. Miss Maskery, though in bicycling 
 attire, was a pretty, blooming girl, and the flush 
 of haste and a little shyness made her all the 
 prettier. 
 
 " Oh, dear Mrs. Escreet, I am sorry," said Rosa- 
 line, in ringing tones. That was her one fault, she 
 spoke a little too loud. It is a trait of health, and 
 argued the good organ that Winifred knew she pos- 
 sessed; but in private speech, as in private singing, 
 tone should not be overdone. Winifred's own voice 
 was quieter than usual in response, though friendly. 
 
194 HERSELF 
 
 " My dear child and the lesson ! It is half- 
 past three." 
 
 " I know, I know, and your time is so precious," 
 said Rosaline, who really thought so. " But it is 
 like this," she went on, with a quick kiss to the hand 
 laid on her shoulder. " I have been detained first by 
 Mr. Champion, and then by Auntie." 
 
 " Ah," thought Winifred, with another little pat 
 to her morning's decision. " Which Mr. Champion, 
 Rosalie*?" she asked aloud. 
 
 "Mr. Tom." The girl laughed, very frankly. 
 " You see, I was in Stackfield Lane, on my bicycle, 
 and stuck all over with bills." 
 
 "Bills'?" 
 
 " Ann said, since I was coming out, I might as well 
 do a little ' work ' for Mr. Champion. Ann's work- 
 ing for the ward, you know. I said I wouldn't 
 canvass, but I did not mind leaflets, a few. Of 
 course, Ann gave me a stack of them, and bills as 
 well. Then, as luck would have it, Tom met me by 
 the lodge-gate, and saw his father's name staring 
 out, and chose to be absurd and waste my time." 
 
 Thus Rosaline explained, hanging on Mrs. 
 Escreet's arm. Winifred, never hasty, took time 
 to consider, as they moved slowly along the path to 
 the windows of the drawing-room. Tom Champion, 
 an eldest son and the great match of the district, 
 was her own second cousin; and she had been re- 
 
F A R V E R 195 
 
 sponsible herself, in a careless moment, for presenting 
 him to Miss Maskery, a charming and clever girl. 
 But the presentation had been effected more than a 
 year since at a boatrace party, when Professor Mask- 
 ery was still alive, and his daughters Rosaline and 
 Ann in quite the forefront of Oxford society. Always 
 poor, the Maskery girls, never affluent, had been 
 left almost poor; and friends, notably their aunt, 
 the Vicar's wife at Stackfield, had been for long 
 making efforts to help the pair. Assistance was not 
 hopeless in the case: for Ann, though plain, was a 
 purposeful girl, only hampered by a taste for taking 
 difficult and ill-paid posts, such as that she served at 
 present for the women's political society; and Rosa- 
 line was too pretty to give her family much concern. 
 She would marry one of the many who were known 
 to have been hovering about her in her father's life- 
 time, and settle soon and well. 
 
 Still, the year of mourning flew by, and Rosaline 
 did not settle, either into work or matrimony; and 
 Mrs. Grayling, the Vicar's wife, spoke of her with a 
 wrinkled brow. Winifred, easily bored by Mrs. 
 Grayling, was bored about her younger niece: until 
 she heard Rosaline sing Schubert's " Mignon " in a 
 black dress and then she fell in love. She did 
 so easily with any beautiful or pathetic object. 
 The love did not always last, as her critical spirit 
 got to work; but in this case she preserved an 
 
196 HERSELF 
 
 affection for the girl when her first delight fell dead. 
 Rosaline was bright, and cultured, and had a true 
 soprano voice. The great Mrs. Escreet did not regret 
 her bold offer to give her lessons, or the familiarity 
 with Farover the weekly visit entailed: but she did 
 by slow degrees repent the presentation to Tom. 
 
 She tried a bold stroke now. " Did Tom pro- 
 pose^" she queried, smiling. 
 
 "Mrs. Escreet! Of course not." 
 
 " He does not uncommonly, you know. He is 
 soft-hearted. While he was an undergraduate at 
 the House his mother was quite anxious about him. 
 That was before you came out, my dear." 
 
 " I never did come out," said Rosaline. " You 
 never do at Oxford, at least in families like ours. 
 Ann and I just went to strings of dances, and put 
 our hair up between two of them. Oh, dear, it was 
 a lovely time ! " She spoke gravely, wistfully, as of 
 good things past. She was pathetic again, and her 
 voice was prettily modulated. Winifred failed to 
 pat her decision, and even had a pang of regret. No 
 one could have detected it though from her serene 
 countenance as she entered the drawing-room by 
 the terrace and garden-window, and stood smoothing 
 her slightly ruffled hair, and gazing about her with 
 the same royal, contented air. 
 
 " The great question is," she said very gravely, 
 " whether we shall have tea first, or music. If 
 
FAROVER 197 
 
 Hester has cut the cream sandwiches for four 
 o'clock, they will have lost their first freshness by 
 five. Personally, I sing better after tea than 
 before " 
 
 " Tea first, then," cried Rosaline, who was both 
 hungry, and indifferent to the finest shades in the 
 art of comfort. " Oh, dear Mrs. Escreet, how 
 delicious ! " She fell upon the freshly gathered piles 
 of rose-leaves, laid out temporarily on a Chippendale 
 table by the window. 
 
 Mrs. Escreet looked at her with the ghost of a 
 frown, and rang the bell. Now and then very 
 rarely, for she saw her at most once a week Rosa- 
 line's youth gave her a pang, one of those pangs the 
 cleverest woman of forty does not seek to explain. 
 As it happened, few girls haunted her peaceful, 
 beautifully ordered home. When necessary only, 
 as when Tom Champion dined, she invited a young 
 cousin or friend for Gervase to play with : otherwise 
 the flood of youth which at fixed seasons invaded her 
 gates was either necessary relatives, or young men 
 who walked or rode out from Oxford on a Sunday, 
 for half an hour's chatter and a cup of tea. 
 
 The decision sprang full-bodied again, even as her 
 artistic eye approved Rosaline's attitude, the lines 
 of the young body bent above the fragrant heap of 
 rose-petals, which seemed only a shade more delicate 
 than the cheek they pressed. She was a nice girl 
 
198 HERSELF 
 
 charming; but it was better, really, and she must 
 make Gervase see it, that she should continue to 
 haunt the house as a pretty visitor, and at well- 
 spaced intervals only. As such, she was perfect; 
 but one should beware in life and art of overdoing 
 a good thing. 
 
 At six, Gervase Escreet came in from an occa- 
 sional visit to an Oxford library, and leaving his 
 soft hat in the entry, ran his hands through his hair, 
 and emerged upon the lawn. Sounds of music, 
 floating from the drawing-room, informed him that 
 Winifred's weekly lesson was still in progress. 
 Dropping upon a chair he discovered in the rose- 
 garden, and taking a good sniff at a convenient 
 flower before he felt for a cigarette, Gervase paid a 
 passing tribute of admiration to Winifred's energy. 
 The way, once she had an idea, she pushed it 
 through, devoting herself quite regularly to that girl 
 every mortal Wednesday afternoon, was marvelous. 
 And a girl who would never really sing, too he 
 differed with Winifred there. With the enthusiasm 
 of the instructor upon her, she had once declared that 
 good singing was only a question of an organ, and 
 brains : and that Rosie had both. Gervase disputed 
 the opinion, and demurred to the facts. The voice 
 was merely ordinary, the cleverness superficial; and 
 moreover something further was necessary that Miss 
 
F A R O V E R 199 
 
 Maskery had not; his wife had only to sing herself 
 to prove the truth with shattering force. Where- 
 upon Mrs. Escreet, calling him a sentimental 
 donkey, left the subject. 
 
 "There," said Gervase to the roses, as the key 
 changed, and the voice as well. " There you are, 
 that's Win's idea. What more do you want? " 
 Then he fell silent, for the song dated back in his 
 memory to their time of courtship; and though now, 
 as then, the melody was cool, and classically ren- 
 dered, it made him feel more sentimental than ever, 
 and a little old. 
 
 Nevertheless, while lightly regretting moments 
 past, Mr. Escreet failed not to savor the moment 
 he had. It is good to hear music, of an evening, in 
 the sweet country air, especially after several hours 
 of an ancient library, amid its smells compact of 
 time-worn leather, and gas, and dust. Few men he 
 knew had such a home, or pure music such as Win's 
 to turn to after working-time. There was nothing 
 to criticize in Win, or what few remarks captious 
 man could find to make he had long since made. 
 The melody, sanctified by a great name, was inap- 
 proachable. The voice, naturally equal and pure, 
 had been trained in youth by a teacher whose name 
 again was sufficient commentary. It was worn a 
 very little perhaps; but it was her voice, which 
 he had always preferred, and to which he was 
 
200 HERSELF 
 
 accustomed. She sang at the right moment too, as 
 Winifred always did, the moment of memories. 
 Where is the harm of memories, when there are none 
 that can sting? Gervase Escreet watched his 
 garden-close with kind eyes, and fingered a crumpled 
 tobacco-flower on the plant beside him. It was 
 waiting its precise moment in the twilight to change 
 from unsightliness into a pure sweet star, generous 
 in blessing. Half -smiling, Gervase opened it de- 
 liberately with his fingers, and bent to sniff. No, 
 the moment had not come, the flower refused its 
 fragrance. That was a joy to come later, the next 
 on his list of good things, faithfully preparing for 
 him. Mr. Escreet was of the opinion of the old 
 writer of Genesis for man's service only the birds, 
 beasts, and flowers of earth " created He them." He 
 had no more doubt of that white flower being his 
 own to play with than he had of the sole possession 
 of Winifred, singing in the house. It was all good 
 could barely be improved: or at least he had 
 no will nor energy at the moment to think of 
 improvement. 
 
 "Willst du dein Herz mir schenken 4 ?" he ob- 
 served to the pair of performers, when they came 
 out on the lawn. " Either or both of you, it's all the 
 same to me." 
 
 " Du is a singular pronoun," returned Rosaline. 
 " It must be one." 
 
FAROVER 801 
 
 " Bother," said Gervase. " Yes, that's the worst 
 of Germans." 
 
 " I think after that the best thing for me 
 to do would be to go to Auntie," said Rosaline, 
 with a pretty prudish air. "Hadn't I, Mrs. 
 Escreet?" 
 
 " Oh, I say," protested the master of the house, 
 who found that Miss Maskery under his eyes was 
 very different from Miss Maskery, a second-rate 
 performer in the drawing-room. " Not already. 
 Well, and when do you come to stop? " 
 
 He saw he was wrong at once, by the slight change 
 in Winifred's face. A false step had been made, 
 that had to be retraced. Gervase liked to act 
 impulsiveness, but he was not an impulsive man. 
 He had the cautious, critical brain, always feeling 
 ahead and preparing the way: in which way he 
 stepped with discretion though gaily, smiling on the 
 world. 
 
 As for Rosaline, she was impassive: but her 
 heart leapt up at his words. It was Gervase Escreet 
 himself who had spoken to her chaffingly of Wini- 
 fred's trouble with her eyes; and the need, slowly 
 defining itself, of " some sort of girl " in the house, 
 to help her, and lighten his own accumulation of 
 writing and copying. She had given the point small 
 thought at the time, but of late her aunt, Mrs. 
 Grayling, had recurred to it, with a significance not 
 
202 HERSELF 
 
 to be missed. It might just do for Ann, was Mrs. 
 Grayling's opinion, so much better than the tiring, 
 ill-paid work she was doing in Oxford. Mrs. Gray- 
 ling hoped she had hinted as much to Mrs. Escreet, 
 who was always so kind and generous. It would be 
 perfect for poor Ann, who could still pursue her 
 political work in the district, and who might even 
 continue to give lessons to her little cousin, as she 
 was doing at present four times in the week, by Mrs. 
 Grayling's arrangement. 
 
 Now Rosaline was fond of her sister, for whom 
 she even had a certain admiration; but privately she 
 considered that " poor Ann " would be far better 
 suited by a governess's post at the Vicarage, than 
 by life at Farover. Her aunt had no delicate sense 
 of character, or of the spirit of a place. Even she, 
 Rosaline, would have to adapt herself a little, if she 
 came into the life of Farover, as she hoped and 
 intended to do. She would dress differently, for 
 instance, be less exuberant and active, and take to 
 reading again. Ann read enough, in truth : but Ann 
 would never enter into the Farover spirit of discus- 
 sion: the spirit that was critical, but remote: that 
 saw art and literature through a glass screen, as it 
 were, and by many reflected lights : not by the coarse 
 light of day and reason which Ann, clever as she 
 was, would cast upon it. Ann would jar surely; 
 she would be out of tune ; she could never, never be 
 
F A R O V E R 203 
 
 thought of in conjunction with the wonderful Mrs. 
 Escreet. 
 
 During the tete-a-tete she had had with Winifred, 
 she waited eagerly for her to refer to the subject. 
 An opening was easily made, for it was natural to 
 enquire after the defaulting eyes. Winifred ad- 
 mitted, smiling with a good courage, that she had 
 to wear spectacles to read books by night, and music 
 by day: and during the singing-lesson, she wore 
 them rigorously; but the subject thinned and wore 
 out, and nothing came of it; so that Rosaline, un- 
 willing to believe that Mrs. Grayling's effort for Ann 
 had had any measure of success, could only suppose 
 that the just moment had not arrived for her hostess 
 to broach the subject with her, and that she must 
 " stay the very ripening of the time," even as did all 
 who had concern with the comfort of the Escreets' 
 lives. 
 
 She saw now in Winifred's face that the time was 
 not ripe it was all her sanguine youth would allow 
 her to see; and she turned the question with eager 
 tact. 
 
 "Auntie cannot have me yet, I am afraid," she 
 said. " She has promised to find room for Ann, at 
 least for some weeks before the election, but there 
 is nowhere to put me, even if I cared for it ; and you 
 know I abominate canvassing, and village meetings, 
 and everything Ann most enjoys." 
 
 - 
 
204 HERSELF 
 
 " Isn't the Grayling child going to school? " said 
 Winifred. 
 
 " I hardly think so," said Rosaline. " You see, 
 they would like her to, only Muriel herself refuses." 
 
 " They will never get her taught," said Winifred, 
 with disapproval. " She is a terrible little savage. 
 Mrs. Grayling has no idea of managing Muriel. 
 There would be room for you and Ann together, 
 Rosie, if she went." 
 
 " So there would," said Rosaline: her hopes sank 
 lower, for she felt strongly that Farover was shut to 
 her. Something had occurred she sought in vain 
 for what to make her less welcome within its 
 gates; she saw it dimly in her hostess's calm face. It 
 was the fault of the tactless aunt, most probably; 
 Rosaline had already suffered much from Mrs. 
 Grayling's virtuous efforts for her good. 
 
 " I must get back to Ann," she said. " It's getting 
 dark, and I have not done those bills. Good-bye 
 and thank you again, dear Mrs. Escreet. I really 
 will try to get the middle notes steadier." 
 
 So she went : and Mrs. Escreet found her comfort 
 distinctly more complete when she was gone. 
 
II 
 
 " WHAT'S up about Rosie Maskery*? " said Gervase 
 at leisure after dinner. The Escreets never hurried 
 to discuss a thing, even when both knew it was 
 imminent. They shared an understanding so com- 
 pletely, that they both edged off a subject which 
 promised effort until the inevitable moment had 
 come for attacking it. The moment appeared over 
 the silver tea-tray, at nine in the smoking-room. 
 
 " I made a bad move, didn't I? " said the master 
 of the house. " Has she fallen off, Winnie*? " In 
 his wife's estimation, he meant not that Rosa- 
 line's hair was dropping. 
 
 " Yes," said Winifred severely. " She has gone 
 down one: and Miss Clench has come up. I was 
 going to explain to you about it." 
 
 "Miss Clench 1 ?" said Gervase, really surprised. 
 "Who do you mean that girl of Brian's^ I 
 thought she'd made a mess of it." 
 
 " So she has, poor child," said Winifred. " And 
 that is partly why. You must be patient, Gervase." 
 
 Gervase was quite inclined to be patient, having 
 
206 HERSELF 
 
 the first wood-fire of the season to look at, an 
 Egyptian cigarette, and a cat upon his knee. It 
 looked at present as if Winifred was being benevo- 
 lent, but he did not believe that. Pure benevolence 
 was not her " form," rather that of his bugbear, 
 Mrs. Amabel Grayling. Gervase waited. 
 
 "Which shall we take first?" said Winifred. 
 " Rosaline very well. Rosaline is nice to look at, 
 she writes a good hand, she knows our ways more 
 or less, and we both like her pretty well." 
 
 " Awfully," said Gervase. 
 
 " Discount it a little, you know," said Winifred, 
 " for the effects of custom. You might get tired of 
 her voice." 
 
 "Might -I?" said Gervase. "Well, now you 
 mention it, I might; but I shouldn't often hear her 
 talking." 
 
 " I should," said Winifred. " I am not sure, after 
 a week or two, that Rosaline mightn't chatter." 
 
 " My dear Win," said Gervase, with feeling, " if 
 you think the daughter of Brian Clench, as I knew 
 him, is not going to chatter " 
 
 " It will be different," said Winifred calmly. " I 
 am coming to that presently, you will see. To pro- 
 ceed, Rosaline there's still a drop, by the way, if 
 you would like a third." 
 
 " Here goes," said Gervase. 
 
 " Just like a man," said Winifred, reaching the 
 
F A R V E R 207 
 
 cup. " Beyond the second, tea's undrinkable. 
 . . . Rosaline, until quite this last year, has 
 always been practically prosperous. She is a girl, 
 anyone can see, who takes to luxury naturally. Not 
 that this is luxury " and she passed back the cup. 
 
 " This is," said Gervase, receiving it, and crossed 
 his legs. " Ready, Win. Go on explaining." 
 
 " Well now, you know what I mean, and you 
 might save me the trouble of saying it. Rosaline 
 would not assume but she'd take for granted." 
 
 " An admirable distinction," said Gervase, sipping. 
 
 " Well, why don't you give me better words, if 
 you're particular 4 ? I can't pick over lavender and 
 a vocabulary as well. The feeling I want to express 
 is quite natural." 
 
 " Won't Miss Brian take for granted too*? " sug- 
 gested Gervase. " Her Papa, as I remember, took 
 everything for granted, including his own popularity 
 and position in society." 
 
 " I wish you would leave Brian Clench out of it," 
 said Winifred, with a touch of asperity. " Miss 
 Brian, as you call her, will not take for granted, for 
 the simple reason that I shall pay her a salary." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Escreet. "Ah." He stroked the 
 cat's ears in a reflective manner. 
 
 " You have no objection to that, I suppose? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said Gervase. " It may, as you 
 suggest, obviate much." 
 
208 HERSELF 
 
 " It determines her position," said Winifred. " I 
 could not, of course, offer Rosaline a salary. She 
 would be offended, not to mention her aunt. I 
 should never hear the last of it from Mrs. Grayling. 
 And here we come, Ger, to the next serious 
 objection." 
 
 " Leave it out," advised Gervase. " It's quite 
 understood, in this quarter. Have I not suffered, 
 as well as you? It's the plush jacket that does for 
 me." 
 
 "Well," said Winifred, "it's the plush jacket 
 that would always be visiting us, if Rosaline was 
 here in the winter. We should never see the last of 
 it, or of Amabel inside it either. A parsoness's visi- 
 tation, Gervase, I can stand. I can even ask her to 
 dinner once a quarter, if her husband is there to keep 
 her in order. But to have her dropping in to see her 
 niece, and advising me for her good, and both of them 
 mowing the borders for the Harvest Festival " 
 
 Ger vase's deep groan was sufficient commentary. 
 Winifred, having glanced at him once, abandoned 
 Mrs. Grayling and proceeded. 
 
 " Finally where we started, I think Rosa- 
 line is very attractive." 
 
 " I prefer 'em attractive," said Mr. Escreet. 
 
 " I know you do, and I have considered you as 
 well; but I am thinking of more than ourselves." 
 
 " Are you? " said Gervase, growing grave. 
 
FAROVER 209 
 
 " Yes. Rosaline might attract a number of people 
 possibly; but she certainly would attract Tom." 
 
 Gervase was again momentarily interested. 
 " Tom would never marry her," he observed. " He 
 knows his duty better than that." 
 
 " I don't say he would marry her. I don't suppose 
 any of them would. But I don't want to drag his 
 poor mother through all that again." 
 
 Gervase considered Tom Champion's past, which 
 was known to both of them. " I thought Tom's Ma 
 had contemplated Rosie as governess when the 
 little Clench was chucked," he said. " Surely that 
 would have been riskier than here." 
 
 "Not the least risky," said Winifred. "If I 
 could get Rosaline into that good place, I should do 
 it to-morrow, and be quit of worrying. She would 
 be under Cousin Grace's eye, and Cousin Grace 
 would be responsible. On the other hand, if Tom 
 kept mooning about here, she would consider it my 
 fault even if she doesn't already. It was I who 
 introduced them, under an evil star." 
 
 " Rosie would be a precious governess," said Mr. 
 Escreet thoughtfully. 
 
 " I dare say she would not do it badly," said 
 Winifred, " and the salary is good. She is not 
 professional, of course." 
 
 " Is the little Clench professional? " said Gervase. 
 
 " I think of her as that sort of girl." 
 
210 HERSELF 
 
 "I say, do you think of her also as good- 
 looking? " 
 
 " No," said Winifred deliberately. 
 
 "Why? Brian was a handsome dog." 
 
 Mrs. Escreet's face changed, and then came 
 straight again. " A married niece of the Champion's 
 had a look at the girl in Rouen," she said. " Rather 
 a wizened little creature, was what she said, though 
 smart enough in her trade." 
 
 Gervase groaned gently again, and begged her for 
 his sake to change the word. Winifred ignored him, 
 and devoted herself to shredding lavender. 
 
 "Why doesn't little Rosie marry, Win?" he 
 demanded idly soon. 
 
 , " Oh, really," said Winifred. " One gets tired of 
 asking why pretty and accomplished girls don't 
 marry. I suppose it is the higher education: there 
 are too many of them." 
 
 " Is that what they learn? " enquired Gervase. 
 
 " To be sure it is look at these new University 
 girls. Plainness and strength have long gone out 
 of fashion." 
 
 " I'm glad plainness is out of fashion," said 
 Gervase. He observed his wife for a time with 
 satisfaction. " We have never come to Miss 
 Clench," he reminded her at last. 
 
 " Well, that's not my fault. You kept dragging 
 her in when I talked of Rosaline. I am sure I don't 
 
FAROVER 
 
 know," said Winifred, " what is left to say about 
 her." 
 
 " What's left? and you the mistress of a house- 
 hold! Everything is to say, to judge by dear 
 Cousin Grace's expression in conversation." 
 
 " Explain what you mean," said Winifred heart- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Isn't she well a bit of a devil? Hasn't 
 she well gone the pace? Really, Win, you 
 might help an unfortunate male man." 
 
 "If you ask me," said Winifred deliberately, 
 " whether I think she has been a little fool, I should 
 say yes, certainly. Clenches are bound to be that, 
 sooner or later; and really it's providential for 
 Cousin Grace she broke out when she did." 
 
 " Also for you," said Gervase, " since you would 
 have recommended her." 
 
 " Also for me. But well, it seems fair to the 
 child to give her a second chance. To judge by that 
 niece's account in the spring, she is in very low 
 
 water." 
 
 Gervase waited. 
 
 "Having failed so badly may make her more 
 amenable, there's always that. I should try her for 
 a short term first, of course. She may be out of the 
 question: very likely she will." 
 
 "She got tangled up with a man, didn't she?" 
 said Gervase. "What's become of the man?" 
 
HERSELE 
 
 " Oh, he's gone quite off the scene. She has been 
 living in exemplary dullness at Rouen with a 
 virtuous and stupid family. I have ascertained all 
 that." 
 
 "Tried to poison herself, didn't she?" said 
 Gervase. " Or was it another party? " 
 
 " Another party," said his wife. " A friend of 
 hers, who lived with her in Paris for a time. 
 Really," she added, frowning, " I know very little 
 about it." 
 
 " And don't want to know more," Gervase sup- 
 plied. " Those things get happening in France, if 
 you will insist on living there. A very demoralizing 
 nation, hey, Mrs. Gummidge?" He rolled his cat 
 over with two fingers, awakening in the process the 
 slit-half of an amber eye, and the hysterical remi- 
 niscence of a purr. The cat was even more comfort- 
 able than Mr. Escreet, and cared nothing for his 
 fingers. " Anyhow," he said, " it will be a bit of 
 excitement in our humdrum lives." His wife 
 shrugged, shredded lavender. " I wonder where that 
 thief Brian has got to, Win. Did the girl's last letter 
 give you any light? " 
 
 " None. She ignored my question." 
 
 " Humph. He's not dead, or somehow I think we 
 should have heard of it. He would have published 
 his death-bed utterances, or left us all legacies of 
 
F A R O V-E R 213 
 
 other people's money, and things of that sort, 
 wouldn't he? " 
 
 " I suppose so," said Winifred. " Since you 
 suggest it." 
 
 " The little girl may be able to throw light, when 
 we get her here, eh? She must have funds from 
 him, or how could she have been living in these 
 unpaid posts? " 
 
 " Oh, naturally," said Mrs. Escreet, with a slight 
 show of impatience. " She is taught to keep the 
 counsel of the clan, that's all." 
 
 " Let us hope for good reasons," added Gervase. 
 Winifred rose, and threw all the stalks of the 
 lavender into the fire. 
 
 " Now sniff," she said to him; and they sniffed in 
 concert. 
 
 " It's the littlest tit-bit too like incense," pro- 
 nounced Gervase. " That's the only thing I have 
 against it, as a smell. Sakes alive, Winifred, won't 
 that Clench girl be a Catholic? " 
 
 " What then? " said Mrs. Escreet serenely. " I 
 shall drive her into Oxford to mass in the victoria. 
 It sounds shades more distinguished than the 
 Cathedral. I am not sure I shall not accompany her 
 myself, only you must keep it from Cousin Grace 
 if I do." 
 
 " When is the great scheme to fall due? " was Mr. 
 
HERSELF 
 
 Escreet's final question: after a little of what 
 Winifred herself called middle-aged flirting. 
 
 " Oh, not yet," she said cheeringly. " I couldn't 
 get ready for her before March. There's Sir 
 George," she reckoned, "for a week during the elec- 
 tion; and Leila Adair is staying over Christmas, you 
 remember; and I must see the oculist again in 
 February, not to mention Reuss coming over to 
 conduct the ' Ring.' " 
 
 " Just so," said Gervase, gravely accepting his 
 crowded programme for the winter season. " Well, 
 then, we have time to get used to it, haven't we 4 ? " 
 
 They separated, as ever in complete sympathy 
 and on a common understanding, though such small 
 communication had taken place. All the necessary 
 " explaining " had been done between them, and 
 they had the same soothing fact to console: that 
 the splash in the tranquil waters of Farover, with its 
 possible rocking of their well-balanced lives, was 
 not to take place " just yet." 
 
Ill 
 
 To Winifred's great surprise, Miss Clench did not 
 jump at her proposal. Indeed it needed so consider- 
 able an effort, and so many letters, to get her to 
 come to Farover at all, that she nearly gave it up 
 in disgust, and fell back on Rosaline. Rosaline was 
 still waiting for anything that might turn up, 
 foistered off upon Oxford friends, while Ann, in- 
 dispensable and unrequited as usual, made herself 
 the right hand of Mr. Champion's electoral agent 
 in the Stackfield district. Winifred herself, beyond 
 the entertainment of a single member of Parliament 
 who happened also to be an old friend, kept herself 
 apart from Election vulgarities and distractions. 
 She believed that Gervase had recorded a vote for 
 her cousin on polling-day, but she could not even 
 be sure of that, since she would not mention the 
 subject, and he talked of other things. What was 
 more to the point, his elaborate notes were beginning 
 to take book-form, the copying he required con- 
 stantly worried her eyes, and the " some sort of a 
 girl " began to be quite badly needed. 
 
216 HERSELF 
 
 Miss Clench's handwriting, though odd and rapid, 
 was very readable, and Gervase said that so far as 
 that went, she would do. The difficulty was, the 
 things she chose to write with it. Whatever she was, 
 she was not the clinging, droll, insinuating girl one 
 would have expected of her parentage. Her letters 
 were crisp and cool. She made very definite pro- 
 visions, as though it were in some sort her business 
 to guard her future from half-expected mishaps; she 
 was evidently not indifferent to money, when Wini- 
 fred skimmed the subject; and she was only occa- 
 sionally wistful. Winifred did not much like Harrie 
 from her letters; but she was curiously spurred by 
 them all the same, and she pinned the girl down at 
 last, though at the cost of some effort, as has been 
 said. 
 
 The effort was concerned with the placing of a 
 kind of dog of Harrie' s, a German woman in reduced 
 circumstances, who would not live far from her, and 
 when she came to England, must needs come too. 
 This creature, warmly recommended by Miss Clench, 
 was fortunately most modest in her requirements; 
 and when, by a really strenuous effort of brain, the 
 needs of Muriel Grayling at the Vicarage occurred 
 to Winifred's mind, the person accepted the post 
 eagerly for a nominal salary, less even than Ann 
 Maskery had been receiving. This stroke of genius 
 Mrs. Escreet accomplished in a single morning, ac- 
 
FAROVER *17 
 
 quiring virtue, as it were, on all sides, while serving 
 her central purpose. Ann, who was desperately busy 
 for the moment canvassing and cajoling the ignorant 
 elector, was frankly relieved by the proposal. 
 Muriel's mother, whom a few hours of Muriel com- 
 pletely exhausted, was almost tearful with gratitude. 
 Muriel herself, freed of the maddening vision of a 
 boarding-school in January, promised herself much 
 innocent amusement from the German lady's ac- 
 quaintance ; and her father only thanked fortune that 
 the person was a Protestant. 
 
 Thus it came to pass that the first place where 
 Harriet called, on her arrival in Stackfield after her 
 long journey, was at the parsonage. The Escreets 
 considered the Grayling's living-rooms a nightmare 
 of comfortless disorder; but to Harrie's eyes, used 
 to the sheer penury of a Rouen flat, the parlor 
 seemed very inviting and comfortable. 
 
 " You will be happy here, Bertha," she murmured. 
 " Don't cry. Yes, wait: I will come in with you a 
 moment." 
 
 Muriel, aged twelve, was excited, and had pre- 
 pared a rowdy welcome for the shrinking stranger 
 who pretended to teach her ; but she retreated rather 
 awed at the sight of a second visitor. 
 
 " Muriel, is it*? " said Harrie gently. " Is your 
 mother there I should just like to see her." 
 
 Muriel led them in, and Mrs. Grayling rose up to 
 
218 HERSELF 
 
 meet them from a hard sofa. She was a thin woman 
 with projecting teeth, worn eyes, and scanty hair; 
 she could never have had any claims to beauty, and 
 untiring work in the parish and at home had not 
 improved her appearance. She identified Harriet 
 without an introduction, and received her coldly: 
 then, turning to Bertha, she took her hand, and 
 with a few low words of earnest goodwill, saved her 
 from the threatening storm of tears. 
 
 "She will be all right in an hour," said Mrs. 
 Grayling. " It was kind of you to bring her in. 
 You both talk English, I suppose." 
 
 Her worn gray eyes, very still and piercing, were 
 turned upon Miss Clench. Mrs. Grayling had been 
 talking with Mrs. Champion about this girl, that 
 very afternoon. Madame Barriere's distorted story 
 had been, by devious ways, slowly filtering through 
 the parish; though filtering is not the word, for it 
 was cleared of nothing in the process. Mrs. Gray- 
 ling was not at all sure, wonderful as Mrs. Escreet 
 was, and enviable in her wide-minded knowledge of 
 the world, if she had done right to bring the subject 
 of such reports into the village. She had not the air 
 of a penitent now, as she stood under the central 
 light, with the rough-haired Muriel pressing up to 
 her side. She was watching the girl more than her 
 friend, Mrs. Grayling noticed. 
 
 " Fraulein Lindt speaks English very well," was 
 
F A R O V E R 319 
 
 her reply to the last question. The child, who had 
 no manners, had seized her rough fur necklet, and 
 was stroking its dependant head. 
 
 "Where does he come from?" she asked. 
 
 " From a French shop," replied Harrie. " And 
 before that from a farther place, I shouldn't 
 wonder." 
 
 "A really far place 4 ?" said Muriel. 
 
 " Out and beyond the world." Miss Clench was 
 absently grave. 
 
 " I'm going there," Muriel exclaimed. " D'you 
 d'you mean in America? " 
 
 " Well," said Miss Clench, " there are hunters in 
 Canada, I've heard." 
 
 " D'you know all about it? " The child's eyes 
 shone as she still teased the fur. " Will will you 
 come with me, when I go? " 
 
 " My pet," said Mrs. Grayling anxiously, " this 
 lady has just come over the sea to live with Mrs. 
 Escreet." With Muriel, her mother had still the 
 trick of childish phrases. 
 
 " Oh ! then doesn't she want to come? " The 
 child's face dropped. " Well, dash it all," she said, 
 "as if I cared." Her mother winced, and tried 
 awkwardly to put a hand across her mouth; but 
 Miss Clench did not seem to notice. 
 
 " I'd give half my fortune to go," she said in her 
 weary little voice. " Only it wouldn't get me half 
 
220 HERSELF 
 
 the way. But there's a time for all things : and one 
 of these days you'll see." 
 
 With that she nodded at Muriel, and shortly 
 afterwards she disappeared into the dark again. 
 Muriel opened and shut her mouth many times dur- 
 ing the next half-hour, as though things were stirring 
 in her spirit that she could say; but the singular 
 result of Miss Clench's visit was that eventually 
 that is, at bed-time she had not made as much 
 noise as usual. 
 
 Meanwhile, Harriet received the kindest of wel- 
 comes from Mr. and Mrs. Escreet: so kind as to 
 be almost confusing, especially as they were both 
 a little nervous. The girl was passive with weari- 
 ness, and did not talk much; but in what she did 
 say she was so childish as to take them both aback. 
 The master of the house, who in order to fill up 
 awkward pauses had made himself most droll and 
 delightful, gave vent to this astonishment at dinner. 
 
 " Are you old enough," he enquired, " to have 
 wine*? Perhaps you have never dined downstairs 
 before." 
 
 Miss Clench took him in, and she had eyes which 
 understood. 
 
 "As to floors," she said, " I have not had much 
 choice. I've had a flat life. Isn't that what you 
 call it?" 
 
F A R V E R 
 
 " I dare say I should if I knew," said Gervase, who 
 was carving. " She's had a flat life, Winifred. 
 Can't we give her a tall one, for a change? " 
 
 " You would cut straighter if you talked less 
 nonsense," said Mrs. Escreet, who had an aspect of 
 unspeakable soft dignity in her beautiful dinner- 
 gown. Miss Clench did not stare, she noticed, 
 but gave her a flashing look from time to time. 
 She was plainly, even poorly dressed herself, in 
 black serge, but what little linen and lace appeared 
 was arranged with French neatness and delicacy. 
 
 " What is a tall life 1 ? " enquired Harrie. 
 
 "A life," said Gervase, struggling with the joint, 
 " which it is really impossible to believe. . . . 
 Did you never meet anybody who had led one"? " 
 
 "Gervase!" exclaimed Winifred; and then, the 
 instant afterwards added, " You are splashing the 
 gravy." 
 
 To his great surprise the girl laughed at his 
 second remark, which had been innocent enough of 
 intention, and looked straight at him. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," she said. " And have you as 
 well?" 
 
 " I have, to be sure," said Mr. Escreet, searching 
 rather wildly for something further that was foolish 
 to say, for Winifred's tone had been in warning. 
 He had meant no reference to Brian, and he could 
 not be sure the girl had suspected one. If she had, 
 
222 HERSELF 
 
 she was certainly not offended: which was again 
 odd. 
 
 " How old are you, really*? " he said, to cover his 
 confusion. " Whisper I will not tell her." 
 
 " I am eighteen and a half," said Miss Clench 
 gently. " I do not wish to conceal it." 
 
 Gervase sat down after his labors, and put his two 
 fists on the table to rest them. " But you must," 
 he said solemnly. " You must. I can't have a secre- 
 tary of that age; my club would lose all respect for 
 me." 
 
 " Not if the secretary was a good one," said 
 Harrie. Her forehead knit up in a small straight 
 line. "I'd dearly like to have my own age again," 
 she said. " I have been living beyond it : and add- 
 ing a bit, you know, to make people think better of 
 me." 
 
 "How old were you in Rouen? " said Winifred, 
 glancing at her husband. 
 
 " Twenty- three," the girl confessed. 
 
 " And how many birthdays did you have? " said 
 Gervase. 
 
 " None at all." Mr. Escreet thumped the table 
 gently with his fist. 
 
 " That's where the mistake is," he said. " When 
 people don't keep their real birthdays carefully, 
 they lose all conscience. Do you mean the birthday 
 passed blank?" He gesticulated with two 
 
F A R O V E R 
 
 hands. "No letters parcels : nothing red or 
 green? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, this last one." 
 
 " Winifred," said Mr. Escreet, with an air of 
 reproachful suffering, " no wonder this life is a flat 
 one." 
 
 Winifred met his gaze with another equally ex- 
 pressive. " Do you mean," she said, in her smooth, 
 equable tone, " that your father does not write to 
 you, my dear? " 
 
 Harrie blushed a little. "I mean," she said, 
 " that I do not get his letters. He may well have 
 written, to the house I lived in last year." 
 
 " What, and they have not sent it on to you? " 
 
 " They have not," said Harrie, and rested her fair 
 head on her hand. " I should have arranged it at 
 the Versailles post-office perhaps but I left there 
 in a hurry. And the directions I have sent them 
 since have no effect: people in post-offices are so 
 stupid, are they not? Doubtless it is the heat." 
 
 Both host and hostess gazed at her helplessly. 
 
 "But you mean then," said Winifred at last, 
 " that your father has lost you? " 
 
 " Yes, he has lost me," said Harrie, and there was 
 a marked note of eagerness in her voice. " I am 
 afraid he has." 
 
 When she rose from the table she looked so tired, 
 
HERSELF 
 
 that Winifred saved her from Gervase, and sent her 
 to bed. 
 
 " Do not bother to unpack," she said, as she held 
 the girl's little hand uncertainly. "Hester, will 
 do it." 
 
 " Oh, it will not take long," said Harriet. 
 
 She would fain have had her new room to herself 
 on arrival, but the serious maid was there, opening 
 drawers and hanging things in cupboards. 
 
 " It is not crushed, I hope," said Harrie, of what 
 she was hanging. " That is my only dress." 
 
 It was the same blue dress of which Madeleine 
 had spoken with approval, and it was one of Brian's 
 presents to her, sent in kind, not in the form of 
 money. You cannot pawn a ready-made dress 
 particularly if it is your own color and fits you 
 however much you may be of the saving and ant- 
 like disposition. 
 
 " It is not crushed at all, Miss," said Hester. " It 
 couldn't have got so, packed in the manner it was." 
 Hester was an accomplished maid, and her approba- 
 tion was worth having. Harrie looked pleased, as 
 she sat down rather lifelessly before the glass. 
 
 " Shall I do your hair? " said Hester. Young 
 men calling on the Escreets found Hester paralyz- 
 ing, her manner was so capable, and so cloistrally 
 severe. A very young man was always certain he 
 
FAROVER 225 
 
 had turned up the wrong corner, or left the wrong 
 card. 
 
 " Oh, do," said Miss Clench. " That's the kind 
 thought to have, when I am so tired." 
 
 Hester smiled grimly, standing aside from the 
 looking-glass, and brushed out the curly hair, 
 admiring it as she brushed. Harrie said nothing to 
 her at all; her face in the mirror was set and pon- 
 dering; she only thanked the maid with a smile 
 before she left the room. 
 
 " She's not a tattler," said Hester, with approval 
 in the kitchen. " Not a question did she ask me, 
 though she had the chance : not that she'd have got 
 an answer if she had. But she's the bonniest little 
 face on her, and as tired as a baby. I'd have liked 
 to have kissed her, only she was that grave and 
 innocent." 
 
 The cook was impressed, for Hester's opinion 
 went for something in the household. " Not much 
 luggage she had," observed the cook. " John carried 
 it up single-' anded." 
 
 "She's nothing," said Hester. "Except, of 
 course, what a young lady must have. You might 
 take my word for it, Marion, she's nothing. 9 ' 
 
 There was a scandalized pause again. 
 
 " What's her father been doing? " said the cook. 
 " You said she had a father, didn't you? " 
 
286 HERSELF 
 
 "Ah she's got his portrait," said Hester. Her 
 grimness was extreme. 
 
 " Sure of it, are you*? " said the cook. 
 
 " Mrs. Escreet has a signed one, another view." 
 Hester paused. " Whatever he's doing, it's not his 
 duty." 
 
 " They're pore," said the cook, with condescension. 
 
 " Poor or not, I know what I'm talking of." 
 
 The cook Marion was discreet, being on one 
 season's standing. " He was here soon after their 
 marriage, weren't he?" she suggested. "I re- 
 member you once said you had it from old Kate." 
 She alluded to one of the stories of the household, 
 passed down in all good country families. 
 
 " He never came into a house," said Hester, " ex- 
 cept to turn it upside-down. That's the sort he was, 
 and all the young servants loving him." 
 
 " Did he get what he come for? " said Marion. 
 
 " He did and more. Pounds," said Hester, " he 
 must have had from them, and not one, you mark 
 my words, but both. I never knew a man like him 
 not that I knew him direct. But the talk he 
 made would last a house a life-time." 
 
 " What was her mother? " said the cook, return- 
 ing after a respectful interval to Harrie. 
 
 " I don't know and don't want to," said Hester. 
 She added inconsequently, " Whoever it was, I'm 
 sorry for her." 
 
F A R O V E R 227 
 
 The cook sniffed: a demonstration in the kitchen 
 world that means many things. 
 
 " She called me ' sir/ " said Mr. Escreet, walking 
 the drawing-room in comic consternation. " What 
 have I done, at my age, to be addressed as ' sir ' by 
 a little school-marm baggage of eighteen?" 
 
 "I thought it," said Winifred slowly, "not 
 unsuitable." 
 
 " What*? " said Gervase, stopping. 
 
 " Well," said his wifej^oking him over with kind 
 eyes at leisure^-ie^asriot an entirely easy situation 
 for anybed^T But if you ask me, I think the girl 
 off, on the whole, in dress and manner as well, 
 better than we did ourselves." 
 
 " What did we leave out*? " said Gervase scratch- 
 ing his well-shaven cheek. 
 
 " It's what we put in." Winifred smiled at his 
 face. " No, really, I ask you, Ger, with the future 
 before us, is it quite fair to begin by treating a 
 salaried companion like well, your favorite 
 niece? " 
 
 " Niece? " murmured Gervase. " Oh, say grand- 
 daughter at once." He looked disturbed, though 
 still comical. " It's the age of the creature," he said. 
 
 " It's an annoyance, I own, her being so young 
 granted it's true, of course." 
 
 "True?" said Mr. Escreet, his face lengthening. 
 
228 HERSELF 
 
 "It's quite a degree more pathetic to appear as 
 eighteen, especially if she suspects certain tales have 
 preceded her." 
 
 " Oh, aren't you a little rough on her? " said 
 Gervase. 
 
 " No, I'm reasonable. You must," said Wini- 
 fred, " remember to reckon in her birth and up- 
 bringing : not only what she is, but what others have 
 been before her. She comes knowing we have no 
 chance of testing her statements, doesn't she? Well, 
 that, to a person of imagination, is a temptation as 
 it stands. A young appearance would be another: 
 though one knows that American complexion may 
 be any age." 
 
 Gervase's face was still long. " There's no time,'' 
 he declared, " for her to be more than one-and- 
 twenty. Think of the date of our own marriage, 
 Win. You are not pretending to assert the Clench 
 was married when he came? " 
 
 "Why not?" said Winifred, rather bitterly. 
 " However, I do not assert it. She need not have 
 taken off more than a year or two. Considering 
 the date of the supposed esclandre, eighteen is 
 well, artistic." 
 
 Gervase tramped about again before he came to 
 his next stop. They must always find something to 
 argue, he and Win; but to-night an unaccustomed 
 necessity weighed upon him. He took a bold step. 
 
FAROVER 229 
 
 " Aren't you judging her on her father? " he said. 
 
 " We have nothing else at present to judge her 
 on," answered Winifred quietly. " And she is very 
 like him." 
 
 "Like Brian?" cried Mr. Escreet. 
 
 " You mean you did not see the likeness? " Mrs. 
 Escreet had risen too; she leant against the high 
 fire-place, shielding her face from the blaze with 
 one hand. " However, that is not the point, as it 
 happens, for a girl's education depends on the 
 other side." 
 
 "The mother, eh?" 
 
 " The thing I must make it my business to find 
 out, is what the mother was worth: whether the 
 child had any early education worth the name. I 
 want to avoid sentimentality, Gervase, and get 
 facts." 
 
 " Facts, to be sure," said Mr. Escreet. 
 
 " I don't want to spoil the girl," said Winifred in 
 measured tones. "I want to reinstate her: to start 
 her in an honest life, here or elsewhere, if only for 
 her father's sake." 
 
 Her voice had sunk rather on the last phrase, 
 and Gervase was silent for a period. He was im- 
 pressed, as Winifred had always easily impressed 
 him; she looked perfectly splendid, leaning against 
 the oaken chimney-place, and backed by a Chinese 
 screen of silk and gold; but for all his habit of 
 
230 HERSELF 
 
 admiration, there was something separate moving 
 within him as well. It was quite vague, this feeling. 
 He was not desperately critical, either of her or of 
 others, asking only for an easy life: but his wits 
 were lively this evening, owing to unlooked-for 
 excitement or good wine, and he seemed to see, in 
 her late admirable attitude, an inconsistency. The 
 little Clench was to be made honest was that it, by 
 chance? for her father's sake: while the dis- 
 honesty charged to her was largely that father's 
 legacy. Winifred's logic was so habitually superior 
 to his own, that it was hardly in Gervase to suspect 
 it. He preferred to prowl about the soft carpet, and 
 fix a good point of view from which to enjoy her 
 against the screen. 
 
 " Do you mean to keep her, then? " he said in his 
 usual manner of idle sympathy. 
 
 " How can I pronounce, the first evening? " said 
 Winifred, turning on him good-humoredly. " You 
 are really too absurd, Gervase. She seems quite a 
 nice little thing; and she has got a look about her 
 as if she might be useful." 
 
 " To somebody," suggested Gervase. 
 
 " To somebody, of course. Whether she suits this 
 house," said Winifred, " is another question." 
 
IV 
 
 SURPRISING though it might seem, Miss Clench had 
 two letters waiting for her on the breakfast-table 
 the next morning, both, Mrs. Escreet observed, in a 
 masculine handwriting. This entertained her: but 
 she made no remark to Gervase, who was starting 
 off early to his Oxford library. Oxford was only 
 two stations away from Stackfield by train, but 
 Gervase, who was proud of his energy and athletic 
 figure, preferred his bicycle on all but the worst 
 mornings. 
 
 " She is late," he observed, looking at the empty 
 place. 
 
 " She was tired," said Winifred, " and I told Hes- 
 ter not to wake her. It seems," she added to amuse 
 him, " that she brought an alarm clock, which Hes- 
 ter had the sense to leave among the papers in her 
 trunk. This morning I shall have the trunk put in 
 the garret, so we shall not, at any rate, be teased 
 with that." 
 
 " Poor little person," said Gervase, rather sadly. 
 He made his final preparations. His wife gave him 
 
HERSELF 
 
 three violets for his buttonhole, and debated for five 
 minutes whether to add a leaf. 
 
 " Remember to think really hard about the sixth 
 man for dinner on the eighteenth," she said. 
 " Whatever you do, don't be in a hurry, for there is 
 Grace to please as well as me; and do try to be back 
 in time for luncheon." 
 
 Then she turned back to the morning-room, and 
 directed Hester about Miss Clench's breakfast. 
 
 " The young lady says she will only take a cup of 
 coffee," observed Hester. 
 
 " Dear, dear," said Winifred. " It doesn't mean 
 she is ill, I suppose? " 
 
 "In quite good spirits," said Hester demurely. 
 " Shall I put the letters on the tray, madam? " 
 
 " No : I will bring them," said Mrs. Escreet, 
 laying a hand upon them. " I am coming up di- 
 rectly." 
 
 However, Miss Clench did not even look at her 
 letters when they were passed to her, she was so 
 eager to apologize. 
 
 " It's dreadful of me," she said, sitting up in bed 
 to clasp her knees. " And I told Hester, it's not that 
 I don't know the English habits. I have been look- 
 ing it up to be quite sure, and I know exactly what 
 you do all day." 
 
 " What do we do, I wonder? " laughed Winifred, 
 sitting down. " I am surprised you found books of 
 
F A R O V E R 383 
 
 reference, my dear." The appellation was out be- 
 fore she knew it ; the girl, with her hair loose against 
 the frilled pillows, looked so ridiculously young. 
 
 " Oh, I could get some English books there 
 and there were Brian's old letters to help. You'll 
 excuse me calling my father that," she added 
 quickly. " For I know you were acquainted." 
 
 " I suppose one of those is not from him," said 
 Winifred carelessly. Harriet glanced at the pair as 
 they lay in her hand. " No," she said, and blushed 
 a little. " These are friends. Oh, dear, they have 
 found my address very quickly, haven't they? " 
 
 Winifred hardly knew what to make of this; it 
 looked like over-acted innocence. 
 
 " Do you not like receiving letters'? " she asked. 
 
 " I love it," said Miss Clench with decision. 
 
 "You have some regular correspondents, then?" 
 
 " Well only one that's regular." She glanced 
 at the letters again and laughed. 
 
 "I see," said Mrs. Escreet, rising. "Well, I 
 would not prevent you from reading your corre- 
 spondence. Will you come down when you are 
 ready, and you shall see the place a little. You will 
 want to take your bearings vous orienter, hein? " 
 She smiled. 
 
 " I do that pretty quick," said Harriet. " Is there 
 no work to do? " 
 
 " Gervase has left some lists, he said; but really 
 
234 HERSELF 
 
 there's no hurry. As for me, let's see " Mrs. 
 Escreet considered serenely. " Can you copy music, 
 I wonder?" 
 
 "I can," said Harrie, in an Irish flash without 
 winking. " Why, there," she added, " I had forgot- 
 ten, and, of course, my father told me." 
 
 " What did he tell you? " said Winifred, stop- 
 ping short. 
 
 " Only that you had music like few he had 
 known." Harrie added almost at once. " He 
 meant, of course, out of the profession." 
 
 The magnificent Mrs. Escreet felt not exactly 
 offended, but the edges of her serenity were ruffled. 
 She remembered in a rush how often the detrimental 
 Brian had ruffled it. With him, it was a curiously 
 tolerable experience; but the manner, as aped by a 
 girl, almost reached impudence. She was calm, 
 however, merely noting it down among her morn- 
 ing's impressions. 
 
 " You are not a musician yourself, I suppose," 
 she said. 
 
 " Not I, no," said Harrie. " But it's as well," 
 she added, her gray-blue eyes gazing sadly out of 
 the window, " for I wouldn't have got my living by 
 it, anyway." 
 
 "Anyhow," Winifred corrected mechanically. 
 " Excuse me your English for the most part is 
 very good; but 'anyway' sounds vulgar." 
 
FAROVER 285 
 
 " I am sorry, I am sure," murmured little Miss 
 Clench. Winifred proceeded. 
 
 " Why should you not have got your living by 
 music 4 ? Many people do." 
 
 " They're exceptions if they manage it," said 
 Harriet, " which I am not. There's nothing excep- 
 tional about me." She gazed with the same serious 
 eyes at her hostess. 
 
 " There is teaching " Mrs. Escreet was cut 
 
 off. 
 
 " Teaching, oh, yes. But that I never could have 
 borne." 
 
 " You surely cannot tell till you try," argued 
 Winifred, vexed again. Had she not herself con- 
 descended to give a music-lesson at least once a 
 week? 
 
 "Oh, I've tried it," responded the irritating 
 Irishwoman lightly. "I've tried a number of things 
 in my time." 
 
 Mrs. Escreet retired, with as much dignity as she 
 could muster, closing the door with careful quietness. 
 This girl, she decided in the drawing-room, was not 
 going to be as simple as she looked to manage. One 
 thing also was clear as well to Mrs. Escreet's mind: 
 to be as sharp as that, she could not possibly be 
 eighteen. 
 
 Harrie read her letters: Pat's first and then 
 Geoffry's. 
 
236 HERSELF 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss CLENCH," wrote Geoffry, 
 
 " Your last found me in despair over my play, 
 but now I believe I have succeeded. When I am 
 like that I do not write to anybody, for I crowd my 
 own business and my own woes upon them. Thanks 
 to your hint, Vanessa is much better. It never 
 struck me those few words of Churchill's would 
 make her so furious but I saw you were right, and 
 I changed her answer. After which I found that 
 speech threw out the whole scene following, and I 
 re-wrote the lot to tone. Now I am so pleased with 
 it and her that I am itching to read it to somebody. 
 If only Pat were here : he used to annoy me, he was 
 so careless, but he generally threw light on some- 
 thing, whether the thing I asked or another: and 
 he always knew by a kind of second-sight what was 
 impossible. 
 
 " I have been a sad time over this play, but Thorn- 
 tree has heard it unfinished, and I think it will really 
 see the stage in London in May or June. Then I 
 shall have to follow it if only to keep an eye on 
 Vanessa. Tell me if you hear anything of a girl 
 called Elsie Bridgnorth, who is probably to play 
 her. How dares she or any Elsie undertake it? 
 
 " I should like to know how you get on, and be 
 kept up-to-date in the collecting. I hope these peo- 
 ple will look after you, and not let you have colds so 
 often. I should like to say do not judge England 
 
F A R O V E R 23T 
 
 by its country couples, but as they are a serious 
 weight in English opinion, I can't. Go to Oxford, 
 won't you, it's my town: and it means more than 
 London and more than Eton (Cambridge I don't 
 allude to) in what we have been and shall be. Find 
 a tree that touches the ground in New College, and 
 sit under it on Sunday evening between five and 
 six. There used to be a local dryad there. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " G. HORN." 
 
 " Madame Rochette has indulged in another 
 ' attack,' and I suppose I must let her come to Lon- 
 don. I prevaricated adroitly with Morough, so I 
 thought : but when he telegraphed for your address, 
 reply paid^ what could I do*? " 
 
 Harriet replied to him in sections all that week, 
 and sent the whole within the fortnight, which was 
 prompter than her wont. Neither his epistolary 
 form nor hers demanded a reply. She often held 
 his letters back, and sent them when a letterless con- 
 dition could suddenly be borne no longer. As often 
 she tore up the little budget, or dropped it in the 
 fire. " That's no good to him or me," she generally 
 observed aloud as she did so. This week, however, 
 whether it were that her new circumstances spurred 
 her to confidence, or that she really needed his opin- 
 ion, the letter of unprofitable commentary on life 
 
238 HERSELF 
 
 was despatched. Characteristically, the real anxiety 
 stood first, for Harrie never " composed " her let- 
 ters a thing of which her " correspondante," it 
 must be owned, was guilty. 
 
 " What am I to think of Patrick 4 ? " she began. 
 " Here he writes to me to say he is taking a holiday, 
 because he has been ill. From what you know of 
 schools, do you think it is true they would let him? 
 I am enquiring to find out, for I know they do have 
 a great long holiday over here, in some places in the 
 springtime. But that would be Easter, would it 
 not? And now it is not even the Mi-careme. I 
 should be so vexed, if he betrayed his employer for 
 me. 
 
 " I am troubled about the illness too, if it is the 
 truth he is telling. He says there is a doctor at 
 Oxford he might visit well, to be sure there are 
 several, and would be in any town. If it's that 
 cough he once talked of, Oxford is surely not the 
 place to come for it, for this is a climate like a 
 swamp. I am wondering, sir, if he has written any- 
 thing about this to you as well, for Brian was always 
 free with his letters when he had some complaints to 
 make. Yet Brian was strong, and Patrick has never 
 been that. By which I mean, those that are born 
 delicate complain more rarely, and so are the harder 
 to help." 
 
 That was the first day's contribution, and the 
 
FAROVER 
 
 writer was so worried that she very nearly posted it. 
 However, a night's rest made her think better of it, 
 and she waited to add some information. 
 
 " Farover is well-named," she proceeded, " for it 
 is very lofty. By that I do not mean that the roof 
 is high, only that you cannot help feeling at the top 
 of things, safe and surprised at anybody troubling. 
 I am surprised at myself when I get into the mood. 
 A bow-shot from the brown gate there is the 
 Parsonage, and there's trouble there again. I 
 thought the lady Mrs. Grayling a hard woman but 
 it seems she is kind to Bertha, and harassed with 
 the child. Her husband is the clergyman, and came 
 to see me thinking to have me for his church. 
 I was sorry to tell him I could not, for it seemed 
 no way to make acquaintance. Indeed, he seems 
 to have forgotten I exist since then, and never notices 
 me. 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Escreet I have collected on the 
 chance, for they seem to be wonderful people. I 
 have no doubt she is in Brian's collection as it is, 
 remembering the way he would speak of her beauty, 
 so I have her by inheritance. She's difficult too, as 
 we say in France: she will not have a stick out of 
 place, in the house or garden, and she does not like 
 remarks. Mr. Escreet is very clever, writing books 
 like you for his pleasure. He is more disorderly 
 even than Brian, though he has the most expensive 
 
240 HERSELF 
 
 arrangements. I cannot get his papers straight, and 
 he is forever finding new ones." 
 
 Here the letter-writer paused again, and started 
 anew later with apology. 
 
 " I cannot get this letter written, and I want you 
 to know them all at least a little. There is Hester, 
 and the cook, and John, who have all done things 
 for me since I came. Hester is quiet company, but 
 you should see the work she does I mean with the 
 needle. I told her I had been misled as to English 
 sewing, believing they never stirred a finger over 
 there without machines. I shall have her to make 
 some things for me but why am I talking of this*? 
 The footman John has made her offers for years past, 
 it seems, and she refusing him steadily. I should 
 think he might go on to the end of time, to judge 
 by his mechanical appearance. Yet it is a pity she 
 will not think of it, for the Farover lodge they 
 would have is a little dear house, where anyone 
 could be happy. I like these English house-servants, 
 though I really do not see how they find enough to 
 do. 
 
 " Beyond these there is Miss Maskery, who comes 
 for singing on Wednesdays, and Mr. Thomas 
 Champion, who comes to see her. At least Mrs. 
 Escreet will have it that it is only by chance he 
 comes to tea, but it becomes a queer chance, 
 wouldn't you say, when it has happened twice in 
 
FAROVER 841 
 
 succession? I laughed when I first saw Mr. Tom. 
 Though it was rude enough I could not help it, for 
 it came back to me something Madame Barriere once 
 said about him, in the days when they thought of 
 me for a governess in his mother's house. You can 
 often save up a laugh even when you do not feel 
 like it at the time: and poor Mr. Tom, standing 
 surprised, had the benefit. 
 
 " The odd thing is that Miss Maskery is trying 
 now for the post I missed, and as Mrs. Escreet con- 
 siders, likely to get it, for the woman they have is a 
 failure. Risings Park is a bigger house even than 
 Farover what would I have done there? I 
 should have been lost in it entirely. Yet I would 
 sooner now have that work with children than what 
 I have taken, though I am shy to repeat it to my 
 employers. It takes you up more, and saves consid- 
 ering. A little child comforts your heart, the way it 
 puts its claim upon you, when your mind is in other 
 things." 
 
 She added up the side, as though an afterthought : 
 " These two, Mr. Tom and Miss Rose, I have not 
 collected. For though I have talked to both, I do 
 not seem to know them much." 
 
AMONG the varied and irregular small duties 
 required of her, Harriet discovered that she had 
 frequently to see visitors for the mistress of the 
 house, who possessed a special hiding-place of her 
 own in what she carelessly called her " shed " in the 
 garden. Harrie had generally to judge with 
 Hester's experienced help which visitor might on 
 no account be allowed to suspect Winifred was in 
 reach of a call, and which she would be decidedly 
 vexed to miss. One of those, however, who pre- 
 sented no difficulty in the matter of this choice, was 
 Mrs. Grayling; for Mrs. Escreet always blessed any 
 agent of fate who relieved her of the Vicar's wife. 
 
 " Plush in the avenue," announced Gervase, who 
 was gardening, in the deliberately disreputable 
 undress from which, when he wore it in full sun- 
 light, Harriet could hardly turn her eyes. It 
 amazed her in the " smart " man he was, that he 
 could appear before his wife, that merciless critic 
 of exteriors, in such harlequin guise, and without 
 rebuke. 
 
FAROVER 243 
 
 " I have sighted plush," said Gervase, peering into 
 the shed as he flitted past. " Run, Harri-et, and 
 protect us." For the Escreets had soon decided to 
 adopt her christened name, as the recurrence of the 
 Clench, not to mention the Miss, annoyed their 
 fastidious ears. They agreed in so doing that " the 
 mother" had better have called her Jane at once; 
 and Mr. Escreet frequently used, in pronouncing 
 the name, a comic emphasis. 
 
 " Tell her that up to a guinea I'll subscribe," said 
 Winifred, as Harrie rose obedient, " to whatever it 
 happens to be. But I will not open anything, or 
 address anybody: and I decline to hear the school- 
 children sing." 
 
 So Harriet went, certain in advance that her 
 appearance would not be welcome to the visitor. 
 Nor was it evidently, though Mrs. Grayling had 
 the professional manner of being pleased to meet 
 her. 
 
 " I did want to catch Mrs. Escreet herself if 
 possible," she said, plunging awkwardly into affairs, 
 and neglecting any previous acquaintance with the 
 girl before her. 
 
 " She will be sorry," said Harrie, who inherited 
 from her father a useful talent of lying convincingly. 
 " This weather it is tempting to be out-of-doors." 
 
 Mrs. Grayling sighed, whether at the remark or 
 her own thoughts, sitting heavily upon an uncom- 
 
HERSELF 
 
 fortable chair. Then, recollecting herself, she 
 smiled brightly. 
 
 " I should be thankful, I suppose, to have got so 
 far," she said. " I really think it ought to be a very 
 good programme." 
 
 "A soiree?" said Harrie at a venture: then 
 corrected herself; " a village entertainment? " 
 
 " Our Concert," explained Mrs. Grayling, in an 
 undertone, " for the Restoration." 
 
 " Oh," murmured Harrie, rightly concluding by 
 the tone that the ugly little church was in question. 
 She felt a shyness of further enquiry on the sacred 
 subject, for the Vicar's wife's piercing eyes were 
 looking through her sadly. She felt the church was 
 not considered her concern that she was, in the 
 opinion of the Vicarage, entirely unworthy of living 
 in its neighborhood. 
 
 " Well," said Harrie, to brighten matters up, for 
 the atmosphere of plush jacket was depressing, " and 
 it's the music you want, or the money? " 
 
 This was the cheerful way in which Miss Clench 
 habitually did business; yet, though there was noth- 
 ing impolite in her manner, it made Mrs. Grayling 
 visibly shrink. 
 
 "The parish lends the room," she explained in 
 the same low tone. " The profits, I hope, will easily 
 cover the gas. Programmes, if the curate announces, 
 are unnecessary." She cleared her voice, and gath- 
 
FAROVER 245 
 
 ered the plush jacket a little higher round her thin 
 throat. " I hope myself to accompany," she said, 
 " but I should like there to be a second string if I 
 failed." 
 
 " But you mustn't think of it," cried Harrie. " I 
 am sure you will have plenty as it is, receiving all 
 the people." She moved the rocking-chair invit- 
 ingly, but Mrs. Grayling, with the same bright 
 mechanical smile, shook her head. 
 
 "So it was Mrs. Escreet you wanted to come and 
 accompany," said Miss Clench, pushing forward the 
 business another stage. 
 
 "Oh, never!" Mrs. Grayling started. "How 
 could you imagine I would ask for that*? If Mrs. 
 Escreet were so wonderfully kind as to play once, 
 and to let Rosie Maskery sing just one of her lighter 
 songs. Rosie will not promise, I know, without 
 her permission, when she has been so kind in train- 
 ing her. That is what I wished to ask if she 
 would mind." 
 
 " I am sure not," said Harrie. " I will let you 
 know to-day." 
 
 " Thank you thank you. With that I am sure 
 we should be quite safe, and they would all be so 
 delighted. As luck would have it, I find my govern- 
 ess is a wonderful musician, and ready to help us." 
 It was clear that in the distraction of parochial mat- 
 ters, Mrs. Grayling had forgotten the connection 
 
246 HERSELF 
 
 between Mrs. Escreet's companion, and her govern- 
 ess; or else she had prepared the whole speech 
 beforehand for Winifred's ears, and it would not 
 bear re-arranging. 
 
 " You know that probably," she added, recollect- 
 ing with a new effort the connection of the pair. 
 " You know Miss Lindt." 
 
 " Miss Lindt'll play all night unless you stop 
 her," said Harrie, smiling. " That'll be the trouble: 
 but I'll manage it. I am used to her. I suppose I 
 may come to help*? " 
 
 " Why yes, to be sure I ought to have asked 
 you. But I supposed if Mrs. Escreet came " 
 
 " I'm her shadow," laughed Harrie. " Oh dear, 
 I do wish you'd rest in the rocking-chair. It's 
 fidgeting here for an occupant." Mrs. Grayling, 
 after a moment's stiff pause, did as she was requested. 
 Harrie thought she had never seen anyone look so 
 tired. " As for accompanying," she proceeded, " I 
 am really quite fit for it myself, if you like a change." 
 
 " Oh if Mrs. Escreet would let you that 
 " 
 
 " If she'd let me," agreed Harriet demurely. 
 " Would I have to ask her*? " 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Grayling, somewhat disturbed 
 to be applied to, "I should think you know best. I 
 have no idea she is most kind " 
 
 " Most kind," Harrie thought, " on all hands, I 
 
F A R O V E R 
 
 notice; but how she rides on these people, all the 
 same." She was silent, considering; leaning forward 
 with her fingers clasped, and her elbows on her knee. 
 
 " Are you not used," said Mrs. Grayling, " to 
 being a companion"? " 
 
 " No," said Harriet. " I'd sooner be a friend." 
 
 Again she took the Vicar's wife aback by her 
 directness. 
 
 "I'm not complaining," added Miss Clench, 
 " only there are some things I can't be, and I believe 
 companion's one of them. You would not believe 
 it, I suppose, if I said I envied Bertha down with 
 you." 
 
 " Why should I not believe it*? " said Mrs. Gray- 
 ling quickly. She was a sincere woman, and her 
 spirit sprang to meet a straight statement. Experi- 
 ence of the poorer classes does not lead one to suspect 
 bluntness : rather to catch at it among the vast social 
 tissues of pretence. 
 
 " There's nothing to do here," explained Harrie, 
 gripping her fine little fingers together. " And Mrs. 
 Escreet wants no one to help her. A clever servant 
 could do what I do in her odd hours; and everyone 
 here has time to spare. It's just the fact I'm telling 
 you," she added lightly, "not that I'm anyway 
 unhappy." 
 
 " I did not suppose you were," said Mrs. Gray- 
 ling. She frowned a little, for she had never met a 
 
248 HERSELF 
 
 case quite like this before. Her husband of course 
 would say the girl was no affair of hers : and she en- 
 deavored to think as he did. " Many people would 
 envy you," she went on, still in the manner of in- 
 struction or reproof. " Nor do I think Miss Lindt 
 finds us at all easy at the Vicarage. Muriel alone 
 " Her voice broke and she swallowed some- 
 thing. 
 
 " You're anxious about her," said Harrie, having 
 left a little pause. She had met Bertha once, and 
 knew more about the Vicarage skeleton than Mrs. 
 Grayling thought: for Bertha, though unobservant, 
 was by no means imperceptive. 
 
 " Anxious? " Then she had it all. Either there 
 was something in the soft beam of her eyes, as 
 straight as Mrs. Grayling's in their glance; or the 
 poor woman herself was overwrought, and the break- 
 ing-point came upon her at the wrong moment, be- 
 fore she was aware. She only conquered hysteria by 
 a mighty effort, which Harriet perceived. The 
 trouble itself was no uncommon one, concerning 
 mainly a didactic, unsympathetic father, and a 
 rebellious child. 
 
 " Muriel's taken to you, I don't know why," she 
 said, and repeated in her distraction more than once. 
 " I don't know if you can do anything. She has 
 asked about you at dinner till till her father lost 
 his temper. I am always afraid her father will be 
 
F A R O V E R 349 
 
 rough with her she takes after him in some ways : 
 and I can't do more than I do, I really can't." Again 
 for a time she could not speak. " She sets all the 
 village against us by her untruths. She will take 
 no teaching, least of all religious. She uses dreadful 
 words she won't think of confirmation she 
 denies the faith." 
 
 Harriet did not smile. " Does she think she has 
 another? " she said. 
 
 " Of course not at twelve heaven knows 
 what she thinks, nor where she gets it from. I only 
 know she is naughty often a wicked girl. And 
 yet she is my child, and I cannot tell her so I try 
 to be patient." Mrs. Grayling wiped her brow 
 not her eyes with a clean, coarse handkerchief, 
 and tried to calm her desperate agitation. " I really 
 have so little time," she said, in nearly her ordinary 
 tone. 
 
 "To be sure you haven't," said Miss Clench 
 thoughtfully. " And is Bertha no use to you 
 either? " 
 
 " Oh yes, she is," said the poor mother eagerly, 
 " and I ought to be thankful to have Miss Lindt. 
 She seems, to manage the child in the mornings, 
 though sometimes they make a great noise together. 
 Muriel is even interested, and repeats what she says 
 after lessons." 
 
 " You have her in the afternoon? " 
 
250 HERSELF 
 
 " While Miss Lindt practises, that is all. I like 
 to have her often." She smiled that glassy bright 
 smile again, that made Harrie furious with pity, as 
 towards a suffering animal. Something told her 
 quick instinct that one who so smiled was almost 
 breaking. She asked for no further history, no more 
 tags and rags of awkward evidence, no further 
 popular opinion even. The " person " the pres- 
 ence of the human creature revealed this crying need 
 to her, and she took the origin of the need on trust. 
 
 " I have myself," she observed, " an hour all of 
 my own in the afternoon. I asked and was given it 
 before I ever came, and meant to find somebody to 
 walk with me. Will you let me have Muriel 
 will you let her come and fetch me? It is just what 
 I wanted since I saw her that night, to make her 
 acquaintance properly." 
 
 Mrs. Grayling looked at her dumbly, swallowing 
 still. 
 
 " I have often looked after little girls," Harrie 
 added, after waiting. 
 
 Even then she struggled for some minutes. " I 
 had not meant to ask it," she said. 
 
 "Just till the concert is over, at least," said 
 Harrie. " I am sure you have business. Do you 
 think," she added gently, "her father would 
 mind? " 
 
 "I shall not tell him," said the woman desper- 
 
F A R O V E R 
 
 ately. " Anyhow he could not mind for an hour. 
 You won't let her be silly with you? Very 
 well." 
 
 And she went her ways, taking no farewell, offer- 
 ing no thanks, and clutching the plush jacket across 
 her thin chest. 
 
 Little Miss Clench, at once puzzled and shocked, 
 was left sitting in the pretty drawing-room, conning 
 her newest problem. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Escreet at lunch, " and what 
 was the damage*? " 
 
 Harrie told them about the concert, giving heed 
 to her words. It was the habit of the Escreet house- 
 hold to allude even to your dearest interests with 
 amused indifference, and she was trying to master 
 the manner of their conversation. 
 
 "And did you promise my wife's assistance?" 
 said Mr. Escreet jocularly. 
 
 " I think I gave it to understand that she would," 
 said Harrie. 
 
 They gazed at her blankly, from either end of the 
 table ; and then the husband laughed again. 
 
 " Well, Win, you're in for it," he said, leaning 
 back to wipe his mouth. " The parish-room piano, 
 I presume. I'll pay my threepence to come and 
 hear." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Harrie, rather dismayed. " I 
 
252 HERSELF 
 
 thought you would always have done it for them, 
 perhaps." 
 
 This made things no better. " I can still refuse," 
 said Winifred coldly. " It only wastes a little time. 
 No doubt Mrs. Grayling made it seem as if I had 
 always done it." 
 
 " I thought for certain you were interested in the 
 Restoration," said Harrie. 
 
 " They are going to restore to its pristine vulgar- 
 ity the decoration their ancestors had the taste to 
 cover up," said Gervase; but he answered at random 
 without conviction, watching Winifred. 
 
 " The tenpenny restoration," she exclaimed. " A 
 thing she knows we have both discouraged from the 
 outset. No, really, Gervase; she is an extraordinary 
 woman." 
 
 " It must be her own thought," said Gervase. 
 " She and the curate between them. Grayling would 
 never have done it." 
 
 " She must know I have refused for years, even at 
 the Champions'. And trotting up in the plush coat 
 to ask me I have a mind, Gervase, to refuse for 
 Rosie too. Her style is really above such nonsense. 
 Let the curate sing to them, he knows it's a part of 
 his duties. You did not hear of anyone else?" 
 She turned to Harrie. 
 
 " Helping, do you mean? She spoke of Fraiilein 
 Lindt, who is willing to play." 
 
FAROVER 
 
 "That's the governess," said Winifred to Ger- 
 vase. " Oh no, dear, it's clear I can't." 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like to play the trombone for 
 them, Harri-et," said Gervase, peeling an orange 
 with exquisite attention. 
 
 " I said I would accompany, if they wanted it," 
 said Miss Clench, with humorously lifted brows. 
 She seemed to have done very completely the wrong 
 thing this morning. 
 
 "Why not sing 4 ?" said Gervase. "They like 
 singing better. A Parisian chansonnette, now one 
 or two." He jerked his orange-skin aside. "A 
 short skirt, and some little frills beneath it " 
 
 " Don't be stupid, Gervase," said his wife rather 
 sharply. " It's rather an annoying affair, to tell the 
 truth. You had better take a note down this after- 
 noon, Harriet, if you are going in that direction." 
 
 Harrie did so; and then took the rapturous 
 Muriel for a country walk. With her experience of 
 school-girls, she knew well the signs of a " grande 
 passion " in a precocious child of twelve, and the 
 extreme dry delicacy with which it must be treated. 
 She laughed at Muriel a very little, but she was too 
 healthy and simple to act the idol-governess long. 
 She found that the child, very clever and emotional, 
 as she had perceived at their first meeting, wanted 
 chiefly to be listened to, without the parental hand 
 
254 HERSELF 
 
 on her mouth at every third word. Earnest parents 
 do not always remember that words have a value 
 simply as words to children making the acquaint- 
 ance of their language, quite apart from the mean- 
 ing which that learning and experience have at- 
 tached to them. Words and tags of speech, smart 
 cynical phrases, anything that was sounding and vig- 
 orous, heard, read, or invented, poured from Muriel, 
 who was as sure as Jonah or Jeanne d'Arc, that she 
 had a mission to save the world. She was the surer 
 her words were of value, that they so obviously 
 had the power to hurt, anger, and alarm the people 
 placed by fate for her direction. She had begun 
 lately to have an inkling that she was a little savage 
 a little Satan and the idea had its power of 
 elation. 
 
 Harrie let the child romance and rhapsodize, ar- 
 gue and complain, until the physical fever in her 
 naturally abated, and the stock of defiance ran out. 
 A lack of breath aided the process, for there was a 
 lively north-easterly breeze, and Miss Clench walked 
 quickly. She chased Muriel, and was chased in re- 
 turn, till both were tired, and glad to walk and talk 
 more quietly. She gathered from what Muriel had 
 said, that the blunderer Fraiilein Lindt, full of deli- 
 cate instincts in things of moment, had already 
 adopted the method of reason with some success; 
 and she had the wisdom to talk to Muriel of Fraiilein 
 
F A R V E R 255 
 
 Lindt as a person whom she respected whom she, 
 Muriel's transitory goddess, loved. Long before 
 they reached home they were talking mixed sense 
 and nonsense in the way imaginative children prefer, 
 and Muriel the savage was showing remarkable 
 sanity. Harrie easily discovered a fact the child 
 thought she never allowed to be seen, her adoration 
 a kind of pitying worship for her mother. For 
 twelve years old, at its most satanic, is not a hard 
 age to see through. Harrie left her with a jest at 
 the Vicarage gate. 
 
 " Have I been good? " said Muriel, eager as any 
 baby. 
 
 " Very," laughed Harrie. " Walking's made me 
 feel so nice inside. We will do it again." 
 
 "To-morrow?" 
 
 " Not to-morrow, for I'm to go to Oxford." 
 
 " Oh," said Muriel, with a scowl. " It's a silly 
 place dashed silly." 
 
 " Do not dash it," said Harrie, " till I have made 
 up my mind. I'll tell you on Friday what I think. 
 Shall I?" 
 
 " Yes, dearest. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Harrie, taking the rough little 
 hand. " Poor little collectable." 
 
 But that was added internally, as she walked on 
 up the road. By the time she reached Farover gate, 
 Muriel was already at tea boasting. 
 
256 HERSELF 
 
 Gervase, who could never wait for his tea beyond 
 four o'clock, had been enjoying an undisturbed hour 
 of Winifred's society. Usually they talked little 
 at this sacred hour, but Gervase had a curious expe- 
 rience to relate: so really interesting, that his wife 
 listened with only very slight interruption. 
 
 Mr. Escreet had been in Oxford the day before, 
 and had been stopped by a man in the road. The 
 man a perfect ragamuffin he described him 
 was sketching in a corner of Brasenose Lane, as he 
 and a friend issued from the Camera. The friend, 
 whose way diverged from his, was parting with him 
 near the corner of the narrow way: but diverted to 
 say, "Look at this, Escreet," in condescending allu- 
 sion to the young man's sketch, which was a clever 
 rendering of some details on St. Mary's. Gervase, 
 having glanced, was just departing on his own 
 account, when the youth addressed him by name. 
 
 11 By name 4 ? " his wife ejaculated. 
 
 " He had caught it, of course. But he had evi- 
 dently also heard it before." 
 
 " How very odd," said Winifred. 
 
 " Not so very," he retorted. " However, the 
 youngster was not on to my literary reputation. In- 
 deed, Winifred, in so far as regards myself, I was 
 not of the smallest interest to him." 
 
 Their glances collided, and as usual, mind fol- 
 lowed eyes. 
 
F A R O V E R 257 
 
 "Gervase you never mean you don't think 
 it was the man? " 
 
 " I don't think at all. I am practically sure of it. 
 He was after her, as keen as a leopard on the trail. 
 He was not unlike a leopard," said Gervase. 
 
 "Handsome?" 
 
 "Of course: handsome and insinuating. Aren't 
 they always? " 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Morough, the name is : Irish I gather : respect- 
 able," said Gervase, " I should not surmise. I said 
 to myself, ' Winifred, oh my wife, we are going to 
 be lugged into the plot of a second-rate romance. I 
 only hope it costs as much as sixpence on a book- 
 stall.' " 
 
 " Did you give him our address? " 
 
 "No, my child: he knew it. He quite expected 
 to be asked to dinner, and it was only with an effort 
 I refrained. His shirt was really too unclean, and 
 his tie ragged. He is staying at Abingdon, so he 
 said." 
 
 " Abingdon? That's nearer than Oxford. If he 
 comes, what on earth are we to do? " 
 
 " Oh," said Gervase, " leave her to manage it, I 
 should say. She has the most experience. Give the 
 little creature rope she won't hang herself." 
 
 " How do you know that? " 
 
 " Well her neck's too pretty." 
 
258 HERSELF 
 
 Winifred was silent for a period. " We dine with 
 the Champions to-morrow night," she said. 
 
 " What's that to do with it*? Oh, you mean 
 suppose he came then. Isn't our secretary coming 
 with us?" 
 
 " You know it's impossible to the Champions 
 of all people. I never even proposed it." 
 
 " Ha," said Gervase. " You will have to clear 
 yourself of collusion, with our dear Cousin Grace." 
 
 " I shall not allude to it, unless she does. She 
 knows the girl is here, through Tom." 
 
 Not long afterwards " the girl " came in, notice- 
 ably pretty and collected, the serenity of wide 
 country places in her gray-blue eyes. She wore the 
 very same white-winged hat of a year before, for 
 Harriet did not change her best hat often. And 
 what was more, the hat could still be counted upon 
 to make its effect; for though Winifred's keen eye 
 marked in full daylight the signs of time, Gervase 
 admired it greatly. 
 
 Taking her tea with her inexpressibly dainty 
 gesture, seated in a very large chair, she talked to 
 them casually, and they answered at random, view- 
 ing her with new eyes. It was Harrie herself who 
 reminded them of the plan to visit Oxford on the 
 morrow; which, though Gervase had originally pro- 
 posed it, both had forgotten. 
 
FAROVER 259 
 
 "Kismet," he said lightly to Winifred later. 
 " Well, it's ten chances to one she will not meet him. 
 I will get Ann and Rosaline to ask her to lunch, when 
 I have shown her about sufficiently. One of them 
 will take her to the train." 
 
 " Yes, that will do," said Winifred, who did not 
 want to go to Oxford, as it would only remind her 
 of several calls she owed. " That is quite a good 
 notion. Ann is perfectly safe." 
 
VI 
 
 HARRIET'S impressions of Oxford were recorded 
 later for Geoff ry Horn; and since he never dis- 
 closed them, we cannot present them to the reader. 
 She made little remark at the time, as Mr. Escreet, 
 delighted to have her in his sole charge, trotted her 
 round its more famous buildings, in and out, from 
 point to point, patronizing humorously the principal 
 effects in turn. 
 
 " This is reckoned good," was his favorite phrase, 
 mock-modest in the Escreet fashion, but only just 
 concealing infinite criticism in reserve. His manner 
 would have discouraged " raving " in the average 
 American-born female but Miss Clench, it 
 seemed, was not inclined to rave. She was indefat- 
 igable in following him, though his manner of guid- 
 ance was eccentric, and often wasteful; she studied 
 the " good " things indicated very dutifully, and 
 said a few approving things. 
 
 " It's not as hopeless as Versailles, anyway," was 
 one of the remarks she made, having taken a good 
 
F A R O V E R 261 
 
 draught of the tower-views from various points of 
 Christchurch Meadow. 
 
 " How would you improve it? " said the artist at 
 her side with curiosity. 
 
 " Oh," said Harriet absently, " that's not what I 
 
 mean." 
 
 " Then what do you mean? " Mr. Escreet pressed 
 her. 
 
 r^ Well there's some business in its beauty," she 
 said, and laughed. 
 
 She seemed in good spirits, shut within her private 
 little court of judgment: but she would not further 
 explain, and they went off very soon to explore the 
 chapels. 
 
 When it came to interiors, Mr. Escreet could con- 
 ceal his knowledge less successfully; and in the 
 schools and the libraries, spurred by her quick ques- 
 tions, he let her have it. Oddly enough it had never 
 struck him before, and now only occurred to him 
 gradually, that she was a clever girl. Cleverness, 
 he informed Winifred afterwards, exhibits itself less 
 in enlarging upon what you know, than in your man- 
 ner of betraying what you do not know. Harriet 
 did not know most things, in the matter of English 
 history and archaeology; but her method of inform- 
 ing herself impressed him more than Rosaline Mask- 
 ery's easy store of school-knowledge. " She bit the 
 right way," said Gervase. "She has good little 
 
262 HERSELF 
 
 teeth, and likes the taste. Most people gulp with- 
 out enjoyment or chew the cud." 
 
 At one-thirty, Mr. Escreet had to leave her, but 
 he had adopted by then such a manner of admiring 
 protection, that it was quite difficult for Harrie to 
 get free of him. 
 
 " Where do the Miss Maskerys live? " she asked, 
 stopping. 
 
 " In a little house up the Iffley Road." He gave 
 the number. " Can you discover it by yourself? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I can count," laughed Harriet. 
 " But the arrangement is, she's to meet me at a 
 shop." 
 
 " Ann? You have not seen Ann yet, have you? " 
 
 " Not Miss Ann. She's working, and wants the 
 house to herself." Gervase raised his brows, but 
 Harriet was quite easy. " She works a good deal, I 
 understand. It's the other one is to meet me, and 
 I know the place. I noticed it in passing." 
 
 Mr. Escreet had unwillingly to admit that she 
 was capable, and to let her go. 
 
 " You will be back to tea," he cried in her wake. 
 
 " I'll see," said Harriet cheerfully. She was an 
 independent atom. Gervase looked after her pretty 
 little figure, till it whisked round a corner and dis- 
 appointed him. 
 
 Rosaline met Harriet in the mood in which a 
 
FAROVER 263 
 
 girl performs a somewhat tiresome social duty; 
 that is, with a manner of unmeaning, overflowing 
 liveliness. Miss Clench, to tell the truth, felt some- 
 what as she did, and would have been much happier 
 alone, but she acted considerably better. She was 
 quiet, at least, and not, like Miss Maskery, nervously 
 intimate. It is hard to account for the impulse a 
 girl has to let out her personal confidence upon a 
 companion to whom she is completely indifferent, 
 and whom she may never see again. Rosaline would 
 have said that she had to talk about something dur- 
 ing lunch-time; and having no interest whatever in 
 Harriet's affairs, and having been snubbed all the 
 morning by her busy sister, she very naturally dwelt 
 upon her own. 
 
 She replied to Harrie's questions about Ann's 
 work very carelessly, and was soon mounted on her 
 own tastes and grievances. She came, by sure but 
 crooked ways, to Tom: natural enough, no doubt, 
 since Tom had, for some months now, been all Rosa- 
 line's world, and all her dim and radiant future. 
 His name edged in constantly, whatever subject 
 they chanced to be upon; and Harriet, wondering 
 greatly at her, still endeavored to be sympathetic in 
 response. 
 
 " Does she want me to know she's in love$ " the 
 Irish girl asked herself, marveling, as the so-called 
 impulsive and excitable nature will often do, at the 
 
264 HERSELF 
 
 careless exposing of these sanctuaries by the type 
 so-called " reserved." 
 
 And, without doubt, Rosaline wanted her to 
 know; to know that she was in love: that she was 
 admired : that she was wanted at least by somebody : 
 that she was not the rather over-dressed little " odd 
 woman " she appeared to be, in these latter years 
 during which she had grown a secret burden to her- 
 self. It was quite pathetic, really; but Miss Clench 
 was as yet young in life, and too strange to this (to 
 her) foreign type to sympathize or even compre- 
 hend. 
 
 " Do you like Farover? " rattled Rosaline. " Do 
 you play tennis"? Oh, what a waste! You'll 
 excuse me, of course, but you know what I mean. 
 Tom Mr. Champion says they are the best 
 courts for miles round, and he ought to know." 
 
 " Is he a great player? " said Harrie. 
 
 "Goodness, he's a 'blue,' didn't you know?" 
 Harrie was entirely ignorant as to the value of that 
 color in the sporting world, but Miss Maskery did 
 not stay to explain. " He and I were partners in 
 the tournament last year at Risings such a sweet 
 little brooch I had. Mr. Escreet is very good too 
 you mean you don't play at all? " 
 
 " I've played now and then," explained Harrie, 
 " on a mud court with tape pinned down for the 
 lines." 
 
F A R V E R 265 
 
 " Where was last? In France? never! They 
 really are^ aren't they? " 
 
 " I should have said they were not," said Harrie. 
 " However : when can I get a chance to see you at 
 it?" 
 
 " Not till May," said Rosaline. " All the fun 
 happens in May here : used to, that is." She sighed. 
 
 " You've a pretty pin," said Harrie, tactfully 
 diverting. 
 
 " Tom gave me that. Naughty of him, wasn't it? 
 But he pretended it was a philopena- forfeit. Double 
 almonds, you know." 
 
 "I know there is a game," said Harrie. "We 
 did it with the babies in my school." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Rosaline. " School, was it, where 
 you were? You know Paris, don't you? Goodness, 
 I wish I was you." 
 
 This popular view of Paris amused Harriet, and 
 she smiled. 
 
 "What's the joke? I mean it, I can tell you 
 that. I'd give anything to travel and see things. 
 Mrs. Escreet says I ought to go to Germany to study 
 properly; only Tom, who's been there, says it's 
 beastly." 
 
 "Are you going to sing at the concert?" said 
 Harrie. 
 
 " Oh, you have heard of that business, have you? " 
 said Rosaline. " Horrid bore, but what with Auntie 
 
266 HERSELF 
 
 bothering, I dare say I shall have to. I would do it 
 to save Mrs. Escreet, anyhow. She's so splendid, 
 and patient with those dull people. Isn't she a 
 dear?" 
 
 There seemed to be some real enthusiasm, and 
 Harrie replied to it; but she was not long saved 
 from Tom. Tom came in again on the subject of 
 the concert ; for if Rosaline would sing, he had prom- 
 ised to recite. 
 
 " Comic, you know," said Rosaline. " He can't 
 do anything well, he says, but play the fool." 
 
 " Isn't he clever*? " said Harriet. " I thought he 
 would be that, educated as he's been." 
 
 " My dear girl! Do you mean Oxford 4 ? Shows 
 you have not had a long experience of it. There are 
 heaps that are perfect donkeys not that Tom's 
 one. He got a very good third, and he had all his 
 athletics as well. What's against Tom is really his 
 brother Eustace." 
 
 " The boy at Eton? " said Harrie. 
 
 " Oh, do you know them? " A rather close stare, 
 in the course of which Miss Maskery seemed to re- 
 member. " You were to have gone to Risings, 
 weren't you? and then something happened. Er, 
 well Eustace is too absurd. He gets everything, 
 one of those boys. He'd be up at college now, if it 
 wasn't for his age. He's only sixteen. Of course, 
 all that is hard on Tom." 
 
F A R O V E R 267 
 
 " Perhaps it would be," said Harrie gravely. 
 " But isn't he proud of his brother'? " 
 
 " Proud of Eustace*? Oh, I don't know. Men 
 are not like that in England, you know. I mean, 
 they don't show their feelings." After an interval 
 Miss Maskery said, " Tom's not jealous, anyhow." 
 
 " Well, I suppose he has the estate," said Miss 
 Clench, in her comical little manner of business. 
 
 " Oh, he will have Risings, of course, when his 
 father dies." Here Rosaline's tone took on careless- 
 ness. " It's an enormous place, Risings. You have 
 not seen it? " 
 
 " You'd like to get there, wouldn't you? " said 
 Harrie. "So Mrs. Escreet said." It may be her 
 deep-seated mischief had formed the phrase; in any 
 case it annoyed Rosaline. 
 
 " Oh, I could do without it," she said haughtily. 
 " The Champion children are such dull little things; 
 anyone could look after them." 
 
 Rosaline let her companion pay for the lunch, 
 with the ease of a spoilt girl to whom money was 
 important. After lunch the pair walked about aim- 
 lessly a little, and parted without regret. 
 
 " You'll catch the 3.20, I suppose," said Rosaline. 
 " Shall I show you the way to the station? " 
 
 " No, indeed, I can find it." Harriet considered, 
 her eyes fixed down the High Street with a slightly 
 
268 HERSELF 
 
 amused expression. None could have guessed, seeing 
 that look, that an empty purse was in her mind. 
 
 "It's cold and windy, of course," she murmured, 
 as though debating. " What way would you go if 
 you walked? " 
 
 "Walked? To Stackfield? To-night?" 
 
 " Isn't it the thing," said Harrie, " to walk 
 alone?" 
 
 " Naturally you can if you like it," said Rosaline, 
 with recovered indifference. " But it's miles." 
 
 " How many miles: and where do they go? " 
 
 " You can follow the river, of course but that's 
 longer. You would go to Radley, I suppose, and 
 then get a short cut. Look here," said Rosaline, 
 remembering her position as hostess, " will you have 
 my bicycle? " 
 
 " It's kind of you," said Harrie, " but I love to 
 be on my feet. Besides, the little roads here are so 
 lovely. Radley, I am to remember, is it? Well, 
 good-bye." 
 
 She had the ease of the born wanderer, attending 
 in apparent distraction to Miss Maskery's further 
 directions. She was to " take a tram all the way," 
 make this bend and that, storm and capture Ken- 
 nington and Radley and then she would find a 
 little road. It was this little road, it appeared, that 
 was to be the real attraction of the afternoon. 
 Harrie' s Irish eyes danced at the thought of it. 
 
F A R O V E R 269 
 
 " You will be late for tea," was Rosaline's final 
 warning, " and Mrs. Escreet does not like it." 
 
 " They won't mind for once," said Harriet. 
 
 Rosaline remembered her awakened look, as of 
 some secret joy, afterwards, when circumstances 
 drove her to recur to this innocent conversation. 
 
 It was in the " little road " that Harriet met Pat. 
 
 How it was that granted she was fated to meet 
 him she could have met him nowhere else, I 
 appeal to solely Irish authorities to decide. It was 
 absolutely the first point on the homeward way 
 where poetry and romance arose together from the 
 ground, and so Kathleen's son had chosen it for his 
 appearing. 
 
 The cold English March holds had we the 
 courage to observe it some of the most hopelessly 
 exquisite moments of the year. It is the mistrustful 
 month, to be sure, blighting its own buds, yet unable 
 quite to refrain from attending to the song of the 
 breaking spring. Its fairy hour is between four and 
 five, the hour that is most ordinary in August. This 
 was not a beautiful evening, this of Miss Clench's 
 walk, for the sky was gray and colorless, the horizon 
 on all sides empty of interest, and promising even in 
 the west no reviving warmth of sunset. The new 
 life in grass-blade and budding leaf seemed to shrink 
 and huddle back under a whistling easterly breeze. 
 
270 HERSELF 
 
 Only at moments, at sheltered corners, the ineffable 
 unquenchable scents of spring seemed to come to 
 the watcher cunningly, as though in delicate mockery 
 of this chance evening of cold; and once, when 
 Hrrie stopped under cover of the woods by Ken- 
 nington, a thrush was doing duty for a nightingale 
 nobly in a tree above the road. 
 
 Round the first turn of the lane Patrick was sitting 
 by the wayside, with a sprig of blackthorn in his 
 hat. He was turned half way from her, his clear 
 profile sharpened since she had seen it distinct 
 upon the background of intermediate brown and 
 blue. His hands were clasped about his knees, and 
 his neck bent, a figure of perfect melancholy, mis- 
 trusting all, like the month of March. When he 
 saw her, he did not rise, though his sad face altered 
 charmingly. He threw his arms wide, with the ges- 
 ture of welcome of a child to its natural protector. 
 
 " She's come," he cried, " and I was asking the 
 spring to send her. It is badly I must have caught 
 the answer then, for I thought all the world was 
 repeating ' Not yet.' ' 
 
 The girl had stopped short in the road, her hand 
 -clutched to her side, her chin back, as once when 
 Geoffry Horn had surprised her alone in the French 
 woods. 
 
 " Patrick," she cried in low reproach. " And not 
 to warn me. Indeed this is not well done." 
 
FAROVER 271 
 
 " Come on," he returned cajoling. " Come closer 
 to me, little thing, and I'll explain." 
 
 " I cannot," she cried again. " I do not trust 
 you. Oh, one day between you you will break my 
 heart." 
 
 At her tone the young man, half-kneeling as he 
 was in the attitude of careless grace, got slowly to 
 his feet, knocking the dust from his soft hat. 
 
 " I alarmed you," he said, as though speaking to 
 himself. " I humbly ask your pardon, Harrie. I 
 thought the man Escreet would have told you I 
 was there. I waited to hear from you, I did indeed. 
 But wanting a word from you all day, how could I 
 help coming near you to-night, to watch the road 
 you might be treading? How could I help it, 
 Harrie ?" 
 
 " Why not have gone to the house and seen 
 them? " She still reproached him. " The gentle- 
 men here do not do such things." 
 
 "Would you have liked that better?" the boy 
 said, puzzled. " But yourself was not there." 
 
 " And how did you know that? " she returned. 
 
 " How did I? " he repeated eagerly. " How did 
 I? Is it the first time I have vexed you, because I 
 knew where you would be? " 
 
 He was close to her now, and had caught her with 
 his hands. 
 
 " It's yourself I want," he cried, " and how would 
 
27 HERSELF 
 
 I weary myself for others'? Am I not to have one 
 kiss, Harrie, after this mighty separation 4 ? " 
 
 She gave it him. With his blue eyes looking clear 
 as a child's into hers, she could not do otherwise. 
 Further than that, pity had seized her, he looked so 
 changed, so haggard, in the gray evening light. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," she said, in the sweetest of her 
 tones, " and you have been ill." 
 
 " Do I look it? " he answered lightly. " That is 
 ill-done of me, darling, when you are there." 
 
 " Was it for that you left the school? " 
 
 " For that," said Patrick, " and other things." 
 He looked restless a trifle guilty that look of a 
 delinquent dog that she knew so well in Brian. 
 
 " Are they not satisfied? What have you been 
 doing to them? Can you not go back? " Her 
 quick, anxious questions were heaped upon him, as 
 he held her by the arms. His craftsman's hands 
 were more delicate than Brian's, but quite as strong; 
 she remembered well that touch again, for he had 
 held her so before. 
 
 Patrick dwelt upon her face with its changing 
 expressions of trouble hungrily, almost curiously. 
 " How will I go back if I am not better after the 
 holidays," he said, teasing her. " I cannot think I 
 will be better, at this moment." 
 
 " It is not the holidays yet," she said. 
 
 " In a week's time it will be; in April. Then will 
 
F A R O V E R 273 
 
 be the time for us." His soft eyes poured love upon 
 her: a dog's love and little more, she was sure of it. 
 
 "Why did you come to Oxford?" she persisted, 
 striving against the charm she found in every word. 
 
 " Why, but to make my holidays beautiful 5 ? You 
 never told me not to come." 
 
 " You never gave me time." She laughed hope- 
 lessly. " Not that I'd have done it." She clasped 
 his arm in return. " You thin boy," she said. 
 " What are you doing for yourself, now, tell me 
 that." 
 
 " The doctor's given me a physic," said Patrick, 
 looking down. " Talk to me of better things." 
 
 " It's what I must know. Where does he live, this 
 doctor? " 
 
 Patrick turned his eyes on her slyly. " In no street 
 that matters," he said. " There's a beautiful one 
 close by. That's the one we shall take, when you 
 come with me." 
 
 " You mean I am not to talk of it." The Clench 
 in her followed instantly. " Patrick," she said im- 
 ploring, " you are not inventing this altogether? " 
 
 " I'll say this," said Pat, getting visibly happier, 
 " it is more for you than the doctor I came. You're 
 the doctor for me, you bit of a bright-eyed thing. 
 It's well I'll be soon in your company." 
 
 Thus freed from the distasteful shadow, whether 
 of his illness or his deception, he branched to other 
 
374 HERSELF 
 
 and brighter things. They talked long and inti- 
 mately, strolling slowly arm-in-arm down the little 
 road among the woods, for she could not thrust him 
 from her at once, though she knew she should be at 
 Farover. She heard of his work, his ups and downs 
 of interest in it, and despair; the petty jealousies 
 and interferences of the school staff, some of which 
 he had managed to escape by living outside the 
 precincts. It had been his own choice, Harrie 
 gathered, to live alone, though he had been offered 
 first a resident post, and he tried to persuade her 
 that it did not come " expensive." 
 
 Other facts she learnt were that the headmaster's 
 daughters were " fine girls," and he gave them pri- 
 vate lessons: that he had "a lot of holidays," and 
 seemed to be often in London. Further, " Mr. 
 Wynne was a good man," Pat said of his employer- 
 in-chief : his virtue proving to consist in praising some 
 drawings he had done him. Pat had helped in the 
 designs for some new buildings, and Harriet thought 
 she perceived how the good Mr. Wynne had got as 
 much as possible out of the young artist attached to 
 his staff, for no extra remuneration. She imagined 
 the master must needs feel a little indebted or 
 shamed, to let Morough go so easily before the term 
 was fully finished, with little or no explanation or 
 excuse. 
 
 " He has written once after me to enquire," said 
 
FAROVER 375 
 
 Pat of his good man, " and to send some money to 
 me." 
 
 " Money he owed," asked Harriet, " or in 
 advance? " 
 
 " In advance, may be." Pat looked rather sulky 
 for a minute. " He'll have the worth of it some 
 time, when I work for him again." 
 
 This showed the girl clearly his true feeling to- 
 wards his employer. From one of his own kind he 
 would have taken the advance in the spirit of a 
 gift, and gladly. Here was money actually, that Pat 
 Morough was trusting to repay ! 
 
 " Have you heard from Mr. Horn? " said Harrie, 
 as though directly on the thought. Patrick had not 
 heard; he had a notion he might have missed a letter 
 with a scolding, through coming so quickly away. 
 Horn had his address at Bluffborough, of course, 
 being acquainted with the man Wynne; but " down 
 there," as Pat said guilelessly, " they would hardly 
 know where he had gone." 
 
 "Then this Oxford doctor is not Mr. Wynne's 
 advice," said Harrie at once. 
 
 He was not : Patrick himself had found him, as a 
 man suiting his private taste and need. Glancing 
 sidelong at his face, she found her vagabond cousin 
 smiling broadly. 
 
 " You to have suspicions of me," he crowed. 
 " For you have, and indeed who better reason? " 
 
276 HERSELF 
 
 " Well," Harrie defended herself. " How can I 
 ever know what to think? " 
 
 " Think what you wish," he insinuated, " and 
 that'll be the best." 
 
 " I cannot want you ill, as you know," she said. 
 
 "Then wish it was for none but you I came," 
 returned Pat. " Wish that I'm loving you entirely." 
 
 "You're hopeless," said Harrie, sighing. "I'll 
 not wish it yet, so I tell you. What I do wish is 
 for you, now and forever, to keep your engage- 
 ments." 
 
 " Well, I'll do that," he assented, after a space of 
 watching her under the shade of his drooping lashes. 
 " Engage me to come home with you now, and I'll 
 keep it truly." 
 
 " No," the girl said quickly. " They're going 
 out." 
 
 " Why, that's the more reason. Can I not have 
 supper with you? " 
 
 " You cannot," returned his cousin. " Have you 
 learnt so little of English ways as to propose it? 
 You don't know how they would think of you, in 
 that grand house or of me, either." 
 
 She argued as with a young child, for his aspect 
 was protesting. He looked tired too, and curiously 
 pale in the twilight the mere ghost of a merry 
 Irish tramp at her side. Twilight it could be called, 
 for they were now approaching Farover, for all their 
 
F A R O V E R 277 
 
 slow walking, and the trees were thickening above 
 them on the lonely road. 
 
 " You mean I may not come," he murmured, 
 " and you to be alone all the evening. Where am I 
 to go then tell me that." 
 
 " You must go away. You must go home." It 
 might really have been to a lost dog, gaunt with 
 sad eyes, that she was speaking. And the dog would 
 have shown as much comprehension. 
 
 " I will tell them of you, Pat," she promised. " I 
 will do it at once. You will get asked there surely, 
 to have dinner or tea. They have been kind, and 
 they will let me see you." 
 
 In her heart, though, she did not think they would. 
 Thinking of Gervase and of him alternately, and of 
 the undelivered message, she wished her heart did 
 not hurt her so. 
 
 " How long will it be," he said, " for waiting? 
 As long as last time? " 
 
 For a moment she stood fighting the most trouble- 
 some emotion, for his tone had pierced her through. 
 He saw it, or felt, for he leapt forward in the road. 
 
 " Indeed, Harrie, I should not have said it. It's 
 kneeling at your feet I should be, before my tongue 
 should reproach you. Do not remember it, my 
 darling my mother's son has not grown to that." 
 
 His arms were about her, though he did not kiss 
 her again. 
 
*78 HERSELF 
 
 " I will come to you," she said brokenly. " But I 
 trust you not to come." 
 
 " The first half's all I need," he said. " You'll 
 promise, mavourneen'? " 
 
 They stood, holding by both hands a moment; 
 and then she drew hers from his clasp, and turned. 
 Chimneys among the foliage, and a warm hearth 
 were before her; but he was left in the bleak spring 
 world, and the short day dying from the open sky 
 beyond the trees. 
 
VII 
 
 WINIFRED ESCREET called Harrie to her room, 
 where she was dressing under the light of all the 
 candles, and looked at her curiously when she came 
 there. She told Hester, who was in the room, that 
 she could go. 
 
 " You look tired," she said with mechanical 
 kindness. 
 
 " I walked home," said Harrie. " I met a friend." 
 In the disturbance of her thoughts she blurted like 
 a schoolgirl. Winifred instantly turned frosty. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " and who was that 4 ? " 
 
 "Patrick Morough. He said Mr. Escreet had 
 seen him." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Winifred, colder from shyness of 
 the subject. " What is he, I forget? " 
 
 " My father's sister's son," said Harrie. " A poor 
 boy : a drawing-master in a school." 
 
 "What school?" 
 
 " Mr. Wynne's, at Bluffborough, near London." 
 
 " I seem to have heard of it," said Mrs. Escreet. 
 She devoted herself to the arrangement of shaded 
 
280 HERSELF 
 
 roses among her ancient lace. " You want to see 
 this Mr. Morough," she said. 
 
 " Since he's my cousin," said Harriet. Through- 
 out the dialogue she was blunt, but not rude. Her 
 voice and accent saved her, even in extreme excite- 
 ment as at present. Mrs. Escreet felt the excitement, 
 being vexed by it as something foreign to the air of 
 Farover, and faintly suspicious of it too. 
 
 " I suppose you have got his address at Abing- 
 don? " she said. 
 
 " I have," said Harrie. " Why? " 
 
 " It would be kind of you to stitch me here," said 
 Winifred, feeling a seam of her satin train absently. 
 " Hester has forgotten the hook." When she had 
 got the girl behind her, she proceeded. 
 
 "Why I want the address? I must make 
 enquiries naturally. I mean, before I invite him to 
 the house." 
 
 " If you make enquiries, you will never have him 
 invited," said Harrie, kneeling on the floor, her quick 
 fingers diligent. 
 
 "Why?" said Winifred. 
 
 " Because it shows you suspect him, and that he 
 would not bear. Can you not take my father's 
 nephew on trust, and you a friend? " 
 
 Again, she was direct rather than rude, but her 
 patroness before the glass flushed angrily. 
 
 " Your father's own dealings were not always 
 
F A R O V E R 281 
 
 impeccable," she said. Her veiled antagonism to 
 the girl began to assert itself. Harrie winced, still 
 kneeling as she was to fasten the beautiful satin robe. 
 
 " And you have no trust in me either*? " she said, 
 throwing the glossy folds from her with a movement 
 full of power and art, so that they lay straightway 
 in the right lines on the floor. Winifred, pleased 
 with the effect, resumed her manner of still reason. 
 
 " Well, what can I think, Harriet, when I give 
 you one hour after lunch-time and you stay out more 
 than three?" 
 
 " Are you angry at that? Have you been needing 
 me? Of course I had the morning?" The girl 
 seemed to feel the weight of her rebuke at once, 
 which was some satisfaction. Gervase also had had 
 the morning away from her, and had enjoyed it 
 a little too much. Winifred had not quite recovered 
 from her annoyance at his enthusiasm. 
 
 " My husband has fixed the last gues't for our 
 dinner in April," she said, " and the cards should be 
 written at once. I have left the list on the bureau 
 downstairs." 
 
 "I'll do it," said Harrie. "That looks very 
 well." She alluded to Mrs. Escreet's gown, and in 
 spite of herself, the lady inside the gown felt 
 flattered. Miss Clench's standard in dress, she had 
 had reason to feel once or twice, was as pitiless as 
 her own. After a pause the girl proceeded, conceal- 
 
282 HERSELF 
 
 ing the effort it cost her, though glancing nervously 
 at Winifred's face. 
 
 " I had to ask you another thing," she said. 
 " You'll not mind paying me by the month'? " 
 
 Winifred stopped in all her glory, overcome by 
 surprise. 
 
 " I am right to ask you about it and not him^ " 
 said Harriet. " I know till now we have not spoken 
 of money." 
 
 " Do you need money*? " Winifred's voice was 
 sharper than she meant, for she had a new suspicion. 
 In conjunction with meeting her " friend " so 
 recently, the request was odd. 
 
 " I've little in my purse," said the girl simply. 
 She had been just four weeks in the house, and it had 
 occurred to nobody she was in need. The day's 
 outing had exactly exhausted her little reserve, for 
 she had spent all her big savings on the journey. 
 
 Mrs. Escreet, still not knowing what to think, and 
 annoyed at her own state of indecision, said : " Come 
 to me to-morrow morning in the study and we'll 
 settle it." With which the girl, faintly thanking 
 her, had to be content. After all, she reflected, how 
 could any occupant of Farover know the significance 
 of an empty purse, the teasing train of thought it 
 aroused in the brain of its possessor"? From the 
 stable-boy to Mr. Escreet, theirs were empty but to 
 be refilled. They were the happy people ! 
 
F A R O V E R 283 
 
 "You won't be lonely?" Winifred asked her in 
 the hall at parting, with recovered good-humor. A 
 letter in a masculine hand was lying on the oak 
 table, where it had waited all day. 
 
 " No," said Harriet, laying a hand on the letter. 
 " You'll not mind it if I play a little, will you? " 
 
 "Goodness no. Amuse yourself. Come, Ger- 
 vase." 
 
 Gervase advanced, admirably attired, the picture 
 of confident charm. 
 
 " We leave the house in your charge, Miss Har- 
 riet," he said. " Like the girl in the story, you are 
 to let nobody in, whatever they may come selling." 
 
 " Just what she will do, probably," said Winifred 
 in the carriage. She confided a good deal to Gervase 
 during the drive. Neither of them had ever heard of 
 a sister of the conqueror Clench; and they had in 
 consequence to consider the cousin well-invented. 
 
 Harriet kept GeofTry's letter as a treat till after 
 dinner. The cook gave her a beautiful little meal, 
 which revived her spirits slightly. Afterwards, 
 telling Hester it was what she liked, she sat in the 
 dark for a period in the drawing-room, thinking and 
 enjoying her situation, for it was like old times to 
 be alone. 
 
 Hester, when she brought the rose-shaded lamp, 
 observed that it was raining. 
 
 "I heard it," said Harriet absently. "I hope 
 
284 HERSELF 
 
 Mrs. Escreet's satin'll not get wet." Hester retired, 
 smiling as usual. The prudent instinct shown in the 
 remark her own northern frugality approved; only 
 it was odd applied to Mrs. Escreet, who had half a 
 dozen other dresses, and was wearing a compara- 
 tively old one. 
 
 " Will you have the piano-candles, Miss Har- 
 riet? " she enquired before she went. 
 
 " No, no," said Harriet. " I shall like the dark 
 better." 
 
 Then, when Hester was gone, she read Geoffry's 
 letter. She began it happily enough, curled up in 
 her sofa-corner, but it grew terribly disturbing. 
 She hardly grasped all its news at once, the emotion 
 of the first item stirred her whole being so much. 
 
 There had been a letter from Brian! It had 
 dawned, that white shape so much wished-for, and 
 vanished into the night. What had happened to it 
 Geoffry could not say. He had had it was like 
 him the idea of going to Versailles, on the private 
 detective work of tracking her correspondence. He 
 had armed himself with all kinds of authority from 
 the consuls, with " some " of whom he was ac- 
 quainted. He assured her he had enjoyed a visit to 
 the gardens by the way, but Harrie saw clearly that 
 he had taken much trouble in her cause. There was 
 nothing for her at the post-office; but having suffi- 
 ciently teased the employes, GeofTry discovered that 
 
F A R O V E R 285 
 
 there had been a letter with American postmarks, 
 which had been sent on to the Barrieres. Mr. Horn 
 had proceeded to that familiar haunt, and had inter- 
 viewed a disaffected servant probably a new one 
 since Miss Clench's time. The girl remembered a 
 letter with some trouble, and thought Madame had 
 opened it ; she knew no more, or else did not want to 
 say. Geoffry left the enquiry at that point to his 
 correspondent only suggesting that the envelope 
 might have had money, which showed a startling 
 knowledge of Madame Barriere. 
 
 There remained a little more news in the letter, 
 but the girl threw it aside and went to the piano. 
 Her emotions were breaking her, and she must sing. 
 Rarely, in private with Fraiilein Lindt, she had so 
 relieved herself, letting loose the voice that was 
 being kept for Brian. It was her secret, her best and 
 dearest, and whatever went wrong between them, as 
 things seemed fated to go wrong, with this voice she 
 could at least call to him. 
 
 She sang without tears, for her suffering to-night 
 was too deep-seated for that. Her voice, during the 
 interval since she had last interviewed it, had im- 
 proved. It was broader and deeper, and it seemed 
 to fill her throat and knock against her lips. She 
 would not open her lips very wide, singing in the 
 " little voice " that was fit for a small room. But 
 the little voice was very pure and penetrating; and 
 
HERSELF 
 
 Marion, Hester and John, at supper in the kitchen, 
 heard it and opened the door. 
 
 " There you are," said Hester, as though in 
 demonstration of something already obvious. " She 
 would beat 'em all, master and mistress not excepted, 
 if she would only let herself out." 
 
 "Then why doesn't she 4 ?" said John with re- 
 spect. 
 
 " Because," said Hester severely, " she's been kept 
 too low." 
 
 After an interval of eating and attending " It's 
 a pity she's there," said the soft-hearted cook, " and 
 nobody to see or hear her." 
 
 There was somebody to hear, as it happened, and 
 that a listener entranced. He leant against the 
 house-wall in the rain, having crept round into the 
 garden, near where shafts of light from the drawing- 
 room lay out upon the lawn. He was a stray dog, 
 come begging again because he could not keep away. 
 He listened now with shut eyes and lips, the tears 
 and the raindrops on his face. Patrick's passion 
 grew no deeper, because of that treasure of sound 
 he found in his beloved he would have said he 
 expected it, no doubt, though he had only heard her 
 croon a little on the bridge. She had told him not 
 to come, he could not imagine why; but, forbidden 
 or not, he had been drawn along the roads again, 
 
F A R O V E R 287 
 
 through the cold drizzle, to the spots he knew she 
 haunted. 
 
 Harrie sang on, little thinking that she sang to 
 him: that the invocation of Brian Clench had 
 drawn a thin, sad shade of his conquering presence 
 near to her. She sang a few of her mother's songs, 
 of which the memory lingered, fragments of the 
 fervent operatic practice which Brian had instituted 
 and inspired; she sang a trifle incorrectly, as her 
 cousin noted with a smile some Irish ballads with 
 which " himself " had probably amused her child- 
 hood; and she sang finally the Orpheus Scena, 
 which she had evidently studied in the score, for 
 she had it all correctly and by heart. 
 
 "What will I do without her?" groaned 
 Morough, in echo of her latest song, and limped 
 round to the front of the house. 
 
 If he wished to attack her stronghold, he had 
 better have gone to the back entrance, where the 
 kind kitchen population would at least have had pity 
 for him. Young, tired, ragged and wet as he was, 
 he might have appealed to them, and handsome 
 enough, for all his disarray, to have melted harder 
 hearts than those of Hester or of Marion. But, 
 calling on his lady, Patrick went to the front door; 
 and Hester, after a passage of chaff with John, went 
 to open in her best manner which was stony. 
 
 She came to the drawing-room after an interval, 
 
288 HERSELF 
 
 still preserving her stiff est public manner. " Mr. 
 Morrow," she said, " and would Miss Clench see him 
 a minute 9 " 
 
 " No, Miss Clench would not." 
 
 A little indignant head jerked up from among the 
 corner cushions of the sofa, where it seemed that 
 Miss Clench had been crying, after the effort of her 
 concert. 
 
 Hester went back; then, with clear unwillingness, 
 presented herself again. It seemed, Mr. Morrow had 
 a letter from Miss Clench's father, which he was 
 longing to hand her in person. 
 
 " And that's unworthy of him," cried Harriet. 
 " You can tell him I said so, if you like." 
 
 After some more short parleying, the front door 
 closed with a click of neat severity, and Harrie, who 
 had been listening to Hester's now retreating foot- 
 steps with her head back and set lips, relaxed the 
 tension of her brow. She remained rather pale and 
 as though wondering at herself. 
 
 "I've turned him out in the rain," she said to 
 nobody, " and he is Kathleen's son." There might 
 have been any sentiment in her tone, from triumph 
 to utter despair. 
 
 Hester, coming in much later, found her curled 
 up among the cushions, with Geoffry's letter open 
 on her knee. She looked tired to death, and the 
 
FAROVER 289 
 
 little vertical line that should hardly be visible under 
 twenty years haunted her brow. She had read the 
 letter to the end, and found it contained a word or 
 two of Patrick. 
 
 The statement was simple enough, though it 
 needed an effort, in her rather dazed state, to take 
 in its whole purport. Patrick's illness was genuine 
 and serious, and he was in debt to others besides 
 the doctors, at Bluffborough and in London. Those 
 were the facts, and it was not wonderful that, being 
 what they were, he had confessed them to Horn 
 rather than to Harrie. He had plainly considered 
 his illness at least was no affair of hers. He had not 
 even begged of her, though he had been begging 
 again of Geoffry. Harrie, though she might lend 
 him money to help his art, must not soil her fingers 
 with so ugly a business as physical disease. It was 
 all simple and collectable extremely; only it was 
 so heart-breaking too. 
 
 Mr. Horn desired to send him aid, but knew 
 neither the boy's present whereabouts, nor the names 
 of his debtors. Writing to Mr. Wynne and to 
 Harrie was his only resource, and he had heard noth- 
 ing from the headmaster. 
 
 " I would send him a blank check," wrote Geoffry 
 in desperation evidently equal to hers, " if I thought 
 he was anywhere near you; but I do not even know 
 that." 
 
S90 HERSELF 
 
 This was what Harriet was pondering when the 
 parlormaid came in. 
 
 " You have no letters for the post, Miss? " she 
 said. 
 
 " No, no," the girl said wearily. " There's noth- 
 ing I can do to-night." 
 
 " You are in trouble, Miss Harriet," said Hester 
 in a sane, quiet tone, as she knelt to brush some 
 errant ashes under the fire. It may be mentioned, 
 Hester had told the kitchen nothing of the young 
 man at the door. She was only thankful she had 
 disturbed herself to answer that bell, instead of 
 John. 
 
 " I am," said Harrie simply. " I want advice." 
 
 "You'd not be going to the clergyman," said 
 Hester thoughtfully, leaning a hand on the grate, 
 and looking in the fire. " Mrs. Grayling, now, she's 
 kind." 
 
 " I fear I can hardly tell her," said the girl Hes- 
 ter recurred to the fire again, as though consulting it; 
 she had not, it was noticeable, mentioned her own 
 master and mistress 
 
 " If it's a woman you want," said Hester, " there's 
 Miss Ann." 
 
 "Ann Maskery?" The girl on the sofa stirred. 
 " I do not know her at all, Hester; what of her? " 
 
 " She's got sense, for a young lady," said Hester, 
 with due moderation. 
 
FAROVER 
 
 " Do you know her, then? " said Harrie. 
 
 Hester smiled a trifle. " Not to say know, Miss. 
 She came up canvassing Mrs. Odgers, the daily char, 
 catching her here more easily than at home. She 
 canvassed Marion too not that Marion is any 
 good to her; but it's just duty, with Miss Ann. She 
 said she'd educate Marion, against she marries, and 
 you should have seen Mrs. Odgers shake, for well 
 she knows she manages the opinions of hers." 
 
 " Did she not canvass you against you marry, 
 Hester? " 
 
 " No, Miss, she did not; well knowing my politics 
 fixed." Hester came of staunch Liberal yeoman 
 stock in a Northern county; Harrie of course knew 
 nothing of these things. 
 
 " I hardly know," she said, " where I should be 
 able to get at Miss Maskery. I missed her at Oxford 
 to-day." 
 
 " You must catch her flying," said Hester. " She's 
 here, there and everywhere on her bicycle. But Mrs. 
 Odgers did mention, she was coming soon for a 
 round." 
 
 " I will catch her flying," said Harriet, rousing to 
 life a trifle. " Does she go at all to Abingdon, Hes- 
 ter, do you know*? " 
 
 " To be sure she does, and stays there very often. 
 She has friends everywhere in the district, Miss 
 Ann," 
 
HERSELF 
 
 Harriet went to bed before the Escreets returned. 
 She had to admit a headache, but she was a little 
 lighter in mind. She thanked heaven and Hester 
 for a new suggestion. 
 
VIII 
 
 NEXT morning Miss Clench's anxieties were further 
 lightened by receiving two gold sovereigns from 
 Winifred. She stored these up in a little leather 
 bag, as pleased as though she had made a fortune. 
 She looked, as Winifred might have noticed, 
 younger at once. 
 
 " The secretary is singing under the window," 
 said Gervase, peering out of the side-bow of the 
 drawing-room. "Life is evidently not as flat as 
 usual. Anyhow her notes are not." 
 
 " She has a voice of sorts," Mrs. Escreet admitted. 
 The pair were in the drawing-room, in grave con- 
 ference over some patterns of brocade; for even in 
 the house, Winifred liked his opinion on everything 
 planned or ordered. 
 
 " Call her up and make her show it," said Ger- 
 vase, who was idle. As Winifred, less idle, lingered 
 in spectacles over the fat pattern-books, he opened 
 the piano and struck a note. 
 
 " Sing a scale, Harri-et," he called. " Up you 
 go." 
 
294 HERSELF 
 
 The voice in the garden, after a short pause, went 
 up obediently; but lightly, a mere breath, and she 
 laughed at the end. 
 
 " Come along here to my wife," called Gervase 
 again. " She feels a mission to teach you." 
 
 " Do be quiet, Gervase," said Mrs. Escreet, as 
 the girl appeared, her hands full of the flowers she 
 had been collecting for the vases. 
 
 " Harriet is busy, and so am I." 
 
 " No time for missions to-day," said Mr. Escreet, 
 shutting the piano. 
 
 " The missus is dressing the chairs. Thank you, 
 Harriet, that will do." 
 
 " Of course I will give her lessons if she likes," 
 said Winifred, half-turning to the window. " You 
 have never had any, I suppose." 
 
 " Never one," said Harriet, very definitely; " and 
 I cannot have them yet." 
 
 " If you are eighteen," said Winifred, " it is fully 
 time." 
 
 " It would be, I dare say," said the girl. " Aren't 
 these red anemones lovely? " She went on her way 
 with her treasures. 
 
 " Didn't catch her that time," said Gervase. 
 " You don't catch our secretary-bird easily. It's a 
 pretty little pipe, though, in its way." 
 
 As his wife said nothing, they plunged into 
 brocades again. 
 
F A R O V E R 295 
 
 It was some days later that, armed with her 
 sovereigns changed into postal orders, Harrie caught 
 Ann Maskery " flying." She had no news at all of 
 Patrick in the interval, and teased herself wondering 
 what had become of him; for to go herself to his 
 address was out of the question, and the card she 
 sent to him explaining this remained unanswered. 
 She knew that Mrs. Escreet had sent a messenger to 
 the country town, but nothing was disclosed to her 
 of the result, and neither pride nor prudence would 
 let her question the servants. As for attacking Wini- 
 fred again, she found she could not face it, at least 
 immediately; all she knew and, indeed, it was 
 sufficient to know it was, that no further word 
 was breathed at Farover concerning an invitation to 
 her cousin. 
 
 The flying Ann was hard to catch; but one after- 
 noon, returning from a walk with Muriel, Miss 
 Clench came upon her at the Vicarage gate. She had 
 halted there for a brief rest, and was now clearly 
 preparing to spread her wings anew. She was trimly 
 clad in gray homespun; but further than this, the 
 less said of Ann's appearance the better, for she was 
 very plain. 
 
 " How d'ye do," said Ann agreeably, removing 
 the foot she had planted on the pedal. " Well, 
 Muriel, I must say you are a nice person, not even 
 to shake hands." Muriel shrugged, and walked into 
 
296 HERSELF 
 
 the Vicarage, kicking open the gate. " Cross," com- 
 mented Ann. " She can be quite a nice kid when 
 she likes, but this is a bad day. You're on your way 
 back to Farover, I suppose." 
 
 "And you?" returned Miss Clench in foreign 
 style. 
 
 " I am going on." The " on," as pronounced with 
 a gesture, was expressive. It meant that Ann, 
 primed with instructive leaflets, was making a circuit 
 of her scattered flock. 
 
 " Could you allow me a minute before you go 
 there?" said Miss Clench, with comically lifted 
 brows. 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes," said Ann, rising to any call 
 with a prompt geniality that seemed professional. 
 "We'll talk by the pig-stye; the wind's the other 
 way." 
 
 No sooner proposed than accomplished. The 
 Vicarage kitchen-garden, rather small and un- 
 kempt, abutted on the church, and being secured, 
 on two sides by the pig-stye and the high road, was 
 protected from the house in the rear by a shrubbery 
 of laurels. It thus afforded excellent cover for an 
 intimate conversation, as Ann's diplomatic instinct 
 had suggested. The political bicycle, bristling with 
 leaflets, was leant against the outer wall, where it 
 was safe to be undisturbed, being known as Miss 
 Ann's throughout three parishes; and Harriet and 
 
F A R O V E R 897 
 
 her new acquaintance sat down within upon a rustic 
 seat, which presented a perfect view of Stackfield 
 Church to the visitor's admiration. 
 
 " Frightful, isn't it'? " said Ann. " I often come 
 here with Uncle Fred to dwell on it, on Sunday 
 afternoons." 
 
 "I didn't see your aunt to-day," said Harriet, 
 clasping her knees, on which the leather bag was 
 lying. " I hope she is well." 
 
 "No, she isn't," said Ann gravely; adding after 
 a silence, " Secret, of course." 
 
 " I was afraid of it," said Harrie. " You know, 
 it's in her face." 
 
 " Very few people have seen it there," said Ann. 
 " Anyone else would have given up long before, and 
 she will have to knock under soon. She says I am 
 not to tell Rosie until I must; which will be late, 
 for she's the last person to discover. Oh, goodness 
 me, the illness in the world." 
 
 She squared a fist as though she would have 
 fought it. 
 
 " Muriel doesn't suspect," said Harrie, having 
 learnt the few details there were to learn for 
 nothing is more simple than a fatal illness, unless 
 its sequel, death. 
 
 " Think not? I'm not so sure. Muriel's a clever 
 child. I told Aunt Amabel to-day it might account 
 for some of her rages with Uncle Fred. Muriel's 
 
298 HERSELF 
 
 got twice his brains, you know, and that's a fact. 
 Do you understand her? " 
 
 " I'm beginning to," said Harrie. " I've an idea 
 she's simple, really." 
 
 " So she is," said Ann. " If I had ever had time, 
 so to speak, to work Muriel out, I should have been 
 glad to have a fling; but she needs all your time and 
 will-power no mistake." 
 
 "And yours are wanted already," said Harrie. 
 " It would be awful of me to ask for a bit of them, 
 wouldn't it? " 
 
 " No," said Ann, with a glance and a turn. 
 "Only you'll be very kind to be quick, for I'm 
 promised on honor at Abingdon by five." 
 
 " That's lucky, for it is the very place I want." 
 She went on to tell Ann her difficulties, straight and 
 simply, and Ann listened with interest, taking her 
 in with pleasant clear eyes the while. She had, very 
 vaguely, a look of her aunt, but her manner was far 
 more bracing. 
 
 "Why can't you go yourself?" she demanded. 
 " Is he in love with you? " 
 
 "That's one thing," admitted Miss Clench. 
 
 " Don't you want to marry him? " said Ann, 
 pinning her as it were. 
 
 " I cannot. I don't feel to him that way, nor 
 does he if he would believe it; and besides, he is ill." 
 
 " Go on," said Ann with a shrug. 
 
F A R O V E R 299 
 
 " Well, I wrote and he sent me no reply. Maybe 
 he has moved to Oxford, and in that case there may 
 be debts." She produced the postal orders, tidying 
 them out with her little hands. "It's horrid to 
 tease you about it," she said, looking up at Ann's 
 square face, " but you must take my word I would 
 do it if I could." 
 
 " Give me the address," said Ann, and Harrie did 
 so. " Mrs. Blencow? Yes Blencow's on my list, 
 though he's shaky." 
 
 "That's lovely, if you know them," said Harrie 
 with relief. " It's only to ask her if she's been paid : 
 and which are the tradesmen wanting money: and 
 then, if he has gone from her as I think, where he is." 
 
 Ann frowned a minute, her fists to her chin. 
 "What business is it of yours?" she broke out. 
 " You oughtn't to be paying. I suppose you know 
 that hasn't a good look." 
 
 " I should know that indeed," said Harrie. " The 
 thing is, if I began now, would I ever have the time 
 to explain? " She sent a suggestive glance up to the 
 church clock. 
 
 " I've not the time to-night, that's true," said 
 Miss Maskery, rising. " And besides, I don't need 
 explanation. There's nothing dishonest about you, 
 whatever other people may turn out." 
 
 "Thank you," said Harrie, and her soft eyes 
 showed tears. 
 
300 HERSELF 
 
 "I say," said Ann in a burst, as they clasped 
 hands, "why don't you make a friend of Auntie*? 
 Have you an idea, the sort of things that are said 
 about you, up at the Champions', and here 4 ? Rosie 
 has got hold of a pack of them, and thinks she's 
 sharp in adding to them, but I told her not to repeat 
 what she didn't really understand. Whatever else 
 I am not," said Ann, with her chin out, " I'm her 
 elder sister." 
 
 " Did she get the things she heard from Mr. 
 Tom'? " said Harrie, with a patience the other girl 
 noticed. 
 
 " Goodness, no." Ann's face glowed. " Tom's 
 the one person who, since he saw you, won't 
 believe a word of it. You would be safe with him. 
 But that's not the point, as at best he's only a man. 
 Here's Auntie, close at hand. Auntie's magnificent ! 
 And once persuaded, she'd work for you, that she 
 would. In a very curious way, she manages even 
 Uncle Fred." 
 
 " It is .hard for me," said Harrie, " not being of 
 her church." 
 
 " I forgot that," admitted Ann, and paused. 
 " Oh, bother the time," she said, stamping. " Well, 
 I like you anyhow ; and, look here we will meet 
 again." 
 
 She said the final sentences without the garden- 
 door, and climbing on her bicycle. 
 
FAROVER 301 
 
 " When you will," said Harrie, " but you're the 
 busier." 
 
 " I'll let you know," shouted the once more flying 
 Ann. " Sorry it's so short oh, dash that dog." 
 
 So inspiriting was the pig-stye interview, that 
 Harrie was almost laughing as she walked on up 
 the road to Farover. This type of English girl she 
 seemed to have heard of, and it did not seem so 
 strange as Rosaline's. 
 
 She had to wait patiently before she had the 
 chance of meeting Ann again. She had a line from 
 her two days later "Gone: left no address: I 
 will see you soon," enclosing a postal order for one- 
 and-six, presumably the change from the two 
 pounds; but she was not greatly affected by the 
 news, for she had already misdoubted as much 
 through looks and hints in other quarters. For any 
 further information to guide her perplexed thoughts, 
 or to help Geoffry Horn, she had to wait many days. 
 
 On one of the earlier Wednesdays of April, she 
 chose a harmless moment to slip into the drawing- 
 room, all sounds of singing-practice being over. She 
 expected the trio she would find; and Rosaline 
 Maskery was there sure enough; and sure enough, 
 so was Tom, sitting on the low window-ledge, the 
 spring sun catching his ruddy face. Winifred, who 
 never left this pair alone, was still on her throne, the 
 
302 HERSELF 
 
 music-stool; and all three seemed to be discussing 
 with some heat, as Harrie entered. 
 
 "I don't think somehow it's their style," said 
 Mr. Champion. " It's awfully fine, of course, and 
 all that, Cousin Win; but they do like the sort of 
 thing they're used to." 
 
 " Which is exactly how they never learn to like 
 better things," said Mrs. Escreet. 
 
 " A girl in a decline," said Rosaline disdainfully, 
 " left deserted on a seashore, and a religious chorus 
 in waltz-time. Everyone knows what village people 
 like* 9 
 
 " A country-side song might be possible," said 
 Winifred. " There are a few good ones in the best 
 selections." 
 
 " The women don't like it so well," said Tom. 
 " What I mean is, it doesn't get at them." 
 
 "Who wants to?" said Rosaline. "Really, I 
 have a great mind not to sing at all. It's too much 
 trouble to suit everybody." 
 
 "If you mean me," said her teacher smoothly, 
 " you can sing what you like, my dear. Only I can- 
 not teach it to you, for I never studied those things 
 myself." 
 
 "Does it need study?" said Tom. "I should 
 study the audience, and just let it roll out. You've 
 only got to make 'em laugh, or wipe a tear. That 
 is, I've got to do one, and Rosie the other." 
 
F A R O V E R 303 
 
 " I can't be sentimental," said Rosaline. " I'm 
 not." 
 
 " They'll do the sentiment," Mr. Champion con- 
 soled her, " if you plug out the stuff. Won't they, 
 Miss Clench?" He was the first person to recog- 
 nize her entrance. 
 
 " Can't I hear it anyway? " said Harrie. " Then 
 I'd know better how they'd feel." 
 
 "You can't," said Rosaline testily. "For the 
 simple reason that Mrs. Escreet hasn't a song of 
 that kind in the house. I shan't sing, that's the 
 simplest. Tom and the curate can plug out, as he 
 calls it, on Saturday." She walked to the tea-tray 
 evidently annoyed. 
 
 " My trouble is, I know nothing of the listeners," 
 said Harrie. " When is the concert fixed for? " 
 
 " April the twentieth," answered both. 
 
 " The twentieth? Why " she turned to Wini- 
 fred " isn't that your dinner-party? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Escreet, quietly turning the 
 music. " I never intended to go myself." 
 
 She knew that Harriet knew how recently the 
 date had been changed, and was not the better 
 pleased for the knowledge. Luckily, the girl had 
 the sense to say nothing, and only looked enquiringly 
 at Tom, who was one of the favored six to whom 
 she had despatched cards. 
 
 " Mrs. Escreet will give me leave not after din- 
 
304 HERSELF 
 
 ner," the young man jovially explained, " won't you, 
 Cousin Win 2 You'll have to help me through, Miss 
 Clench, if Rosie cuts, that's all." 
 
 "Are you performing"?" said Rosaline, turning 
 on her almost rudely. 
 
 " I did say I would accompany but Mrs. Gray- 
 ling thought I might take supper at the Vicarage. 
 When I accepted I had no idea," said Harrie to her 
 hostess in apology, " that it would turn out the same 
 night." 
 
 " That will do very well," said Mrs. Escreet. 
 She also rose and came to the tea-table, while Mr. 
 Champion stared at her. 
 
 " Oh", I say," murmured Tom. He corrected the 
 social mistake by adding, " Well, Rosie, you'll have 
 to relent." 
 
 " Rosaline will sing for my guests, here," said 
 Mrs. Escreet, touching the girl's soft hair as she 
 passed her. " I had meant to engage you, my dear, 
 so do not forget. We shall make a better audience, 
 if a trifle more f difficile,' with Dr. Gudgeon." 
 
 Dr. Gudgeon was the greatest musical light of 
 the neighboring University, and it was Winifred's 
 triumph, rather than that of her husband, to have 
 induced him to come and shine upon this select 
 gathering at Farover. Harrie, in writing his name 
 on the dinner-card, had remembered vaguely having 
 heard of him from Geoffry Horn. He was an 
 
F A R V E R 305 
 
 eccentric of the most pronounced; but his word, at 
 least in musical matter, was law to the Escreets. 
 It occurred now to Winifred's mind in its deliberate 
 planning, to get his approval of her pupil Rosaline ; 
 even, if she could make him write it, to add it to 
 the girl's testimonials; for Rosaline had none too 
 many. 
 
 A little later they went into the garden, on which 
 April was beginning to smile. All three women 
 were rather flushed, and glad of the sweet air in 
 their faces. Tom was tranquil, but his lips inclined 
 to shape into a whistle. He had an idea that 
 currents were moving under this mild chit-chat of 
 the drawing-room, of which he knew nothing, and 
 which he was very thankful to ignore. 
 
 Rosaline discussed music persistently with his 
 cousin; so he had no choice but to stroll behind, 
 and talk to Miss Clench. Not that he minded that, 
 for the girl was very good company. Harriet on 
 her side was watching her chance to get a word with 
 Ann's sister, but she was ready to pass the moments 
 in friendly give-and-take with Mr. Champion, who 
 grew, she discovered, on acquaintance. 
 
 Once launched in conversation, Harrie could not 
 easily remain formal; and, as a fact, they were so 
 lively that Mrs. Escreet in front remarked carelessly 
 to Rosaline they were flirting. It was only when 
 
306 HERSELF 
 
 the foremost couple vanished down the steps of the 
 Dutch garden, that Tom stopped quietly beside Miss 
 Clench on the terrace, and changed his tone. 
 
 "You'll excuse me," he said. "Ann Miss 
 Maskery gave me a message for you, if I could 
 get it through. I didn't suppose I should have an 
 opportunity." 
 
 Harrie turned on him, amazed and apprehensive. 
 
 " I know you'll say it's none of my business," 
 said Tom, looking at her full and steadily; "but I 
 intervened, as a friend, to save Ann. She's awfully 
 overworked and worried my father's business 
 she's about, don't you know." 
 
 " I couldn't find anyone else," gasped Harrie; the 
 color, rare in her face, had risen painfully. Tom, 
 seeing the signal of shame and self-reproach, reflected 
 her color as he proceeded. 
 
 " I know it. It's sickening you should have to 
 do it either. I want to take it off her shoulders, but 
 I must have your leave." 
 
 " Has she told you then about it? " 
 
 " I must explain," said Tom, after a pause, " that 
 Ann and I are business partners. I work for my 
 father too in the district, and we are used to sharing 
 things. She does a sight too much always, but that's 
 the girl she is. I got this thing out of her on one of 
 our rounds because, of course, she knows I am 
 on your side. It's beastly cheek, Miss Clench," said 
 
F A R V E R 307 
 
 Tom, with vigor, " for me to say so. But since you 
 know nothing of our pestilent habits, I'd better 
 mention that country people take sides in everything, 
 whatever there is to discuss, from a novel to a 
 mowing-machine." 
 
 " I know I've been a subject," said Harrie. 
 " Miss Maskery let me know that. Besides " she 
 crumpled the leaves of the laurel hedge nervously 
 " I know the feeling. I've been it before." 
 
 " I bet you have," thought Tom, looking her over 
 with one keen glance. "Well now, it's like this: 
 Ann's got the brains, and I've got the legs and 
 the time. You talk to her all you want, and she'll 
 give me orders. If it's paying bills, I'll pay 'em. 
 If it's finding an address, I'll find it. Anyhow, I'll 
 do my best to follow out directions; for on my 
 honor, and you'll excuse me, it's not the work for 
 a girl." 
 
 He talked low and fast, for their time together 
 was limited. The expression of his healthy face was 
 grave, almost severe. Only his voice had a quiet 
 cordiality that was like tonic to the weary girl he 
 addressed. They watched a minute, till Winifred 
 and Rosaline, whose voices had come nearer in the 
 winding walks below them, retreated slowly again. 
 While they so stood, the sweet breeze moved their 
 hair agreeably, and produced the faintest rustle in 
 the laurel hedge. 
 
308 HERSELF 
 
 " Will I see your partner soon"? " said Harrie 
 then, in her delicate little voice. 
 
 " Before the end of the week, she hopes to be over 
 again. In the interval this is her message will 
 you be so kind as to keep her sister out of it? 
 There's no reason, is there, that she should be 
 mixed up? " 
 
 His voice was just a little pleading, and Harrie 
 gave him an impulsive hand. " There is not, in- 
 deed," she said, " and you may trust me for it. 
 You're very, very kind both you and she." 
 
 They then talked about indifferent things, leaning 
 on the terrace wall, till Rosaline and Winifred, 
 whose light dresses were now once more flashing 
 behind the budding lilacs, saw fit to rejoin them. 
 But not all the winds of spring could cool the little 
 flush on Harriets pale cheek; and Rosaline's sharp 
 eye was the first to note it. 
 
IX 
 
 ANN came in due course, and the girls* next talk 
 was in comfort and at leisure. It took place on 
 a day of rain in the Vicarage schoolroom, under the 
 fitful cover of Miss Lindt's practice. Peace breathed 
 upon the Vicarage, owing largely to the fact that 
 Muriel was in bed with a cold; Bertha was free to 
 play even beyond the stated hour if she chose, and 
 Harrie to sit with Ann over the schoolroom fire, and 
 help her to mend stockings for Mrs. Grayling, free 
 to share confidences or preserve a busy silence, as 
 the impulse took them, or as the music allowed. 
 Bertha, who in preparing for the concert had de- 
 veloped a sudden and brand-new enthusiasm for a 
 sonata she had happened to neglect for several 
 months, could be trusted not to attend to them at 
 all. It is true, she gasped remarks at intervals, such 
 as " So," and " Na, na," and " drei und vier ach, 
 himmlisch " even very rarely she appealed for 
 sympathy across her shoulder, with a rolling eye 
 and a rather intoxicated smile. But that was 
 nothing to Harriet, who had long been used to her: 
 
310 HERSELF 
 
 methods; and Ann was one of the enviable people 
 with no ears, and no sense whatever of comedy out 
 of its place. 
 
 Ann was recovering from a very bad cold, and 
 Miss Clench began by informing her that she ought 
 to be in bed. Ann replied that Miss Clench looked 
 like a fluffy little owl that had sat up too late; and 
 these amenities accomplished, they came to business. 
 
 Ann had had a talk with Patrick's late landlady, 
 who was a simple cottage woman in the little 
 country town. Mrs. Blencow, it appeared, was not 
 without a tender heart, and had been interested in 
 her young lodger, though he had been sufficiently 
 troublesome. Mr. Morough had had his faults, she 
 admitted, and what with paint and clay puddings, 
 she had not been able to get his room clean since. 
 Beyond this, he ordered a great many things for 
 which he had no money to pay; and he had had a 
 " turn-up " with some young louts of the town who 
 mocked his sketches, which had nearly landed him 
 in the police-court. He was ill, and coughed dread- 
 ful. She did not like her little girls hanging about 
 him, but children will do it. He had a way with 
 him, too, past her power to account for. All this 
 Ann retailed more or less, with much conscience and 
 no drama; and Harrie attended, her head bent low, 
 stitching at the stocking on her hand. 
 
 One night, the report proceeded, he came back 
 
FAROVER 311 
 
 very late and quite wet through, and Mrs. Blencow 
 tried to make him have a fire in his small upper 
 room. He refused, being in a sulky temper as she 
 could see, and would only sit at the table, his head 
 resting on his hands. The next morning, she found 
 he had packed his small knapsack and departed 
 dropping, she supposed, by means of his window into 
 the back garden, for he was " as active-made as a 
 cat." He left on the table a five-shilling piece, 
 which was not enough to pay her bill, let alone 
 satisfy the tradesmen. 
 
 Harrie's stocking-hand dropped in her lap; she 
 was watching the fire with fixed eyes, and the ex- 
 pression Ann did not like. 
 
 " I supposed," she said, " that was the way he 
 would go. He was really offended with me this 
 time." 
 
 " Mrs. Blencow saw no reason in it," said Ann 
 with severity, " for she had treated him thoroughly 
 well." 
 
 " She wouldn't," said Harrie briefly. " It's only 
 I that know anything of him, and it's I should have 
 prevented it in time." 
 
 "If he's so ungrateful and worthless," said the 
 forthright Ann, " I don't see why you should worry. 
 I shouldn't." 
 
 " You're not one of them," said Harrie, " asking 
 your pardon. Oh dear, I have been wondering 
 
312 HERSELF 
 
 about the Oxford doctor. Do you suppose, Ann, he 
 left his account there unpaid as well ? " 
 
 " You're sure there was a doctor? " said Ann. 
 
 " No," Harrie apologized. " You're never sure, 
 with Pat. It's only he said so." 
 
 " What I mean is," said Miss Maskery, " if true, 
 that would be a way of tracking him. Doctors may 
 be common, but they're limited." 
 
 Miss Clench laughed a grain, and looked at her. 
 
 " I like the way you talk," she said. " There's 
 so much hope in your methods not knowing the 
 variety you are dealing with. If a Clench wants to 
 go into the air, he goes. The only sure thing is, he 
 will turn up again." 
 
 " Oh, you are sure of that, are you? " said Miss 
 Maskery. " When his bills have been paid, I sup- 
 pose." ' 
 
 "It does not depend at all on the bills," said 
 Harrie, " only on the people he has left behind. 
 When they deserve him really, he'll be there." 
 
 " It's a nice irresponsible life to lead," said Ann. 
 
 " It is," said Harrie, " except for the people." 
 
 They darned for a period in sisterly concert. 
 
 " Tom will make a round of the Oxford doctors," 
 said Ann presently, " if you like." 
 
 " Oh, I couldn't have him troubled," said Harrie. 
 
 " He's always glad to be useful," said Ann. " He 
 he's a rattling good sort." 
 
F A R V E R 313 
 
 It did not sound sentimental, but Miss Clench, in 
 her instinctive soul-exploration, never depended upon 
 words. " It seems he'd do anything for you," she 
 said, glancing at the plain girl. 
 
 " So he would. He'll be a useful brother-in-law, 
 won't he? " said Ann, with a nervous laugh. 
 
 " Do you want that to happen? " said Harrie, 
 turning the stocking. 
 
 " It's got to happen," said Ann. " It's the only 
 hope now for Rosie." 
 
 " And what about you? " said Harrie. 
 
 A musical accompaniment, especially one that is 
 sober and beautiful, is a great spur to intimate 
 conversation, for it at once loosens the emotions, 
 and soothes the nerves. Ann, for all her strength 
 of character, had nerves; as indeed was almost in- 
 evitable, in the agitating life she led. 
 
 " I shan't marry," said Ann. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? " She looked 
 at her friend squarely. " Even without Rosie at 
 hand for contrast, as she has been all my life." 
 Ann frowned and winced. " Heavens, my head is 
 aching," she added suddenly. " It must be the 
 wind." 
 
 " Come down here," said Harriet, dropping a 
 cushion on the floor by her side. " Bertha used to 
 have awful headaches, and I know how to manage." 
 
314 HERSELF 
 
 Ann subsided on to the hearth at her bidding and 
 laid her head back on Miss Clench's knee. 
 
 ' Would you not wish to marry? " she said pres- 
 ently, when she had massaged some of the neuralgic 
 attack away. 
 
 "That's another reason why I shan't." Ann 
 laughed with bitterness. "I want it so much. 
 Look here, Harrie, I'll tell you when I can. I 
 never got it said to anyone before; but you're a safe 
 sort of kitten to talk to, if one must be a fool." 
 
 " I'd really like to hear," said Harrie gently. Un- 
 seen above Ann's head, she shut her eyes, for she 
 already knew the most salient fact of the confession. 
 
 " I know a lot of things," said Ann. " I have 
 taught myself hard, in order to teach these ignorant 
 country people. You know, to get at their sort, it's 
 not only things of the brain you must know : not only 
 political and social principles, though that's impor- 
 tant enough, goodness knows. It's other very com- 
 mon things things of the matter of life. If you 
 don't know about babies," said Ann, " and how to 
 manage money, and how to keep a young girl in 
 good ways or a boy for that matter : and how best 
 to get the children taught, and how to keep them 
 clean and the house healthy well, you don't get 
 very far. I've learnt all that well, partly, of 
 course, because I liked it. I should make a capital 
 wife I could bring up a large family, and I want 
 
FAROVER 315 
 
 it." The girl's hand struck the floor almost furi- 
 ously. " I want the work of it. I've no moony 
 ideas about marriage." 
 
 "None?" said Harrie. 
 
 " Oh Lord yes, of course, there's him. But 
 Rosaline's got him, and she is my sister and the 
 little one, so what's the good of talking." This, the 
 root of the confession, came in a quick, mechanical 
 mutter, the very heart of the girl speaking without 
 her will. She swept a hand across her brow after- 
 wards, as though Harrie' s fine fingers had hypno- 
 tized the truth out of her. 
 
 Fraiilein Lindt, now quiet and rapt in her corner, 
 played half a slow movement before they resumed. 
 
 " And what does Rosaline want? " said the 
 younger girl rather fearfully. 
 
 " She wants," said Ann, " to be a bride. Yes " 
 
 she clenched her hands " it's awful to say it, 
 for her sister; but I know well enough what I'm talk- 
 ing about. I have heard her chatter often, at the 
 times when you show yourself in what you say. I 
 have listened and not said much: she had no idea 
 what I was thinking thought me sulky very likely 
 
 or jealous." The girl gulped. " If I had ever 
 heard the real thing, Harrie, in what she said, I'd 
 bite my tongue out before I said this to you now." 
 
 " I believe that," said Harrie. 
 
 "She doesn't want children," pursued Ann. 
 
316 HERSELF 
 
 " She'd hate it, and be frightened too. She hasn't 
 an idea of what's before her, beyond the wedding- 
 day. She has taken nothing seriously, and won't, 
 till it's too late." She became almost inaudible. 
 " And that man, who is made for the head of a great 
 family, and to do the country good who shares 
 my ideas, and could give me more if he chose to 
 he'll marry her for her pretty face." 
 
 "Are you sure?" said Harrie quickly. 
 
 " I think he means to, now. I see it come nearer, 
 every day. He's changed lately, even to me." 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Ann," said Harrie, " does Mr. Tom think you 
 know too much?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ann bluntly. "Tom's old-fash- 
 ioned." 
 
 "I thought I'd seen it in him." Miss Clench 
 knitted her brows, and sought in vain a solution of 
 the case before her. 
 
 " Really, I wonder at times," said Ann wearily, 
 " are men quite mad. Doesn't it really matter what 
 we think, for the future, I mean? Are these 
 thoughts and ideas given us for nothing but to tease 
 our lives out, and turn our hair gray before we're 
 thirty? " 
 
 Harrie still frowned. " You can pass on your 
 notions to the poor people," she suggested. 
 
 " I can," said Ann, still low and wearily. " And 
 
F A R O V E R 317 
 
 the best of the women draw away from me, hold me 
 at arm's length, in everything that really matters 
 to them and to the State because I am a spinster. 
 They are kind," said Ann, " they are dears, but there 
 is always that little pitying smile. Just at the best, 
 the truest, you are turned out of heaven your own 
 heaven, Harrie by that smile." 
 
 After another period of Bertha's music and Miss 
 Clench's comforting hands, Ann turned her own 
 smile, which was very sweet and generous, up to 
 her little minister. 
 
 " You will never know that, you nice little thing," 
 she said. "You are safe anyhow that's one 
 comfort." 
 
THE village concert and the Escreet dinner-party 
 fell on Saturday; and Dr. Gudgeon came to stay 
 for the end of the week, having, with the careless 
 ease of a truly great man, shelved his duties as 
 organist of a big college, in order to have what he 
 called his Sunday out. He was fetched from the 
 station in pomp by Mrs. Escreet herself, who 
 exerted herself all the way home to keep him 
 amused, and to put him into the genial humor suit- 
 able to the guest of the evening. The visitor was a 
 short, broad man, grotesquely ugly, extremely un- 
 kempt, of an appearance indeed that would have 
 been found repulsive in any city less tolerant of 
 eccentricity than the one in which he had dwelt for 
 thirty years. 
 
 He had known Mrs. Escreet' s mother, and she 
 herself had for a short time been his pupil, when 
 she first settled as a bride at Farover; facts which 
 gave him, at least in his own opinion, the right to 
 behave to her as uncivilly as he pleased. To-day 
 he had come with the full intention of showing him- 
 
F A R O V E R 319 
 
 self fatherly and pleasant; but his hostess, who 
 deigned to drive him with her own hands, had only 
 to advance the mildest personal opinion, to have it 
 snapped off instantly short; as a blundering cow 
 will snap off a dandelion that chances to lift a head 
 in her path. 
 
 They had to pass through Stackfield to reach 
 Farover, from end to end of the straggling village; 
 and as luck would have it, they came upon Miss 
 Clench and the curate, laden with branches and 
 flags, proceeding to the Parish Room. 
 
 "What's this, what's this?" said Dr. Gudgeon; 
 and Mrs. Escreet, who had bowed benevolently to 
 the curate, felt compelled to draw up. 
 
 " What are you doing here? " Thus it appeared 
 the great man was distantly acquainted with the 
 curate, during his recent Oxford career. 
 
 " Only a little concert we're getting up, sir," said 
 the curate, with a shy laugh. " All in the day's 
 work." He was very young, and quite newly settled 
 in Stackfield; thus it need not be said he had imbibed 
 the local awe of Farover and its mistress. 
 
 " A church restoration fund that needs repleting," 
 said Winifred, holding her young horse with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 " What a way to get money," said the polite 
 musician. " Yowling and tootling, eh? one after 
 another. Far better ask 'em straight." 
 
 
320 HERSELF 
 
 "We've tried that," said the curate with diffi- 
 dence. " Allow me, Mrs. Escreet." At a sign from 
 her, he went thankfully to the horse's head: out of 
 Gudgeon's range, as he thought. 
 
 :< Well then, the thing's not wanted and you 
 should drop it," that authority shouted after him. 
 "Hey? What are you up to now?" He settled 
 upon Harrie, whose eye he had caught. He had a 
 known taste for lively young people, and the pass- 
 ing spark promised liveliness. 
 
 " Hanging the national flags," she answered at 
 once. " I had to choose, and I found all the green 
 ones were least faded." She aimed this at Wini- 
 fred, who barely smiled. 
 
 " You had better not omit the stars and stripes," 
 she said. " It's more showy than green. Where is 
 my husband, Harriet? " 
 
 " I left him at the house. He said he didn't want 
 me, and Mr. Finch did," was Harriet's explanation. 
 
 Winifred, furious with her bad taste shown be- 
 fore this exigent visitor, drove on with lifted brows 
 and mouth set in disdain. It was only after some 
 minutes of lofty silence that she discovered Dr. 
 Gudgeon chuckling silently. 
 
 " What's that girl, Winifred? " he said. 
 
 " A Miss Clench, come to us to be Ger vase's 
 amanuensis for a time. She is Brian's daughter," 
 
F A R O V E R 
 
 she added rapidly, realizing that he would be bound 
 to track the name down. 
 
 " Now I could have guessed that," said Dr. 
 Gudgeon. "I could have guessed that all alone. 
 And where's the impossible Brian ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows," said Winifred coldly. She 
 was rather wishing that the pony would walk faster 
 up the hill. 
 
 " Or cares," her visitor scoffed. " Somebody 
 cared at one time, I remember." 
 
 He had a terrific memory, on which all the incon- 
 venient or disintegrating facts were engraved, and 
 the convenient or sociable facts omitted. 
 
 " Now don't be absurd," said Mrs. Escreet, with 
 an effort to avoid the douche. If she persuaded him 
 of genuine indifference, he might let her off. 
 
 " Ho, didn't they," said Dr. Gudgeon. " There 
 was a time I have not forgotten, you couldn't let his 
 name alone." 
 
 " Well, no more could Gervase," said Winifred, 
 showing fight. " He occupied our minds enough 
 that spring, for the best of reasons." 
 
 " And you were thankful when he left," said the 
 organist. "Both of you, hey*?" He shook with 
 an inner chuckle again. " The Clenches always 
 studied the art of taking leave, for the best of their 
 reasons, which were always good. Well, well: I 
 
HERSELF 
 
 remember the little Kathleen at that, so perhaps I 
 shouldn't talk." 
 
 "Was that a sister 4 ?" Winifred fastened on the 
 diversion. " Tell me, did you ever hear of a 
 nephew *? " 
 
 " Kathleen had a boy delicate though. I 
 think he died." 
 
 " Whom did she marry? " said Mrs. Escreet. 
 
 "That's the last thing to ask, isn't it*?" said 
 Gudgeon, shaking again. " Since she didn't marry 
 me. Not that I ever asked her, but she could have 
 done it if she chose. Long was the name," he added, 
 catching a memory suddenly as the aged do. 
 
 Winifred set her lips, and flicked the pony. 
 
 Knowing her tyrant's taste for young society, 
 Mrs. Escreet had retained Tom to lunch, and en- 
 gaged Rosaline to stay over Sunday. Harrie she did 
 not consciously count, as she had no wish for the 
 conspicuous little Irish girl to interfere with her 
 schemes in Rosaline's interest. She had granted her 
 leave to pass all the afternoon in the village if she 
 preferred; but Harriet, as things turned out, did not 
 avail herself of the permission altogether. 
 
 She came back to Farover after lunch, about two 
 in the afternoon, and found Mr. Champion in the 
 rose-garden, smoking the roses. 
 
 "Where are they all?" she said with brilliant 
 
F A R O V E R 323 
 
 eyes. Her chin was up, and she looked defiant of 
 the world. Tom had seen it in her gait as she came 
 across the lawn. He compared her in his mind to a 
 well-fitted small ship, flying the challenge to a con- 
 gregated squadron that was closing on her. The 
 free poise of her, to Mr. Champion's mind, always 
 suggested the sea; in which connection, it may be 
 said, Tom had failed for the navy in his youth, be- 
 fore he settled, at the maternal command, into 
 politics. 
 
 " They are sitting round Miss Maskery at the 
 piano," he said. " A conclave. Cousin Win maneu- 
 vered Gudgeon magnificently, though he assured her 
 he preferred to go to sleep. Rosie's as nervous as 
 they make 'em and wouldn't have me, so I stepped 
 out. Is anything the matter? " he added at leisure. 
 
 "Nothing," said Harrie proudly; "only Mr. 
 Grayling does not want me to supper to-night." 
 
 " Does not want you? " 
 
 " No. I'll have to dine with you." 
 
 " Delighted," said Tom with a bow. He was 
 rather off his bearings, and redder than usual. 
 
 " Unless of course Mrs. Escreet sends me to bed," 
 proceeded Harrie, sitting on the sunk wall of the 
 rose-garden, and swinging her foot. " It's pretty 
 clear she doesn't want me either." 
 
 " What has made you angry? " said Tom. 
 
 "Is that not enough? However, I'll tell you a 
 
HERSELF 
 
 story, to amuse you while you wait out here. It'll 
 make you laugh, as it did me. I was hanging the 
 flags with Mr. Finch, who's a donkey at it, and ham- 
 mering my fingers while he passed the nails. That 
 was in the Parish Room, where I've spent the entire 
 morning, and the gas escaping somewhere we 
 couldn't find it though we blackened our hands with 
 dust. Well, there we were, the pair of us, when in 
 comes Muriel. Do you know her? " 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, who seemed troubled. 
 
 " The curate, seeing the child first, asks her what 
 it is. ' Nothing,' says Muriel, sitting down solidly 
 on a form just near to us. ' Where is your 
 mother? ' I asked, for she'd been tired out before I 
 came. ' Mother's at home in the drawing-room,' 
 says Muriel, ' and Mrs. Champion is sitting by the 
 sofa.' I'm sure I'm sorry, Mr. Tom" for the 
 young man had turned his back to her suddenly, as 
 though to smoke a plant in his rear. 
 
 " Go on," he said. 
 
 " ' What have you come for?' said Mr. Finch: 
 for you should have seen the child's expression. 
 ' Simply to stay here, thank you,' said Muriel. 
 'The drawing-room sent me.' Well" as Tom 
 turned about again "I sat up on the ladder and 
 laughed. Would not you have done as much? 
 And poor Mr. Finch like a beetroot, though he was 
 only telling me about his mother at Malvern." 
 
FAROVER 325 
 
 " Before the child," was all Tom muttered. He 
 seemed almost as restless as she did. 
 
 " Muriel's quicker than most children," said Har- 
 riet. " That I'll say in their excuse. I am sure they 
 never guessed she understood. But the curate, of 
 all people! Mr. Tom, what harm would I do the 
 curate, tell me that? I I took the greatest care 
 of him." The girl almost broke down, for the irre- 
 pressible Irish humor was struggling with her real 
 emotion. "Oh, you've seen me sitting pretty 
 patient in my chair, have you not? but I'm mad 
 with it sometimes. What's different, between me 
 and other girls, that's what I want to know. What 
 is there different?" 
 
 " If an apology from me," said Tom, " would do 
 any good but in this case, Miss Clench, I can 
 hardly dare to speak." 
 
 " You need not," said Harrie, having pity on his 
 confusion. " I only told you because you were 
 there, and it was mean of me, indeed it was. I'd 
 have let it out on anyone else just as easy: only 
 there you were in my way, and so you had to have 
 it." She laughed through her tears and tossed her 
 head. "I'll go to the house, I think," said she. 
 " I'll not have lunch if they have finished. If Ann 
 comes, say I'm upstairs. You'll be very kind." 
 
 And with that, and a beam of gray-blue Irish eyes, 
 she flickered across the grass-plot and was gone. 
 
326 HERSELF 
 
 Five minutes later, Ann swept up to the gate on her 
 bicycle, and Mr. Champion was there to open it. 
 
 " Something's wrong," he said simply, taking the 
 bicycle from her hands, and lifting it for safety over 
 the low wall. 
 
 " Wrong'? Oh, that poor little thing! Have you 
 seen her?" 
 
 " She didn't tell me the whole of it," said Tom. 
 
 " Uncle Fred is the whole of it," Ann replied, 
 " and these infernal chatterers. He's very bad this 
 morning, Tom, and you know what he can be. I 
 felt in my bones, as soon as I saw him, there was 
 something up. But I never thought he could tell a 
 girl to her face he did not want her to dinner ! " 
 
 " If he must," said Tom, " it's better than mak- 
 ing his wife do it." 
 
 " She couldn't," said Ann. " Even he could see 
 she is not fit to-day. You would think the mere 
 rudeness to her, when she had invited Harrie, would 
 have been sufficient, wouldn't you? But no. Do 
 you know Uncle Fred's face, when he deals with a 
 story of that sort? It's it's vicious." 
 
 " Then the whole business is out," said Tom. 
 
 " I could do nothing," said Ann, sinking down 
 exhausted in the rose-garden. " I tried, but he knew 
 it all, and I could only correct the details. They 
 know all about the Blencows, and the bills, and the 
 police row, and escaping through the window, and 
 
FAROVER 327 
 
 even how she met him in Stackfield Lane. If you 
 ask how they discovered it was her money I can 
 only send you to pick over the pig-tub of tattle there 
 has been. I shan't mince my words," said Ann, 
 stamping. " I'm mad at it, and mad to have given 
 her away, and mad to have stood an hour before my 
 uncle and your mother to be talked at. But sooner 
 me than Aunt Amabel." 
 
 " Was he down on you? " said Tom. 
 
 " Not more than he's been before," said Ann 
 grimly. " Uncle Fred doesn't need to be told I'm a 
 busybody. He says, this will be a lesson : and so it 
 will," said Ann, with marked pugnacity. 
 
 "Lord! why didn't you use me at first?" the 
 young man groaned. " They would never have 
 suspected me." 
 
 "Think not?" said Ann, and looked at him 
 squarely; his eyes turned from hers. "Well, I am 
 going in to her is she in her room? I shall jolly 
 well tell her not to trouble about them further 
 bothering over this stupid concert as she's been." 
 
 " Muriel is out of it, I hope," said Tom, who had 
 a big young man's sympathy for little girls. 
 
 " Muriel's howling in her bedroom. Poor Aunt 
 Amabel, a pretty life she has." Ann shrugged and 
 prepared to go. She was sitting on the wall of the 
 rose-garden, just where Harrie had sat, and Mr. 
 Champion could not help noticing the contrast. 
 
328 HERSELF 
 
 " Did you tell them the fellow was her cousin? " 
 he said suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, I did, and made things no better. If I had 
 said her brother, they might have listened to me. I 
 wish she had one," said Ann inconsequently. 
 
 " Yes, that's the sort of thing she wants," said 
 Tom rather low. 
 
 " Look here, Tom," said Miss Maskery, leaning 
 her elbows on her knees. " You know them best, 
 and I had better apply to you. I am aware Mrs. 
 Escreet is good for nothing in this affair : I have the 
 sense to see that, and I shan't attempt her. What 
 about Mr. Escreet? " 
 
 " No good either," said Tom, without even re- 
 moving his pipe. 
 
 " Harriet's worked for him, and jolly well. 
 What's his quarrel with her? " 
 
 " He has none," said Tom, " but he wouldn't take 
 her part in this. It's not enough to like her, remem- 
 ber," he added, with a visible effort. " You must 
 respect. On my honor, I'd sooner work on the little 
 curate than on Cousin Gervase." 
 
 " Well," said Ann, " I admit you ought to know. 
 As for Finch," she added suddenly, "he's head- 
 over-ears, but that's not the point." 
 
 " He'll sing the better for it to-night," said Tom 
 grimly. 
 
 Ann rose and shook herself. " Rosie is going to 
 
F A R V E R 329 
 
 play up, I hope," she said, reminded of her sister by 
 sounds from the drawing-room. " They are count- 
 ing on her for a song, because the instrumental pieces 
 are rather heavy on the programme." 
 
 "That good governess will make them heavy," 
 Tom agreed; "to judge by her rehearsal, it's the 
 word. Miss Clench is largely wanted, I understood, 
 to manage her." 
 
 " She always seems wanted to manage things that 
 are just too much for her," said Harrie's friend; 
 having disposed of which sentiment, Ann nodded to 
 Mr. Champion, and strode up the terrace steps. 
 
 Ann Maskery did not go to the drawing-room. 
 She went to the kitchen, where she was heartily wel- 
 comed by all the servants; and sitting among them 
 with her arms on the well-scrubbed deal table, she 
 laid a plot. She found to her relief that her fellow- 
 conspirators were already heart and soul in her cause 
 which was an agreeable surprise ; for to order a 
 private dinner in a house not your own, and to 
 which you are not even invited, would be considered 
 by most people a difficult thing to do. Yet Ann 
 found that her experience had covered many a 
 harder undertaking. The argument she presented 
 publicly was that Miss Clench and she desired to be 
 punctual at the concert, and did not want to trouble 
 Mrs. Escreet, whose hospitality no one doubted. 
 
330 HERSELF 
 
 The dinner-party, reduced to six since the elder Mr. 
 Champion had refused, was already complete: that 
 Hester, who was working out her table, must allow. 
 Two stray girls would over-balance an admirable 
 scheme; and, as Miss Maskery said jovially, there 
 was not enough cold mutton for them at the Vicar- 
 age. Added to this, Miss Clench was putting the 
 last stitches in a blouse which had to be worn that 
 evening. Well then would Marion conceive it 
 possible to send the kitchen-maid stealing up with a 
 tray at half-past six? 
 
 Marion, much entertained by Miss Ann, con- 
 ceived it: and it was something better nor cold 
 mutton she should have. Hester would also fetch 
 the blouse to finish, only she wished Miss Clench 
 would wear her nice dress. 
 
 " It's much too nice, Hester," said Ann solemnly. 
 " So far, I have only been allowed one peep into the 
 cupboard. I sometimes wonder if Farover will ever 
 be considered good enough for that garment even 
 next month at the ball." 
 
 " Miss Clench is comical about her clothes," said 
 Hester. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to dress her? " said Ann. 
 " Tell me that, Hester. Wouldn't you just? " 
 
 :c Well, with a figure like that " said Hester. 
 
 " But I doubt she'd ever let me have the chance, she 
 does for herself that persistent. Now go along, 
 
FAROVER 381 
 
 Miss Ann, we'll not be teased by you longer, and 
 Marion with her hands full." 
 
 " Miss Ann gets plainer than ever," said Marion 
 later, singing over her pots. " But so cheerful-like, 
 you sometimes wonder if she knows it." 
 
 " We can't all be comely," said Hester, who was 
 not. 
 
 Dinner, thanks to the brilliant efforts of Gervase 
 and Tom, alternately tactful and hearty, was tided 
 over successfully. Nor should thanks in the matter 
 be omitted to Winifred the housewife, who, with 
 Marion's aid, had constructed a meal such as Dr. 
 Gudgeon had not eaten for years. He said so loudly 
 at the third course, and from first to last he did full 
 justice to it. Winifred breathed more freely when 
 it was over and she could confide her late anxieties, 
 in the privacy of the drawing-room corner, to Mrs. 
 Champion's sympathetic ear. Rosaline remained 
 behind, for she did a little smoking on occasion, and 
 the ogre was visibly pleased to retain her at his side. 
 
 Thus the elder ladies talked in peace, and the 
 thing they talked of was Miss Clench, and the new- 
 est disclosures concerning her: a subject which could 
 not have been attacked so frankly with little Rosa- 
 line in the room. 
 
 Mrs. Champion, who in reaching the solid dignity 
 of Member's wife, had had to forget an early 
 
332 HERSELF 
 
 brewery, was nevertheless a person whom even the 
 wonderful Mrs. Escreet could not ignore. She had 
 made her husband's fortune by her social enterprise 
 and resourcefulness, and her studied tact was so fine 
 as to be almost imperceptible. She knew perfectly 
 what to say in all likely junctures of life, whether 
 the matter were art criticism, the extravagance of 
 factory girls, or an unforeseen accident to the best 
 tablecloth. She knew now what to say about Miss 
 Clench almost better than Winifred did; for 
 Mrs. Champion, not being at close quarters with the 
 young woman, was far above personalities. It was, 
 as she said several times, a question of general prin- 
 ciple. The election omnibus had been that too, Mrs. 
 Escreet remembered: and the survival of the offer- 
 tory plate at Stackfield, and the Risings' nursery 
 canary. General principles embraced the common- 
 est things in Mrs. Champion's life; while to people 
 who habitually do without them, like the Escreets, 
 they remain impressive in the abstract, but not 
 agreeable. They fell into the same category at Far- 
 over as did fire-escapes and lightning-conductors, 
 admirable inventions in themselves, but really too 
 depressing to have about the house. 
 
 Mrs. Escreet felt a slight depression now, while 
 Mrs. Champion talked, and also a slight drowsiness. 
 She would have preferred the subject played with 
 more lightly, with that chaffing, tolerant air of 
 
FAROVER 
 
 " For that matter we have all done such things, and 
 everybody would do so if they dared not to say 
 cared," which was the essence of the Farover spirit, 
 and which Winifred hit off very nearly as well as 
 Gervase. As it was, she twisted her fan, and said 
 the girl was not bad, and no doubt would do in some 
 houses, but those houses not either Risings or Far- 
 over, for reasons not identical, but perhaps 
 analogous. 
 
 " She has a free manner," said Mrs. Champion, 
 who was not to be overawed by long words, and pre- 
 ferred clear ones. " Not offhand, like some girls 
 one knows, but free. Ann Maskery, now, is offhand 
 with her elders, and often rude. But, I was just 
 thinking this morning, you can't put your finger on 
 any rudeness in Miss Clench." 
 
 "I could," said Winifred lightly. "I call it 
 rude, when she accompanies me, to say ' You'll 
 have this down, I think,' and transpose it a whole 
 tone before I ask her. That is of a piece with her 
 telling my maid I looked better in brown than black. 
 It's true, of course, and if she had said it to me my- 
 self, I should not have objected so much. That 
 would be merely, as you say, the kind of thing that 
 Ann would do. Ann is frequently ponderous, just 
 like her poor father. I often wonder where Rosa- 
 line gets her manners." 
 
 " Miss Maskery is a nice, pretty girl," said Mrs. 
 
334 HERSELF 
 
 Champion, seeing an encomium was expected. 
 " Steady at early church, too, Mr. Grayling says, 
 always in the right place in the house, and ready to 
 be pleasant. Her singing I can say I like thor- 
 oughly, Winifred, it's so really refined just what 
 one wants one's girls to learn. She would not mind 
 dressing a little quieter, I dare say, if she came to 
 me. Not that I've an objection to pretty clothes, 
 it's only the general principle " 
 
 Here she broke off, for Miss Maskery herself 
 walked in. Without a word of apology for inter- 
 rupting the tete-a-tete on the sofa, she stepped 
 swiftly across, and paused by Winifred. 
 
 " Well, dear," said her hostess smoothly, " have 
 you had enough smoke*? Suppose we take the duet 
 once through before they come in." 
 
 "What's the good 5 ?" said Rosaline too loud. 
 " He's gone." 
 
 " Whom do you mean*? " said Mrs. Escreet, 
 amazed. 
 
 " Both of them. Dr. Gudgeon's gone too. It's 
 Tom's fault I beg your pardon, Mrs. Champion, 
 but it really is. I tried to stop him, but he talked 
 about the curate's stupid song, and Dr. Gudgeon 
 said he'd give his wig to hear it; and Mr. Escreet and 
 I told him the sort of thing the concerts always 
 were, and how vulgar little Finch is, and that you'd 
 quite given up trying to help them." 
 
F A R O V E R 335 
 
 "And that made him more inclined than ever," 
 said Winifred. She was greatly vexed, but her 
 voice was controlled, partly in warning to Rosaline. 
 "Well, he will soon be back again," she said. 
 " Meantime, sing for Gervase and for us, Rosie." 
 
 " Mr. Escreet has gone after them," said Rosa- 
 line. 
 
 " What? " Winifred stirred, and her voice took a 
 new tone. 
 
 " And Ann and the Irish girl, not to mention the 
 kitchen maids. Everyone in the house has gone." 
 
 " Ann? " queried the visitor. " Is your sister 
 staying here too, my dear? " 
 
 "Ann had dinner in Miss Clench's bedroom," 
 said Rosaline, " and Tom knew of it. They did it 
 on the sly and slipped off. If you will excuse me " 
 her voice shook "I'm going down there now, 
 Mrs. Escreet. It's not to be borne." She did not 
 specify what was not. 
 
 " You are not to sing? " queried Mrs. Champion, 
 really puzzled. She divided the question between 
 them, for Winifred had risen too, as though mechan- 
 ically. " I thought Tom said " 
 
 " I shan't sing unless I must," said Rosaline, 
 breaking in. "Are you coming, Mrs. Escreet?" 
 
 " Well, really," Winifred said, in the same un- 
 usual voice, " one might just as well look in on them, 
 Grace. There might be something going on." 
 
336 HERSELF 
 
 Perplexed, but still matching the situation, Mrs. 
 Champion got up, shaking her skirts with dignity. 
 
 " Perhaps I may order the carriage to follow us 
 down," she suggested. " Papa asked us to be early. 
 I can fetch Tom after his song." 
 
 It may vaguely have occurred to Mrs. Champion 
 that in the general turnover of her polite and proper 
 world, and amid the fever of these various young 
 women, it might be as well to fetch her valuable son 
 away. 
 
XI 
 
 MR. CHAMPION, with the best will in the world to 
 be punctual to his scheduled time, arrived late at 
 the Parish Room. It was entirely owing to Dr. 
 Gudgeon, who fell into such an acrimonious argu- 
 ment with Gervase in the drive, and grew so excited 
 over it, that he nearly turned straight back into the 
 dining-room to finish it at his ease. 
 
 They arrived at the moment when, having given 
 Tom up, the management consisting of the burly 
 Vicar and his tired wife had asked Miss Lindt to 
 play again. " Just once more, if she will be so 
 good," was the message conveyed by Harrie to 
 Bertha, who, voluble and beaming with excitement, 
 was spreading herself in the audience among the 
 village mothers. The form of the request indicated, 
 firstly, that Miss Lindt had been used rather too 
 often during the evening to fill gaps in the pro- 
 gramme; and, secondly, that Miss Lindt was so far 
 from being unwilling to perform, that the manage- 
 ment was apprehensive of her remaining in occupa- 
 
338 HERSELF 
 
 tion of the piano-chair when her part was concluded, 
 and so had to hint at a possible end to her labors. 
 
 The audience, however, showed itself by no 
 means tired of Miss Lindt: seeming, indeed, to find 
 in her an endless source of innocent hilarity. The 
 heavy village boys nudged one another, as they 
 watched her antics open-mouthed, much as the small 
 schoolgirls had done at Versailles. The village of 
 Stackfield was not quite sure that she was not sent 
 as a "comic" to replace Mr. Champion: for Tom 
 was an old entertainer, and whatsoever the perform- 
 ance called itself, concert or theatricals or bazaar, 
 they counted on his being allowed to give them at 
 least one " roar." 
 
 Now, as Bertha, squaring her elbows, sat down 
 on the creaking chair, Dr. Gudgeon and his com- 
 panions at the outer door heard quite a creditable 
 thumping and giggling among the tightly packed 
 audience. 
 
 " Who's up the curate? " Gervase enquired of 
 the doorkeeper, a former stable-lad of his own, who 
 was now in the service of Mrs. Champion. 
 
 " No, sir. This is a lady as plays. Makes the 
 piano hop, she does, better than a pianola. You'll 
 want to get in, sir, to watch her." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Escreet. " Hearing will do for 
 us eh, Gudgeon? " 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if it would," grunted the 
 
FAROVER 939 
 
 organist. "When's the curate coming on, you 
 fellow?" 
 
 " Well, sir," said the young groom, staring in awe 
 at this novel and horrid apparition, " Mr. Finch, 
 sir, he's having a rest. You see, he has to keep order 
 with the boys as well, sir, and with his black face, 
 it's difficult." 
 
 " So it would be." Dr. Gudgeon began to appre- 
 ciate his circumstances. " Here, Champion, what's 
 your face like? Black's the fashion in this building." 
 
 " I dare say any strong color will serve," said 
 Tom, at which the groom-boy began sniggering, for 
 the personnel of Risings, at least the female part of 
 it, were accustomed to lament Mr. Tom's over- 
 healthy complexion. "How's it going, Jimmie?" 
 Tom added, for he felt more proprietorship in the 
 concert than either Gervase or his guest. 
 
 " Well, sir, Mr. Finch he amused them a bit, but, 
 between ourselves, they'd have liked a few more 
 songs." 
 
 " Why don't they ask, then? I dare say someone 
 would oblige." 
 
 " Well, sir, fact is, they don't want to worry Mrs. 
 Grayling, she's been taking so much trouble. Old 
 Ossler, sir, he told the boys they might be thankful 
 it's no worse than it is." 
 
 The critic Gervase appreciated this. " But Rosie 
 should have come," he murmured, " the affected 
 
340 HERSELF 
 
 little monkey. I say, Tom, can't you go back and 
 fetch her?" 
 
 " I'm on next, I think," mumbled Tom, who had 
 more than an idea he was in disgrace with Rosaline. 
 " When does this woman intend to begin? " 
 
 " Miss Clench is a-speaking to her," Jimmie in- 
 formed them from within the door. " Arguing she 
 seems, very lively. Ho ! did you eveV she's taken 
 away the music now. "there she goes, sir she's 
 off." 
 
 Harriet's quick eye had noticed the familiar 
 ruddy face of Mr. Champion at the door, and she 
 had entreated Bertha to be brief, and abandon the 
 lengthy overture she was preparing. Bertha, though 
 annoyed and impatient, submitted with a shrug to 
 this unreasonable request, and tossed her score on to 
 the piano. She played a pair of character-scenes 
 from the Schumann Carnival, and, undiverted by 
 written music, she set her whole artistic mind to con- 
 quering the freaks of a third-rate instrument in a 
 fifth-rate room. 
 
 The village audience creaked and whispered a 
 good deal during the solos, but neither of the three 
 gentlemen moved. Even in the pause between the 
 two sections which was not long, for Bertha's 
 hands hung on the keys Dr. Gudgeon only mut- 
 tered his mechanical " What's this, what's this? " 
 and Mr. Escreet opined in a whisper that he was 
 
FAROVER 341 
 
 damned. At the end of all, while the whole room 
 was rocking with amused applause, the second party 
 from Farover suddenly arrived, and eifectually dis- 
 lodged the group in the doorway, now reduced to 
 two, for Tom, summoned by Harrie's eye, had 
 slipped in to notify his arrival to the management, 
 and had sat down at Miss Clench's side in the second 
 row. 
 
 The audience at once stopped applauding to gape 
 and shuffle, for Mrs. Escreet and Miss Rosaline 
 were the classical beauties of the district, and Mrs. 
 Champion was par excellence its great lady. That 
 these swells should condescend, with skirts of sticky 
 satin, and handsome cloaks hardly concealing their 
 bare shoulders, to burst into their entertainment at 
 the eleventh hour, was a thing to be talked of long, 
 and also accounted for. The local worthies, always 
 hopelessly personal where causes or charities are 
 concerned, debated whether the unusual event was 
 a compliment to the Vicar, or natural interest in Mr. 
 Tom. All three ladies were granted to be " inter- 
 ested," Rosaline not least, with that admirable 
 frankness and penetration which our yeoman ranks 
 possess. 
 
 " Mr. Tom, Vs answerable," was the opinion of 
 the innkeeper's mother-in-law. " Miss Rosaline, 
 she comes after 'im like, and Mrs. Escreet to keep 
 her in countenance. That would be a sign they're 
 
848 HERSELF 
 
 'overing, and we shall 'ear of something before 
 we're much older." 
 
 " She looks like a bride already," said the village 
 dressmaker to her sister from London, " with those 
 silvery bugles on the white." 
 
 " I'd dearly like to see the neck," said the sister, 
 " being of more account in the ensemble than waist 
 and gathers. Perhaps when it gets hot she'll take 
 her cloak off." 
 
 " Mr. Tom he's a-talking to Miss Clench," mur- 
 mured some younger critic; "Miss Rosaline she'll 
 be hurt." 
 
 " Well," said the mother-in-law, stalwart in 
 Tom's cause, " how should he have seen Miss Rosa- 
 line, not having eyes in his back 'air." 
 
 Winifred, signaling to the herd around her to 
 keep seated, took a modest place behind on a rush- 
 chair, and made room for Dr. Gudgeon beside her. 
 Dr. Gudgeon, on his part, had seized Bertha on her 
 descent from the platform, and was talking to her 
 angrily in German. When it became impossible 
 longer to ignore Mrs. Escreet's demands on him, he 
 made a lurch, shouldering awkwardly and roughly 
 to her side. 
 
 "What's that woman doing in this galere?" he 
 demanded, in the least restrained of tones. " She 
 referred me to her employers, but I refer myself to 
 you. What have you been after, Winifred? " 
 
FAROVER 848 
 
 "Of whom are you speaking?" said Mrs. 
 Escreet, thankful that the general clatter of jubila- 
 tion caused by Tom's mounting to the platform 
 drowned this unpolished address. " Do you refer to 
 the Graylings' governess? " 
 
 "You know best what she calls herself, and 
 where she lives. I know what she is, and where she 
 ought to be ; and that's on the public platform. And 
 if you don't pack her about her business, and that 
 without delay, I will." 
 
 Winifred laughed. She had long lost the faculty 
 of feeling small when addressed by Dr. Gudgeon. 
 The drawback to habitual boorishness is, that the 
 boor is incapable of getting his sincere indignation 
 believed. 
 
 " Who is responsible for her? " snapped the 
 Doctor. " Where does she come from? " 
 
 " Miss Clench was responsible for her coming 
 into the district in the first instance, as I am for 
 Miss Clench's coming. Perhaps I must claim 
 responsibility after all." 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Gudgeon, " will you take her 
 up to-morrow and introduce her to George Harmon, 
 mentioning my name? " 
 
 " No," said Winifred, still laughing. " To-mor- 
 row's Sunday." 
 
 " Very good. Where's Miss What's-her-name? " 
 Before his hostess could stir to prevent him, he 
 
344 HERSELF 
 
 raised his great bulk, disturbing all the chairs again, 
 and lurched away up the room. He plumped with- 
 out apology into the chair Tom had left vacant at 
 Harrie's side, and began to talk to her at once. 
 Winifred and Rosaline, left desolate and more irri- 
 tated than ever, had no choice but to attend to Mr. 
 Champion's " turn " with as good a grace as might 
 be. 
 
 Tom recited a poem that all the audience knew 
 by heart, as could be seen in a number of cases by 
 their moving lips. But, such was his power and 
 popularity, that a roar of laughter greeted every 
 point, as surely as the gun replies to the match, and 
 he had small need to emphasize the jests by attitudes 
 or grimaces which things were not indeed his 
 " style." He then gave them a short scene between 
 the village idiot and a lady canvasser, in which he 
 represented both parties, and his feminine falsetto 
 arguments were most naturally rendered. This effort 
 was quite new, and was judged in conclave after- 
 wards as the cleverest thing he had ever done. At 
 the time hardly anybody laughed, owing to the 
 effort of trying to understand, and the fear of 
 " hurting Miss Ann." 
 
 Finally Tom pulled himself together and sang 
 them a sea-chanty, with no voice at all, but such 
 heartfelt fervor that they stamped with rapture, and 
 called tempestuously for an encore. 
 
FAROVER 345 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Tom, returning to his own char- 
 acter, with his own smile. " That's the first song I 
 ever sang, and I couldn't do that again, if you gave 
 me all the collection." 
 
 " Sooner restore you nor the church, sir," said a 
 wit, well concealed among the clustering heads. 
 
 " That's kind of you, Ned Challen," said Tom. 
 " But I'm pretty fit, as it happens and younger 
 than the church." 
 
 There was general delight displayed at this un- 
 forced humor. 
 
 " Now," Tom resumed, studying a programme, 
 "where are we? Miss Maskery is going ah 
 Mr. Grayling is going to read a portion of the 
 ' Tramp Abroad,' by the celebrated Yankee author 
 Mark Twain." 
 
 "We knows it," said a malcontent. "Can't 
 curate give us a song*? " 
 
 "Yes, a song, a song," echoed many, turning 
 furtive but greedy eyes to Rosaline, whose white 
 satin made her more desirable. 
 
 " With Dr. Gudgeon there in front I just won't," 
 muttered Miss Maskery. 
 
 "Quite so," said Winifred. "Refuse, it is 
 absurd." 
 
 " Miss Maskery is entreated," said Tom from the 
 platform, his laughing face turned to her, " humbly 
 entreated to condescend ah, no, I fear it is use- 
 
346 HERSELF 
 
 less : Miss Maskery has a cold. Well, shall we ask 
 Miss Lindt to sing to us? " 
 
 This suggestion was greeted with some laughter, 
 for Bertha, on whose neat list of duties " accom- 
 paniment " stood large as the next item, had climbed 
 to the platform and reseated herself. She meant to 
 go through with that accompaniment, the attitude 
 suggested, whether anyone appeared to sing the air 
 attached or not. 
 
 " I had better find Mr. Finch," said Mrs. Gray- 
 ling's exhausted tone, as her thin form rose at the 
 side. " Oh, Miss Clench, if you would be so good : 
 in the kitchen." For poor Mr. Finch, overcome by 
 the incursion of well-dressed ladies, all of his 
 acquaintance, had retired to wash his face. 
 
 "What's this, what's this?" said Dr. Gudgeon, 
 annoyed at Harriet's moving. "Sit down, you: 
 nobody wants a song." 
 
 " A song is it, or to turn the pages? " said Harrie 
 to Mrs. Grayling. She had been far too occupied 
 in collecting her unknown ogre, and in satisfying 
 his curiosity, to attend to later events in the room. 
 
 Alas! her familiar tone, penetrating though low, 
 awakened Bertha, lost in a dream on her music-stool. 
 With a flash of that instinct, which in absent- 
 minded collectables replaces an hour's strained atten- 
 tion in ordinary persons, she swept up the sentiment 
 of her surroundings and incontinently, before 
 
F A R O V E R 347 
 
 friends and foes and the indifferent world, she gave 
 Harrie's dearest secret away. 
 
 " Piano solos tire," said Bertha, turning ponder- 
 ously and speaking loud. " That is natural, I 
 understand it. My friend there, her sing-voice is 
 quite good. Harrie, you will sing for these so- 
 worthy people a little? " 
 
 "Oh, Bertha!" gasped Harrie; but the public, 
 led vigorously by Tom Champion, burst into ap- 
 plause. Miss Clench was generally appreciated in 
 the village, which liked her partly for herself, and 
 partly because " Vicar " disapproved of her. She 
 was not now allowed to protest, and at every 
 attempt to speak she was drowned by a new out- 
 burst. 
 
 " First-class," said Tom, looking redder than 
 usual, though he was smiling. " Come along, Miss 
 Clench. You are given over to the lions." 
 
 " Well I never," said Harrie aloud to herself; but 
 she went, as though suddenly taking a decision, and 
 stepped to the platform with her chin up. " Am I 
 to give them what they like?" she whispered, with 
 a gleam as she passed Tom. 
 
 " Some-sing not great Art," said the incorrigible 
 Bertha, as though responding to the thought, pound- 
 ing a few careless chords. " Just a little some-sing 
 that will speak to them." 
 
 Miss Clench put her hand behind her, and sang 
 
348 HERSELF 
 
 as she stood, in her neat plain blouse and skirt of 
 the working-girl on holiday. Her eyes were lev- 
 eled above the ranks of friends and enemies. She 
 felt her will tighten, the more for knowing the 
 Escreets and Dr. Gudgeon in her audience. She 
 would give them what they liked, her friends the 
 simple folk, at the command of Bertha, her inti- 
 mate; and all her roguish adaptable Irish nature 
 came to her aid. All that can be urged in her 
 defence to such as may condemn her proceeding, is 
 that through her whole career at Farover, it was the 
 only conscious revenge she ever took. 
 
 She sang knowing Mrs. Escreet detested it 
 the " Last Rose of Summer " ; lingering lusciously 
 over every sentimental phrase. She let out as much 
 voice as she thought the room would stand, and 
 articulated every syllable clearly. She was not at 
 all correct, and knew it. She broke the time and 
 altered the words. She lingered on the high note, 
 until anyone would have sworn the breath in her 
 little body must give out, and Bertha, that admir- 
 able artist, followed her in almost audible protest. 
 Not content even with this enormity, she transposed 
 the whole phrase an octave higher in the last verse, 
 singing with the " little voice " that was even more 
 delicate and touching than the big. She was, in 
 short, all that Winifred thought contemptible, and 
 all that Mrs. Champion called unrefined. 
 
FAROVER 349 
 
 Only, the village audience loved her, and the men 
 gentlemen, yeomen, and boors alike fell at her 
 little feet. Both things, it must be contended, were 
 the immediate consequence of being born a Clench, 
 and had really very little to do with singing at all. 
 
 " Delicious," gasped the purist Gervase from his 
 wife's side, pushing forward quite unconsciously to 
 be nearer to her who sang. 
 
 " By God, what a voice," swore the boor 
 Gudgeon, caring no whit that he should be over- 
 heard and condemned, whether by his hostess or the 
 Vicar who stood near. 
 
 "If that isn't as fine as the big gramophone in the 
 shop at Abingdon," said the innkeeper's mother-in- 
 law, wiping her eyes, which were running over with 
 real tears. " And sweet she looked while she was 
 doing it so easy all the time." 
 
XII 
 
 WHETHER the sentiment in Winifred inimical to 
 Miss Clench was strengthened by the foregoing 
 scene, I leave it to such as now know her to judge. 
 Harrie, who had faced her on almost every other 
 territory, had dared to face her now on ground that 
 was her peculiar property. She had stepped within 
 the ring, and the queen of that ring could no longer 
 even pretend to be indifferent. All Sunday long, 
 Dr. Gudgeon, the great musician of her world, the 
 final court of appeal in artistry, who had guided and 
 approved her own career, would do nothing but talk 
 to Harriet, or wanting her, talk about Bertha Lindt. 
 Harrie, he said carelessly, had time before her, but 
 Bertha was an immediate responsibility. He in- 
 tended to carry her off with him to Oxford, and, if 
 she could stand the tests he applied, summon her to 
 meet him in London the following week. At inter- 
 vals during the day of rest he spent at Farover he 
 flew to the writing-table to scrawl off notes to vari- 
 ous eminent persons: some, as Winifred gathered, 
 containing songs of triumph merely, others to put 
 
F A R O V E R 351 
 
 off the engagements that were too important to be 
 blankly disregarded, during the period he proposed 
 to devote to his newest interest; and all of them cal- 
 culated to infuriate in the highest degree such 
 correspondents as might be able to decipher the 
 communication. 
 
 All this was bad, but there was worse for 
 Mrs. Escreet to bear. Rosaline, her little protegee, 
 was angry and miserable: furious with frank 
 jealousy, miserable at Tom's desertion, for she would 
 regard his friendly attentions to Harriet as no less. 
 And was that all, even^ Winifred would have 
 asserted that was all, and no doubt she endeavored 
 to think so; but she watched her husband like a 
 lynx, and the sole reason she had for encouraging 
 the stout organist to remain at Miss Clench's side 
 was that she was thus secure Gervase could not be 
 in his seat. 
 
 She had never even faintly doubted him before, 
 amiable and soft-hearted as he was. She had never 
 even thought of his turning from her, so one they 
 were in heart and mind. The dread worm jealousy 
 is most intolerable when it first crawls in; for no 
 unwarned owner, who has claims to culture and 
 education, will recognize the inhabitant. The un- 
 easiness is nerves, fatigue, irritability anything 
 but that shame of shames; and Mrs. Escreet fought 
 even the consciousness for long. But the awakening 
 
35S HERSELF 
 
 came within one week of May, and that week shook 
 Harriet out of Farover. 
 
 Miss Clench was not happy in the interval, as 
 may be understood. Unused to the soft riverside 
 climate, she was not even well. Her customary 
 pallor grew more marked, and there were rings 
 about her eyes. She was teased with anxiety about 
 Pat, who did not answer her letters to BlufTborough, 
 despatched eagerly as soon as term began; and 
 Geoff ry, now busy staging his new play in London 
 had also ceased writing in the press of business and 
 new cares. 
 
 " She has left that," thought Winifred, noticing 
 the cessation of masculine correspondence. " No 
 doubt she thinks she has better game at hand down 
 here." Now a year since, so vulgar a thought could 
 never have occurred to Mrs. Escreet: a fact betray- 
 ing how we degenerate under the thousand thorn- 
 pricks of rivalry. 
 
 As to Harriet, she no longer felt the slightest im- 
 pulse to confide in her father's friend, still less in 
 the friend's husband. She was formal with Wini- 
 fred, and business-like with Gervase, whose book, 
 owing chiefly to the secretary's strenuous efforts, was 
 really advancing. But as it advanced, he lost inter- 
 est in it, as it seemed; he preferred to talk of any 
 trifle, and frequently tried to divert his assistant to 
 conversation in work-time; but Harriet was always 
 
FAROVER 353 
 
 cold. The result of her little snubs was that the 
 author became low-spirited, and even lazier than 
 before; and once he betrayed a temper with which 
 she had not credited him, and walked out of the 
 room. 
 
 Of Tom Champion she saw little, except on the 
 discreet occasions he seized to give her news. Dur- 
 ing Ann's absence in a northern town, Tom had his 
 hands fuller than before, the more so that he was 
 himself chosen as candidate in an adjoining county. 
 He pursued Harrie's quest in all his leisure time, 
 and was most clever in communicating by all means 
 that should least annoy Rosaline. Indeed, he was 
 so sensible in managing his own affair, and tiding 
 over Miss Maskery's determined efforts to quarrel 
 with him, that the village mothers in consultation, 
 and Hester and Marion in the kitchen, agreed that 
 he would make an uncommon good husband when 
 he had her, which they supposed he would. 
 
 Ann's letters were Harrie's greatest consolation, 
 and often Tom's news and messages came to her by 
 that safe channel. A letter of Ann's in the second 
 week of May carried the information that Tom had 
 been down himself to Bluffborough, with an intro- 
 duction to the headmaster of the school from a com- 
 mon friend. He just missed Mr. Geoff ry Horn, 
 who had gone there as soon as the school met, it 
 seemed, on the same errand. They found Mr. Wynne 
 
354 HERSELF 
 
 in perplexity, for his vagrant drawing-master had 
 not communicated, nor had he come back to his 
 lodging. With the exception of his heavy painting 
 apparatus and some small unfinished models, the 
 properties Morough had left behind were of no 
 value ; so if he had intended to elope, there was little 
 reason for him to fetch them. Mr. Wynne had a 
 candidate for his post in view, and was only pre- 
 vented from filling it permanently by the idea the 
 truant might be ill. As to his illness, it emerged that 
 a local doctor, not connected with the school, had 
 condemned his lungs for it was no less than the 
 scourge of his native island that threatened him; 
 but he had been advised to see a specialist, and had 
 been given some good addresses. 
 
 The only effect of this information was to add 
 tenfold to Harriet's anxiety. Pat had hidden for 
 one of two causes surely, serious illness or serious 
 offence: and either was wearing to think of, for his 
 little cousin's mind and heart. 
 
 " I love him," she repeated angrily to herself by 
 night and day, as the defiant spirit came uppermost. 
 " He is mine and I love him, for I have no other. 
 How could he go away from me like that, and me 
 caring for him as he knew I did? " 
 
 The one idea that never tormented her, most 
 curiously, was that of the boy's hopeless love. True, 
 he had made love to her in excitement on the Pont 
 
F A R O V E R 355 
 
 des Arts, but so would any Clench have done. It 
 had no meaning of necessity beyond the moment. 
 It was Harrie's misfortune that, devoting herself 
 readily in the common human manner of brother- 
 hood, she did not know when she was loved. She 
 went easily ahead with her arms out, till the other 
 love that is of all passions exclusive, single minded 
 and narrowly selfish, smote her in the face. It was 
 not till the very last of the lover's month that she 
 took the buffets, each in order, and stood appalled 
 at the havoc she had created in three hearts. 
 
 The weather was cold and wet in the early part of 
 May, and promised ill for the Oxford festival; but 
 when the week of boat races actually arrived, there 
 seemed good hope of a change. The sun at times 
 broke through those chill river mists, that seemed 
 eating the heart out of Harriet's determined hope- 
 fulness, and with the sun she could try to rediscover 
 her lost capacity of enjoyment. 
 
 On the last day of the races Winifred was to join 
 forces with the Champions for a river picnic; and 
 the week following she gave her yearly select little 
 dance. The Escreets possessed both a rowing-boat 
 and a canoe ; but the nearest point of the river-curve 
 was at twenty minutes' distance, and through sheer 
 laziness the boat-house often lay neglected for 
 months in succession. Only once, on a rare fine day, 
 Harrie had been taken out in the canoe by Rosaline ; 
 
356 HERSELF 
 
 and it had been just enough to awaken her curiosity 
 in the sly old serpent of Thames, and to stamp its 
 charm forever on her imagination. 
 
 On this occasion the Escreets had determined 
 rather sadly to do for once the proper thing, having 
 endeavored in vain to persuade Mrs. Champion and 
 her sons that the river, always too popular and 
 populous a resort, was more tolerable at any time of 
 the year rather than during this particular week. 
 Mrs. Champion, well in the fashion, thought other- 
 wise, but agreed on pressure to the Escreet provi- 
 sions, first to make it a lunch picnic, and secondly, 
 to go no higher in the Oxford direction than Iffley 
 Lock; for just beyond that point, where the race 
 started up-stream to Oxford, the common traffic 
 of pleasure-craft was bound to begin. Rosaline 
 Maskery was to meet them at Iffley, the nearest 
 point to her home ; and Mr. Champion had promised 
 to fetch her; for Tom had, for the exact space of a 
 week, foresworn politics, in order to devote himself 
 entirely to the severe task of shouting his ancient 
 college back to a place it had lost at the head of the 
 river. 
 
 All was planned to a nicety, the most exquisite of 
 portable food was prepared, and when the morning 
 of the Wednesday dawned with a gleam of sun, 
 Winifred had reason to flatter herself that this un- 
 usually "busy" day might go through without a 
 
F A R V E R 357 
 
 hitch. She had never hitherto considered that her 
 own frame of mind, or that of her husband, could 
 affect the passage of a day's pleasuring, for their 
 tranquil receptive condition of spirit was normal, 
 and little could ever occur to disturb them severely. 
 It was unforeseen, and owing to no fault at all of 
 Winifred's, that to-day her temper should be ruffled 
 before starting. 
 
 Miss Clench came to her in the study, extending 
 a letter, and with some slight color in her face. " I 
 opened this by an oversight," she said, " thinking it 
 one of mine." 
 
 Winifred stared at her and took the letter, which 
 was signed by an important personage, Mr. Geoffry 
 Horn, whose acquaintance Gervase had lately made 
 in London. It was merely the acceptance of an in- 
 vitation she had sent him, begging him to spare them 
 a week-end visit in early June. It was all formal 
 and ordinary, as she glanced it through, but for a 
 line added after the signature. 
 
 " I believe a young acquaintance of mine, Miss 
 Harriet Clench, is staying with you. Will you 
 remember me to her, and I shall be pleased to see her 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, he is that sort of person, is he 1 ? " said the 
 voice in Winifred, all unconscious. She only said 
 coldly aloud : " Did you see there was a message 
 for you? " 
 
358 HERSELF 
 
 " I saw my name," said Harrie, biting her lip. 
 " I am sure I am sorry," she added. "It is lucky it 
 is nothing more important." 
 
 Winifred answered nothing, and laid the letter 
 aside. 
 
 " When did you meet him*? " she said. 
 
 " In Paris twice." 
 
 " And you expect letters from him," Winifred re- 
 flected. " That would seem rather a brisk way of 
 doing business, in more ordinary circles. Well," 
 she said, " I suppose you will be here when he 
 comes." 
 
 " I was wondering," said Harriet, as though forc- 
 ing herself to speak, " if you would want me to stay 
 beyond the end of the month." 
 
 Oh why not? " said Winifred. 
 
 " Because if you do not, I must be trying for an- 
 other situation," the girl said simply. " I did not 
 like to do it without telling you." 
 
 " What sort of situation are you thinking of *? " 
 
 " I might take up teaching again. I have been 
 wondering," said Harrie, " if Mrs. Grayling would 
 take me when Bertha goes. But perhaps you would 
 sooner have me right away." 
 
 " I do not know what reason you have for think- 
 ing so," said Winifred, more annoyed than ever. 
 " Nor had I heard that Fraiilein Lindt was to leave 
 the Vicarage." 
 
PAROVER 359 
 
 " Well," said Harriet, " Dr. Gudgeon has been 
 writing to her, and wants to fetch her to London 
 soon, to play to a concert manager. If she got an 
 engagement to play, of course she would like it best, 
 for she's in no sense a teacher, really." 
 
 " You recommended her as such, I understood." 
 
 " For want of better," said Harrie. She pro- 
 ceeded with a new effort. " I believe Mrs. Grayling 
 would have me for Muriel : and her husband " 
 
 " I may as well tell you," said Winifred, looking 
 down at her clasped hands, " that I am quite certain 
 Mrs. Grayling will not have you, so you may dismiss 
 the idea." 
 
 " Cannot you speak for me to him 4 ? " said Harrie, 
 catching her lip with her teeth. " And don't you 
 see that if you cannot if you believe the worst of 
 me I ought to go away^ " 
 
 At that instant and in a flash, Winifred Escreet's 
 true self believed and knew her innocence. It was 
 only a flash, and then the deceiving curtains of 
 jealousy dropped again. 
 
 " I believe nothing against you till it is proved," 
 she said. " It may, however, be the part of discre- 
 tion to leave us in June if you desire it. You could 
 not begin to teach before the autumn. It is simply 
 my opinion, not my wish, that you will not get a 
 post at the Vicarage. I have known Frederick Gray- 
 ling long, and he is not a man of pliable temper or 
 
360 HERSELF 
 
 easy views. However, if they had no one else 
 in mind," she added, "I would see what I could 
 do." 
 
 "I thank you," said Harrie: ending this inter- 
 view as she had that old one with her schoolmistress, 
 gratitude on her lips and despair in her heart. She 
 would have to face the Vicar in person and have it 
 out, she decided: and being still very young, she 
 dreaded the necessity. 
 
 Thus it arrived that Mrs. Escreet had not control 
 of her best manners at the moment of embarcation; 
 and Miss Clench was pale with a headache. She did 
 not look forward to a day she would enjoy, and the 
 relentless sun-glitter on the level reaches seemed to 
 increase the troubled dazzle of her senses. The ease 
 of the party was further damped by the presence 
 of Eustace Champion, an impeccable Eton youth of 
 sixteen, who seemed to inspire the whole of his 
 family with awe. Gervase alone endeavored quite 
 fruitlessly, to tease him, and nobody attempted 
 to snub. He sculled in Winifred's boat with lan- 
 guid elegance, pending the arrival of his brother 
 Tom: and made conversation with her by the way, 
 his mother throwing in an occasional respectful ob- 
 servation. Only when the talk turned on Tom's 
 new constituency he was silent, watching the river 
 with a thoughtful smile; for Eustace differed with 
 his family on politics, though he was always ready 
 
F A R O V E R 361 
 
 to conceal the misfortune from them as far as 
 possible. 
 
 The exquisite youth took in Harrie very com- 
 pletely: for she and Mr. Escreet in the light canoe 
 kept easily alongside the larger craft. Most girls on 
 the river wore white, Eustace reflected, or some of 
 those lacy things with pink beneath; he supposed 
 this one was in mourning suddenly, and had not had 
 time to order better clothes. She was quite decent 
 to look at, and he could not see why his mother 
 talked of her in that way. He would seize a chance, 
 he thought, when the party should scatter on the 
 bank, to see what she was really good for. 
 
 " Oh," said Harriet, at a bend of the river. 
 "What's that church?" 
 
 " That's Iffley, the goal of our ambitions," said 
 Gervase. " Dear me, I suppose you must see over 
 it: how painful." 
 
 " It doesn't look so ugly," said Harriet at leisure. 
 
 " It is one of the architectural wonders of Eng- 
 land," said Gervase, " and that is the painful part. 
 Win," he called, " I have realized, in looking about 
 me, a duty for Harri-et. Let us put it off as long 
 as possible." 
 
 " If you refer to the church," said Winifred, " We 
 will solve the problem by camping out of reach down 
 here. Tom and Rosie cannot be across just yet." 
 
 " I mean to see it," said Harrie serenely. " You'll 
 
362 HERSELF 
 
 put me out on the path, Mr. Escreet, and I'll go 
 along and over the bridge." 
 
 " I want you to make the salad, Gervase," called 
 Winifred clearly, turning her head, for the canoe 
 had shot across the river away from them. 
 
 " Eustace has the latest French recipe in his 
 waistcoat pocket," Mr. Escreet called back. 
 
 "I'll go, if you want him," observed Eustace, 
 hanging on his sculls. 
 
 " You won't," said his mother, with decision. 
 
 " What's showing? " laughed Harrie. " I've eyes 
 of my own. A bientot." 
 
 She sprang out as the canoe reached the bank, 
 so lightly as barely to shake it, but giving it a gentle 
 push backwards as she did so; then, her head held 
 high as ever, she walked off alone along the path. 
 
 Ten minutes later Miss Clench, Rosaline, and 
 Tom came back from the direction of the bridge to- 
 gether. Harriet and Rosaline, side by side, presented 
 a somewhat odd contrast: the one pale and sable- 
 clad, the other radiant and vigorous, in a transparent 
 blue muslin gown, that Eustace's eagle eye could 
 thoroughly approve. Tom was ruddy and serene as 
 usual, a figure of healthy simplicity well suited by 
 his summer flannels. 
 
 "Well, you have worked through the Norman 
 period in record time," said Gervase, when the trio 
 appeared in the picnic field. 
 
FAROVER 368 
 
 " I didn't see it," said Harrie briefly. " I'll go 
 later perhaps if there is a chance." 
 
 " Tom was quite ready to take her," said Rosa- 
 line at full pitch, " when we met on the bridge, but 
 she suddenly refused to go on. I told her she 
 would find heaps of other Americans there. There 
 always are in Eights week." 
 
 Mrs. Champion's eyes met Mrs. Escreet's. They 
 could not quite fathom Miss Clench's proceeding in 
 thus markedly avoiding male society. She looked 
 thoroughly depressed now, and sat on a rushy bank 
 with her hands clasped round her knees, watching 
 the water. She was negligible, or at least neglected; 
 and Rosaline, dropping into the place of honor at 
 Mr. Escreet's side, easily established herself as the 
 queen of the entertainment. 
 
 The picnic passed like any other picnic, Eustace 
 and the ladies doing most of the talking. At about 
 three o'clock Winifred, who had watched with dis- 
 approval the gradual arrival of other lively camping- 
 parties, ejected one by one through the swirling 
 portals of the lock that closed their view, decided to 
 return home early, and entertain the Vicar at tea. 
 So she and her husband departed in the canoe, and 
 Mrs. Champion accepted the charge of the young 
 party that remained. The plan suited her, for she 
 had not yet accomplished her set purpose of a private 
 talk with Rosaline, in the course of which it was her 
 
364 HERSELF 
 
 intention to lay before the prospective governess 
 some of the general principles of Risings Hall. Miss 
 Maskery, suspicious of this design, had avoided her 
 as long as possible; and when, towards four o'clock, 
 she felt Champion principles closing in upon her, she 
 determined suddenly that she wished to see the race 
 start, and ordered Tom to escort her thither. 
 
 " I was thinking of running with the second 
 eight," said Mr. Champion, standing before her and 
 looking away across the fields. " I wondered if, 
 before I go, Miss Clench would like to see the church. 
 Then we could all go down to the start together, eh, 
 Rosaline? Because I am sure that would interest 
 her too. She has never seen a boatrace." 
 
 His quiet persistence suggested that he thought 
 Miss Clench left out of it, as indeed she had been 
 all the day. The two men and the boy each claimed 
 by a watchful female, there was nobody necessarily 
 attached to her; and she was certainly not in her 
 usual social form, as Rosaline had already remarked 
 to Tom. 
 
 " Miss Maskery must know the church by heart," 
 objected Mrs. Champion; "living close by as she 
 has done for years. Suppose you go on, Tom, the 
 three of you, and Miss Maskery will bring me along 
 slower in a fashion that befits my years." Like all 
 ladies fond of using this phrase, Tom's mother was 
 very well-preserved and handsome, her ample up- 
 
F A R O V E R 365 
 
 standing figure looking its best in a summer uniform 
 of clean brown linen, at once more elegant and 
 appropriate than Rosaline's finery. 
 
 So the three went on, and Rosaline stayed, 
 unable equally to approve the arrangement, or pro- 
 test. Eustace's presence might be considered as a 
 safeguard, of course, if the girl wanted to flirt; but 
 the best safeguard was the limited time, for Tom 
 was not the man to fail his college boat; and even 
 granted the most practised coquette, not much, in 
 Rosaline's view, could be done with half an hour. 
 
 Iffley churchyard was deserted, as Mr. Champion 
 had hoped. It could hardly be otherwise, within 
 a bare half -hour of that pretty river contest, which 
 on a fine day draws within the limit of its one-mile 
 course the whole of Oxford, and half London 
 society. The festive echoes of many voices, cries 
 and exclamations, with an occasional gay light 
 laugh from the boats moored along the bank, came 
 up to them even in the church enclosure; but those 
 sounds were all within the magic mile, and they 
 were safe without it. 
 
 The boy Eustace, happy in his own conceit, and 
 delighted with his companion, argued and jested 
 the whole way along the strip of path, and over the 
 mill-bridge. He would fain have lingered there, to 
 watch the congregation on the bank, and to dis- 
 
366 HERSELF 
 
 tinguish the distant flags for Miss Clench's benefit; 
 but Tom, with a hand upon his shoulder, pushed 
 him on. 
 
 " We have not long," he explained, rather ab- 
 sently, and hardly glancing at the boats. Eustace 
 acquiesced with easy civility; and when they had 
 climbed up to the church, escorted Harrie round the 
 exterior, and pointed out the details of carved work 
 she had to admire, Miss Clench, though wondering 
 a little at Tom's silence, had leisure to note how the 
 Escreet manner seemed to be the fashion of the day, 
 even in the case of these exceedingly young men who 
 carried the laurels of their public schools. Eustace 
 seemed to have nearly as much information as Ger- 
 vase would have had about these Normans and their 
 history, their methods and their tools, but he pre- 
 ferred at any minute to conceal his knowledge with 
 a jest rather than to exhibit it. 
 
 " You seem to imagine I know something," 
 Harriet protested at last. " I wish you would start 
 at the beginning, and say what Normans were doing 
 here at all, promiscuously around an English 
 university." 
 
 The boy gave her one look, unable to believe she 
 did not know. 
 
 " Why shouldn't they," he said, " if they liked 
 the view?" He added after an interval, "I don't 
 suppose it ever occurred to a builder, when he hacked 
 
F A R O V E R 367 
 
 his finger on this church, that their blood was of any 
 value." 
 
 " I have heard of their blood," admitted Harrie. 
 
 " Of course," said Eustace in haste, " there is 
 bound to be some in America too. One often forgets 
 that. We haven't got any really, though our name 
 begins with ' Champ,' and my mother would like 
 to get it believed. She made a good effort at it 
 when she gave me a French name. Do you think 
 blood matters, Miss Clench*? " 
 
 " I do," said the Irishwoman. " I think it is the 
 only thing that does matter, where you come from." 
 
 " Oh, I say," said Eustace, with disapproval. " I 
 should have thought you would have been a -demo- 
 crat." The democratic spirit his tone suggested, was 
 the very latest, the inevitable finish to a modern 
 education. 
 
 " And what have I said to make you stop thinking 
 it?" she demanded. 
 
 " Oh," the boy said, " ancestral and all that. 
 That's the aristocratic line, which Tom revels in, 
 and we have got to knock on the head." 
 
 " You can knock me," said Miss Clench meekly, 
 sitting on a tombstone. " But you'll knock a good 
 democrat, I warn you." 
 
 They had retreated to a distance, when this part 
 of the dialogue took place, to get a fair view of 
 the beautiful little building. There was ample room 
 
368 HERSELF 
 
 to retreat, in the quiet space behind the church, grave 
 with worn mossy stones and aged yews, and hemmed 
 in on all sides with gray walls except towards the 
 river. Arriving in this haven, Tom Champion drew 
 a breath, and then deliberately wiped his brow; for 
 he appeared heated out of all proportion to the 
 warmth of the fine May evening. After that, for the 
 first time he took a good look at his companions ; and 
 setting one foot on a prostrate stone, said to the boy : 
 
 " That will do, Eustace; you can go." 
 
 Eustace stood absolutely transfixed a moment, cut 
 short in a fluent phrase, his mouth half -open. He 
 was twice as clever as Tom, and had been showing 
 particularly well with this admirable girl, who did 
 not snub him as Miss Maskery did, and yet seemed 
 in wit fully worthy of the best efforts he could make 
 to divert her. 
 
 " What? " he said incredulously. 
 
 " Wait for us, will you, at the gate? " 
 
 There was no mistaking his brother's look, or 
 gesture. Mr. Eustace Champion incontinently 
 turned, and walked off among the gravestones. 
 
 " Well," commented Miss Clench. " If that's not 
 severe, when he was explaining everything so 
 nicely." 
 
 " I had to," said Tom, still showing redder than 
 usual. " I had had enough." 
 
 " Does he always obey you so well*? " 
 
F A R O V E R 369 
 
 " Yes, when I mean it. He is not," said Mr. 
 Champion, with a glance in his younger' s wake, 
 " such a rotter as he looks. Miss Clench, it's not 
 about Eustace that I want to speak." 
 
 " Business? " queried Harrie. 
 
 " Not that even. I can do no more for the time. 
 I am not," said Tom, " even thinking of you; I am 
 afraid, but only of myself." 
 
 " You're in trouble," said Harrie, leaning forward 
 and clasping her hands, her eyes quick to read the 
 signs on his face. " If there was the smallest thing 
 I could do for you, in return for the trouble you 
 have taken, I would just thank you to ask me." 
 
 " The thing I have to ask," said Tom, " is already, 
 I fear, impossible." 
 
 He was so quiet that even now, at close quarters 
 as they were in the level evening light, she did not 
 suspect. She thought it was merely some confidence 
 as to his family affairs, which he found difficult to 
 broach before his brother. 
 
 "It's lovely here," she said to give him leisure, 
 " with these black trees. This is the place where a 
 poet could write in praise of peace." An old 
 memory came back to her as she said it, and her eyes 
 were wistful and soft. 
 
 " Is peace what you wish*? " said Tom; and now 
 his tone showed the inner torment. 
 
 " It should not be," said Harrie, " but indeed I 
 
370 HERSELF 
 
 think it will soon be that. Only do not," she added, 
 looking sweetly up at him, " fear to tell me trouble 
 because of my peace. I have not yet got it nearly, 
 and you cannot disturb what is not there." 
 
 " If I thought what I had to say could disturb 
 you," said Tom, " could make you suffer in any way, 
 I would leave it forever unsaid. You have only to 
 tell me to stop, Harriet. Before heaven, you have 
 suffered already enough." 
 
 She jerked her head back from him, when he 
 spoke her name; she looked not at him, but over 
 his head at the church tower for he had dropped 
 half-kneeling now to reach her level, a white figure 
 in the deep glossy grass. Her look was fearful pro- 
 test, and one little hand was raised as though to 
 avert the storm. 
 
 And, seeing that signal, the man made a valiant 
 effort to hold himself, to keep the storm that 
 ravaged him from reaching and scorching her 
 where she sat. It flashed in the one phrase, " I love 
 you," and for the rest, his strong hands tore the 
 grass. 
 
 In the pause, eternal to Tom, that ensued, a 
 pistol-shot rent the wide river-silences beyond them 
 the first warning of the start. 
 
 " Leave me," said Harrie when she had got her 
 breath; and her eyes came down to his. 
 
 "No more?" 
 
F A R V E R 371 
 
 "Yes. Leave me and go and ask Rosaline. 
 She's waiting for you down there." 
 
 Tom bowed his head, accepting. " Is that all"? " 
 
 " Do not hate me," she said with a trembling lip. 
 
 " I love you," he explained simply as before. 
 
 " God help you," said the Irish girl. " It's not 
 that, though, I should be saying." She held out a 
 hand, turning her head aside. " I'm not angry at 
 you, Mr. Champion dear, not for a moment. It's 
 the world -" 
 
 And he went, across the long grass, and stepping 
 carefully over the low mounds. She dropped the 
 hand he had not touched, and watched his straight 
 white figure go, flashing here and there among the 
 tufted yews, till it vanished round the end of the 
 little church. Her hands were clasped up against 
 her chest, and her face was of patient pain. She 
 had liked him so much he had helped her so 
 but there was an end of Tom. 
 
 Sitting there still she heard the minute gun, and 
 knew that the third shot would start the string of 
 fleet white boats, and awake into tumult the 
 waiting throng. She must move : she must go down, 
 or her absence would be remarked and suspected. 
 With an effort she stirred, glanced once round her 
 about the peaceful close of death, where two lives 
 had clashed so hotly and parted, and went wearily 
 by the devious footpath to the gate. It was not till 
 
372 HERSELF 
 
 she got there that she remembered the existence of 
 the ill-treated Eustace, who was sitting just outside 
 the church precincts, on a stone beside the way. He 
 was perfectly stationary there as though on guard, 
 his eyes fixed on his beautifully polished boots. He 
 spoke still without looking at her, just as any com- 
 mon schoolboy might have done. 
 
 " I'm afraid your head's worse," he said, with 
 haughtiness that was merely shy. " We had better 
 cut, I should think, the crowd's so beastly noisy." 
 
 " Are we not under orders'? " said Miss Clench, 
 surprised. 
 
 " If you'd rather come and wait in the boats," 
 said the boy, " I'll risk the mater's wrath. I I 
 have got to look after you, Tom said." 
 
 The girl did not thank him. " It's under your 
 brother's orders you are then," she suggested, with 
 a little smile, as they moved away. 
 
 " Oh, well," said Eustace, flicking at the stones 
 with his light stick, " I've noticed, to get a quiet life, 
 a man's bound to be under somebody." 
 
 From which Miss Clench gathered, with really 
 laudable penetration, since English schoolboys were 
 new to her, that Eustace worshiped Tom. 
 
XIII 
 
 THE stir the dance made was unheard-of at Farover, 
 except on this one day of the year. It was the 
 smallest possible affair as to numbers, for the 
 second drawing-room could only afford comfortable 
 turning-space for half a dozen couples; but the small 
 number of the guests made no difference to the effort 
 spent on their reception rather increased it, for a 
 " herd " can never be so critical as a small coterie of 
 friends. Non-dancers had to be asked as well, for 
 there were plenty of other rooms, and people like the 
 Vicar and the Champions' agent could hardly be 
 omitted. Yet, though the whole tale could not ex- 
 ceed twenty, and the preliminary dinner was 
 restricted to four pairs, the whole establishment was 
 in upheaval from early dawn, and Winifred's ordi- 
 narily passive servants woke into chattering and 
 liveliness. 
 
 " You'll dance, Miss Harriet, surely," said Hester, 
 as she hooked the festal dress at seven o'clock. " It'll 
 do you good." 
 
 
374 HERSELF 
 
 " I believe," said Harriet, " they have not counted 
 me." 
 
 " Indeed, they have. I heard Mr. Escreet say 
 your name." 
 
 Harriet thought "It may not for all that be 
 on Mrs. Escreet' s list," but she said nothing. 
 
 " I believe I've grown fatter," she said pensively, 
 as Hester reached the last hook. " It's tight." She 
 laughed, because Hester did. 
 
 " It's nothing of the kind," declared that good 
 personage. " That's your imagination, Miss Harriet. 
 Now go along and let me look at you." 
 
 Retreating, she swept her up and down. 
 
 " You are all I have for a long glass," said Harrie, 
 taking up her gloves. " You will have to tell me 
 what is true. It's out of fashion, isn't it and 
 faded. I've had it these two years." 
 
 " It's as pretty as a picture," said Hester thought- 
 fully. She was speculating, with the conscientious 
 attention of a good lady's maid, how such a plain 
 dress managed it. The girl within it was as usual, 
 not even exceptionally lively, pale of countenance, 
 and her arms and throat covered according to the 
 French fashion for the evening. She had beautiful 
 little slim arms, and Hester regretted having to 
 hide them; but the dress and the girl together, for 
 all that, looked better than Miss Rosaline in her 
 shimmering gauze and pearls. 
 
FAROVER 375 
 
 "I wish Miss Ann could see you," said Hester 
 with real regret. 
 
 " I wish it too," said Harrie, with a sigh. " She's 
 long gone, isn't she 4 ? I could do with her this 
 evening too, for I don't know many that are 
 coming." 
 
 " You'll know them pretty soon," said Hester. 
 " You make friends easy, Miss Harriet." 
 
 Both thought " And enemies too," but neither 
 said it. Hester and her kitchen following had a 
 very strong suspicion of affairs in the house. 
 
 " Mr. Tom's coming later," she observed in en- 
 couragement. 
 
 " Do you think he'll talk to me," laughed Harrie, 
 " when he's engaged? " 
 
 " Engaged, are they at last, Miss? I thought by 
 Miss Rosaline's look she's been very sweet this 
 evening." 
 
 " Secret, now, Hester," said Harrie severely. 
 " Not even Marion but I'm sure of it." 
 
 " Well, I wish them joy," said Hester. " There's 
 nobody like Mr. Tom. And Miss Ann, now she'll 
 be delighted." 
 
 "Delighted," agreed Harriet, looking down. 
 " Hester, I wonder they say English gloves are bad. 
 I wore these at the concert, and they're just as good 
 as new." 
 
 She had Gervase for her neighbor at dinner: and 
 
376 HERSELF 
 
 her partner was a college crony of his from Oxford, 
 who talked to him across her all the time. This 
 person had heard, who shall say how, that there was 
 a girl in the house who had set the whole neighbor- 
 hood by the ears; and after he had been introduced 
 to Harriet, had escorted her to dinner, and forgotten 
 her name, he was still waiting for this exuberant 
 young person to appear. He was not sure whether 
 or no to suspect Rosaline, whose brilliant attire, and 
 cheeks flushed with happy excitement, attracted all 
 eyes to her at the table. It was the first time Rosa- 
 line had been asked by a formal card to dine at Far- 
 over, and she knew it was the recognition of a new 
 right, which henceforth and forever she could claim. 
 She felt kindly to-night even to Harrie, that color- 
 less little mouse in blue; though she wondered a 
 little that she had not managed a more appropriate 
 dress. 
 
 But Winifred and Mrs. Champion were not guilty 
 of that mistake, and when Miss Clench came into 
 the open ballroom, she was the center of some very 
 curious glances. 
 
 " Jacques Marot, I should judge," said Winifred, 
 naming a famous firm. " Certain shades are his 
 secret." 
 
 " How could she afford it? " said Mrs. Champion. 
 " I thought she was poor." 
 
 " Do not ask, dear Grace," said Winifred. " The 
 
F A R O V E R 377 
 
 i Clenches afford what is necessary. This is an occa- 
 i sion, I gather and we ought to be grateful." 
 
 " You dislike her," said Mrs. Champion, without 
 hesitation. 
 
 " I own it. But I shall look at her with pleasure 
 notwithstanding. ' ' 
 
 " If you do " the thought moved in the depths 
 of Mrs. Champion " you are not a woman, Wini- 
 fred. It is better to be a woman, and own it up." 
 
 She snapped her fan, and walked off to be pleasant 
 to Rosaline. 
 
 Harriet did not dance at first, for she was trying 
 to gather courage to attack the Vicar, who had come 
 without his wife. It was a dread determination, 
 even for a Clench; for the single look he had directed 
 to her from his corner by the door was one of flat 
 condemnation : of herself, her presence in public, and 
 t^e blue dress. 
 
 Gervase Escreet, meanwhile, had told two men 
 in confidence that she danced divinely, and sh was 
 being stalked, though she knew it not, in her 
 flitting from room to room. At last she was cornered 
 by the master of the house, who wore his gayest 
 smile and silkiest manner as of a cat only waiting 
 to be stroked, and entreating not to be patted. 
 
 " The next waltz," murmured Gervase. " I have 
 retained it." 
 
378 HERSELF 
 
 " You shouldn't then," said Harriet. " I hardly 
 think I'm dancing." 
 
 " If you just put your hand here," said Gervase, 
 " you will find yourself dancing without effort. The 
 simplest thing." 
 
 " I want to speak to Mr. Grayling," said Harrie, 
 half-laughing. " Really, Mr. Escreet, I have busi- 
 
 ness." 
 
 "All the exertion of your business-power, which 
 I know to my cost, will not stir those grave black 
 legs." 
 
 " I do not propose to waltz with him," said Har- 
 rie. " I've no doubt he would be stiff." 
 
 " Stiff er than you can conceive," said Gervase, 
 with meaning. "A man of rock, Harri-et. Little 
 blue waves will try to crumble him in vain." 
 
 Harrie sighed. " Well, I'll have one dance," she 
 said. " It's such lovely music. But you will not 
 keep me." 
 
 Gervase merely smiled. Keeping people was not 
 his difficulty, once he had them at arm's length. 
 He was a popular man, spoiled by life and all his 
 surroundings. Any girl in the room, or woman 
 either, would have been thankful for a dance with 
 him; but profiting by the smallness of the occasion, 
 and the position he claimed as a fogey, he had only 
 danced once, and that with his own wife. 
 
 " Aren't you going to give our Thomas one? " he 
 
FAROVER 379 
 
 said, as they came back down the room. " He's 
 looking at you hungrily." 
 
 " He's too tall for me," said Harrie. Her voice 
 was quiet, but she had a shock. There had been a 
 feline quality in Mr. Escreet's tone that she was 
 swift to mark, and she wondered if he had discovered. 
 He was clever, terribly; and she could not bear 
 somehow that the gossip that was tearing at her own 
 peace, should touch Tom. 
 
 However, the observation decided her as to 
 further dancing. She loved the exercise as a born 
 dancer must; but she saw on this occasion she had 
 to forego it. She shortened the waltz with Mr. 
 Escreet, to his indignation, and stopping near the 
 door, slipped, with a little nod to him, round the 
 curtains. 
 
 " A wave," he thought again, for her movements 
 were like water. He wondered he had never noticed 
 his secretary was so graceful and yet of course 
 that brute Clench's daughter was bound to be. 
 Gervase remembered Brian for five minutes, and 
 watched Winifred dancing with Tom, a curious 
 smile on his face. It was mistaken of Harrie to cut 
 short a waltz with such an epicure at its most ex- 
 quisite moment, and if she had had a little more 
 experience, she would have known it. 
 
 She made for the servants' quarters as a sure 
 
380 HERSELF 
 
 retreat. As she passed the door of the retired little 
 book-room under the staircase, she spied the Vicar 
 alone within, and that determined her. He was 
 turning over a paper he had picked up, and it struck 
 her that he looked singularly lonely and miserable 
 not at all such as the powerful pastor of an agri- 
 cultural district should be. He was a cold man, she 
 knew, and not liked, his wife having done all in 
 making what reputation for benevolence he possessed. 
 He frowned now, as though at his article, when he 
 became conscious of the intruder; and she stopped 
 just within the draped doorway, and enquired gently 
 after Mrs. Grayling. 
 
 " Nothing very serious," he said, with a perfectly 
 false manner. " She thought it wiser not to come 
 out." 
 
 "Poor man," thought Harrier and continued, 
 advancing a little : " May I ask if Fraiilein Lindt 
 has decided to leave you*? " 
 
 " She has," said Mr. Grayling, turning his paper 
 and guarding his frown. " Easily tempted away." 
 He cleared his throat. 
 
 "It is often now or never with these engage- 
 ments," said Harriet. " I suppose she has seen the 
 London manager, has she*? " 
 
 " She is to see him again this week, and intends 
 to look for a lodging." 
 
 " You do not approve." 
 
FAROVER 381 
 
 " I cannot encourage such rash proceedings. She 
 is far safer with us." 
 
 " But if it is for her career " said Harrie. 
 
 He made no answer, and plainly wished her gone. 
 
 " Mr. Grayling," she said, her pale little face 
 flushing. " I know Bertha's leaving you suddenly 
 will be awkward, and you have need down there of 
 an extra hand. If you let me come to you, I will 
 do my best." She broke short, for his black eyes 
 were fixed on her over the lowered paper, with that 
 dead, icy look she could not bear. 
 
 "You?" he said. 
 
 " I should be glad to help your wife," she faltered. 
 " I should not ask more than Bertha is getting." 
 
 " You are good-natured, Miss Clench," said the 
 Vicar slowly, in an indescribable tone. Her type 
 was allowed that quality, it implied. " You are 
 good-natured, and ahem impulsive. You can- 
 not really have reflected, to make such an offer." 
 
 Harrie put her hand to her flushed cheek, for with 
 all her courage, her heart was beating violently. 
 The man had insulted her once, and might again: 
 the look he fixed on her revived that blasting mem- 
 ory. Indeed, had she known it, her blue robe and 
 delicate flush were not serving her, for she spoke to a 
 worthy descendant of Puritans, whom bodily charm 
 could only sour. 
 
 " I have not reflected too much," she said in a 
 
HERSELF 
 
 shaking voice. " Indeed, I do not dare, among the 
 people here. I think their thoughts, and then I for- 
 get my own. . . . Mr. Grayling, I'm a girl, 
 and I suppose I may have made mistakes." 
 
 "Mistakes'?" he echoed. 
 
 " People do not act as I expect," said Harriet, 
 " and then I go wrong with them. I suppose I must 
 blame my education." Even now as she looked at 
 him, she felt he was misunderstanding her phrases. 
 Her mind could not speak to his. She dropped dis- 
 cussion, and grasped at the man in him. 
 
 " It's surely fair to tell me what is said," she cried. 
 
 " Ah no doubt," said the Vicar, for this was a 
 line he could understand. 
 
 The Rev. Frederick Grayling had few brains, but 
 he considered himself honest, and made much of that 
 quality in his moral teaching. 
 
 " I may repeat to you," he said, taking on some 
 professional tone, " that I am not going on idle 
 supposition. I seldom do that. For what I know, 
 as I told you before, I have the best of evidence, 
 which I have spent some trouble in sifting." 
 
 " There is nothing more, then, but the last," said 
 Miss Clench dryly; and then, at his newly suspicious 
 look, regretted it. " That day, if I remember, you 
 only implied your charge, Mr. Grayling." 
 
 " The occasion chanced to be in public," said he, 
 " and I thought it kinder." 
 
FAROVER 
 
 "Kinder?" she laughed, a very little. "The 
 forms kindness takes, over here," she murmured. 
 " Well, sir, I offer you my own evidence now, if that 
 is of any use. It might improve matters and it's 
 fair to give me the chance." 
 
 The effect of the invitation she hardly gauged, 
 and she could not avoid a start when he spoke. 
 
 " You are not married? " said Mr. Grayling. 
 
 " No ! How would I be married? " 
 
 " I mean of course to that young man. You do 
 not deny it is the same man who figures in the 
 Fraiilein's story? Of course we have heard all that." 
 
 " It is the same," said Harrie. At least, she 
 thought, she was out in the open now, and she almost 
 thanked the man for his crudity. 
 
 " You have sent money to him? More than once, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " I have. Why not, when it is money I have 
 earned? " 
 
 " And you assert there is no illicit connection 
 between you? " 
 
 " None but that we love one another." Her 
 beautiful voice filled and quavered. For every- 
 thing in the world she could not have helped 
 saying it. 
 
 " Miss Clench ! " He rose uncomfortably, turn- 
 ing half away. " I am not even of your church," he 
 said, with a touch of gentlemanly spirit. "And 
 
384 HERSELF 
 
 you doubtless consider I have no right to examine 
 you." 
 
 " I have given you the right as a possible em- 
 ployer." She spoke steadily, trying desperately to 
 see the thing through his eyes. " I ask you to re- 
 member," she said, keeping her eyes on his with a 
 violent effort of will, " this boy you talk of is my 
 own cousin, and orphaned of his parents. He has 
 no belongings at all except my father and me." 
 
 " Your father, yes. The young man has led a 
 respectable life?" 
 
 " I cannot say, before I found him." Her hands 
 were wrung together at the cruelty of it. Struggle 
 which way she would, the entanglement of the 
 Clench tradition of light living was about her. She 
 began to see there could be no way out. 
 
 " If you came into my family," said the Vicar in 
 growing triumph, " can you promise this person 
 would not molest you 4 ? " 
 
 " How can I promise it*? " She gazed at him, and 
 her gray-blue eyes were piteous. " I would do my 
 best. Did I not begin by saying that? It is all 
 that anyone can do." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " I fear," he said coldly, " it is impossible. I am 
 sorry, Miss Clench, I cannot make you see how im- 
 possible it is." He took up the paper again, his firm 
 hand shaking a little. 
 
F A R O V E R 385 
 
 Had she not felt so utterly battered by him, her 
 flame of courage so slowly and completely stifled 
 out, she would have observed that tell-tale wavering, 
 and noticed the tone of his last words more closely, 
 and known that her great effort and challenge to his 
 honesty had had more effect on his slow mind than 
 she thought. But Grayling was the least expressive 
 type of man, and Clenches were accustomed to ex- 
 pression. He needed to go home, and think for 
 hours, and defend his point of view angrily to his 
 wife, and jerk about the study before any particle 
 of his opinion could change. She, on the other hand, 
 took the dismissal as final, and the snub as complete. 
 She turned about, and went slowly on her way, 
 swinging with her lithe gait out of the curtained 
 door the curtain of which dropped thus on her 
 last hope. 
 
 She felt wounded and miserable to the last degree; 
 even her pride was crushed, and the rebel spirit 
 would not surge at call, to mock and make light of 
 this last embodiment of her intangible foe. It must 
 be repeated perhaps once more, to those who would 
 condemn her retreat before all her weapons had been 
 tried, after so short a brush with the central enemy 
 that Harriet was only eighteen. 
 
 The last shock of the day arrived and passed so 
 swiftly, that she had no leisure till afterwards to 
 
386 HERSELF 
 
 realize its full significance. Only when she sat 
 panting in her own room, before her own table 
 at midnight, and her revolted senses had calmed a 
 little, could she begin to turn her mind on the oc- 
 currence. 
 
 Harrie had remained in retreat for most of the 
 evening. Whenever she appeared, various men, 
 including Mr. Escreet, pressed her for a dance, but 
 she was too thoroughly out of spirits to accept fur- 
 ther amusement. She listened to the music behind 
 curtains; and once, when Ger vase's Oxford friend 
 was teasing her in her retreat, Tom Champion came 
 and talked to her a little, routing the other man. 
 She thanked him before he left her with a little hand, 
 which he held in his firm grasp a minute, though 
 without turning a glance upon her. 
 
 Towards midnight she escaped to the garden, 
 having borrowed a dark cloak. For some time she 
 was alone on the low wall of the rose-garden, en- 
 JQying the faint sweet scents of earth from the beds, 
 for the season was late, the June buds had hardly 
 broken, and rose-scents were not. Presently a ball- 
 room couple came to Winifred's shed alongside. 
 She heard scraps of their conversation, and recog- 
 nized Gervase at his most foolish, brilliant, and en- 
 gaging the after-midnight manner he reserved for 
 dances. He had Rosaline with him, but Rosaline 
 was fetched soon after by a partner, and the master 
 
FAROVER 387 
 
 }f the house strolled down among his roses, smoking 
 and enjoying the night. 
 
 He recognized the little figure on the wall with a 
 slight " Ah ! " of satisfaction, and sat down beside 
 her. Harrie was vexed a trifle, for she had no imme- 
 diate wish for company. He talked idly for a period 
 in his manner, and she hardly troubled to answer. He 
 told her that Winifred had said she wished to leave 
 them, and that he considered it very unkind that 
 she had made herself indispensable, that the boss 
 was quite satisfied, and various other playful patron- 
 izing things. Finally, still in the paternal manner, 
 he put his arm about her as they sat together on the 
 wall, and kissed her. 
 
 She was away from him in a minute, and facing 
 him on the grass, a quivering little shape of fury. 
 
 " If I didn't strike you you should be glad! " she 
 said; and there was a blank pause in the darkness. 
 
 Then Gervase slowly awoke, out of the luxurious 
 dream he had allowed himself. He had had not the 
 least intention to arouse her, he had only pushed 
 his cat-like quest of comfort a little too far. 
 
 "Need I apologize*?" he said, laughing uncer- 
 tainly. " Surely we are friends enough for that, 
 Harri-et." 
 
 Something in the use of the play-name at such a 
 juncture maddened the girl. 
 
 " You will call me by my name, if you please, 
 
388 HERSELF 
 
 sir," she said. " My name is Clench, you may have 
 forgotten." 
 
 "You're right: they all spit fire, the Clenches," 
 said Gervase, but his languid tone was not natural. 
 " Come now, calm yourself," he advised. " There's 
 taste to be thought of too. You are taking things 
 too seriously." 
 
 " I believe that is a fault of mine," she said, still 
 in the low furious tone. " My tastes are not yours, 
 nor my habits either. You have taught me that 
 among you, and I thank you for it." 
 
 " Come, come," he murmured, still purring at her. 
 
 " I will thank you to speak no more," she fired 
 back. " I have served you as I can, Mr. Escreet, 
 and I offer you now my resignation. You will find 
 someone else to complete your book and amuse 
 you in odd times. I never thought it was the work 
 for me, and now you have made me sure of it. I 
 shall say no word to anybody, you can trust me, 
 but I leave to-morrow early." 
 
 " Harriet ! " he cried, rising. He saw at last some 
 measure at least of his mistake, and how he had 
 injured her by his contemptuous treatment. When 
 she rejected Farover, that home of all lofty delights, 
 Gervase the proprietor saw it clear, and awoke 
 from the midnight mood into daylight reason. By 
 that new light, his proceeding towards her did not 
 show so well. 
 
FAROVER $89 
 
 " Harriet wait," he said, growing veritably 
 anxious as he thought of Winifred. " Good heavens, 
 the little fool " 
 
 For she was gone. Her shadow passed over the 
 dewy grass, and budding roses, and flitted up the 
 terrace, in under the secret silken curtains, and up 
 the soft treacherous stairs. Music floated after her 
 as she went; but she fled still, like a thing unworthy, 
 through the fairy palace. It was not for her, indeed, 
 any part of it. It was not real to her, it spoke no 
 language she could follow, it held no people she 
 could meet on common ground, or comprehend. It 
 was all false, useless, vacant: essentially uncol- 
 lectable. 
 
 She went to her room and thought about it for 
 hours, head on hands, but with no tears. For the 
 Clenches did not spend tears on such things as this, 
 or on such people as Gervase Escreet. 
 
 Harriet left Farover the next morning. She had 
 a short interview with Winifred in her room, ex- 
 plaining nothing of her reasons, though each woman 
 understood the other perfectly. She left the address 
 of a small hotel at Oxford, in case a letter came from 
 Ann. Ann's return was uncertain in date, Rosaline 
 had assured her; but, utterly vague as her future was, 
 she had no idea but to await the return of that kind 
 
390 HERSELF 
 
 friend, for Rosaline herself had been asked to Risings 
 for a visit of some days. 
 
 The kitchen alone regretted Miss Clench's going. 
 Marion the cook wept exceedingly ; John carried her 
 box to the station with his own respectable hands; 
 and Hester, whose weakness was not tears, accom- 
 panied her to the gate, in defiance of all habit and 
 custom in Farover. But Hester's jaw was grimly 
 set, and if Mrs. Escreet had met her so walking, it 
 was not Hester who would have had the worst of the 
 encounter. 
 
 " You've friends in Oxford, Miss Harrie," she 
 said anxiously. 
 
 " I shall have, when Miss Maskery comes home." 
 
 "And when's that 4 ?" Then, at the girl's face, 
 " If I haven't a mind to come with you," she cried. 
 
 " Nonsense, Hester : I shall be all right. Oxford 
 is a good place to find teaching." 
 
 " There's Mrs. Grayling she's ill," said Hester, 
 seeking vainly. " There's that Miss Lindt, couldn't 
 she go with you? " 
 
 " She is in London to-day," said Harriet. " I will 
 write to her." 
 
 " Miss Harriet you'll excuse me but if 
 you've need of money " 
 
 " I have not," said Harrie, and lifted her blue 
 eyes to the kind woman. " Hester dear," she said, 
 putting her little hands on her shoulders, " it's 
 
F A R V E R 391 
 
 kindness itself you've been, since I came to Farover. 
 But you mustn't vex yourself, for I've always made 
 my way. I leave Farover where I started, that is 
 all. It is not a place in which you can get forward 
 at all, and so it is not for me. I am better out of 
 it, and that's the fact. Good-bye." 
 
 They kissed one another in the face of the august 
 drive, and fine oaken gate. 
 
 " Good-bye," whispered Harrie again when she 
 was near, " and I hope you will marry John." 
 
 Hester went away blinking to the house, and rated 
 Marion with asperity for being such a "grizzling 
 softy." 
 
 An hour after Harriet's departure, the young 
 groom Jimmie, from Risings, beautifully dressed 
 and mounted, cantered up to the tradesmen's 
 entrance. Jimmie was an old acquaintance, and 
 both Marion and Hester came out to see what was 
 afoot. 
 
 "Is that Miss Clench here*?" quoth Jimmie in 
 the undertone of secret service. " It's a note." 
 
 " She's gone an hour ago," said Hester. " What's 
 to pay? " 
 
 " Gone not really gone? " Jimmie's face 
 lengthened. " Mr. Tom'll be vexed. I was to give 
 it in her hands very special." 
 
 " I never," said Marion, and looked at Hester. 
 
392 HERSELF 
 
 "Better hand it to Mrs. Escreet, eh 4 ?" said 
 Jimmie. 
 
 " Naturally, silly," said Hester. " Give it here." 
 
 She took the note with her best parlor air, and 
 while Marion stroked the chestnut's neck, and talked 
 to his rider, she departed sedately through the 
 servants' hall. 
 
 To betray any lapse of a model parlor-maid is a 
 sad responsibility; but it has to be confessed that, 
 round the first corner that concealed her, Hester 
 opened and read Mr. Tom Champion's letter. 
 Then, as her master was shut in the library and her 
 mistress upstairs, she walked into the little study, 
 enclosed the communication in a new envelope, 
 stamped and addressed it. After which unheard-of 
 proceeding, she marched out again and handed it up 
 to the groom. 
 
 " That's to be posted at the station," said Hester. 
 " Sharp and don't forget. And you can tell Mr. 
 Tom it's all right. That's all." 
 
 "What was it?" said Marion curiously. " Did 
 you gather? " 
 
 " Only a message to Miss Ann, as he's lost her 
 address," said Hester cheerfully. 
 
 But Hester lied : for the communication was to let 
 Harriet know, in the simplest, clearest terms, that 
 Pat Morough was in the Oxford Infirmary, desper- 
 
F A R O V E R 393 
 
 ately ill : that he had sent a letter to Farover from 
 London the preceding week: that wanting a reply 
 he had endeavored himself to come to his little 
 cousin; but that his strength had failed utterly at 
 Oxford, and he had dropped by the way. He still 
 hoped, if she had any love left, she would forgive 
 him. 
 
PART III 
 HIMSELF 
 
A TALL man stood at the conservatory entrance, 
 about five o'clock in the afternoon, and enquired 
 for Mrs. Escreet. He asked to see her, with his back 
 to the light, but preferred to give no name. John 
 hesitated, for the house was in disruption for the 
 last week, and even before the occurrence of certain 
 unfortunate events, he had had a terror of his 
 mistress. 
 
 " Mr. Horn, sir," said John, as he took the vis- 
 itor's traveling coat, which was rich with costly fur. 
 It was a brilliant idea on his part: for he knew a 
 gentleman of that name was expected the next day, 
 and gentlemen do make mistakes. He used the tone 
 of respectful assertion, rather than interrogation, of 
 the thoroughly well-trained man-servant. 
 
 " Oh, well, if you insist," said the stranger affably. 
 
 It was comical behavior: but Mr. Horn was said 
 to be a literary gentleman, which accounts for some 
 eccentricity. John rather wished, all the same, that 
 he had let Hester come to the door : she had so much 
 more readiness and savoir-faire at a crisis. 
 
398 HERSELF 
 
 In the present crisis, John did what seemed his 
 obvious duty, and announced Mr. Horn to Winifred, 
 who was in her room, just arisen from her bed, 
 where she had somewhat prolonged her afternoon 
 siesta. 
 
 " Impossible," said Mrs. Escreet, turning from the 
 glass, in which the eyes reflected were heavy and 
 miserable. " Don't say I have lost the days." She 
 put a hand to her brow. 
 
 " Friday, I believe, Madam," said John, in his 
 best manner, as though he would make it any other 
 day to suit her convenience if necessary. He felt he 
 was somehow to blame, for the occurrence if not for 
 the date, as his mistress still stood for a moment, 
 statue-like, in front of him. 
 
 " Tell Marion," she said, " and your master just 
 before the gong," and swept past him to the stairs. 
 If he had not been a Farover servant, John would 
 have respected her as a man for containing her 
 natural bad language so admirably. He hastened 
 off by way of the back stairs, to take counsel with 
 his oracle, Hester, on the latest occurrence, in the 
 household. 
 
 Winifred passed into the drawing-room, hoping 
 she looked better than she felt. The guest, however 
 untimely, was a celebrity, and she must do the 
 
HIMSELF 399 
 
 honors of her house to him, as befitted her high 
 calling in the temple of taste. The room she entered 
 was worthy enough of her professions, cool to a 
 nicety, and fragrant from a bowl of roses and an 
 open garden window: but rather dark, owing to the 
 persiennes being lowered to exclude the afternoon 
 sun. 
 
 " I am so sorry " she had time to say, and 
 
 then stopped short. " Brian! " 
 
 The man on the sofa had risen at her entrance, 
 but as he did so, laughed the most delightful laugh, 
 low and easy, as though years of happiness were 
 stored in him, and now being sparingly let out. 
 
 " I ask your pardon, Winifred," he said. " Your 
 man was so sure about my name, I hadn't the heart 
 to undeceive him. And after all, what's a name, 
 granted your friends will remember it.**' 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she said breath- 
 lessly. She still stood, like a statue now turned 
 white. 
 
 " Doing, is it*? And to me? I've simply followed 
 on my letter, if you must know, and come to find 
 my girl. No harm, I thought, to see an old friend 
 by the way." 
 
 He was puzzled by her though, very evidently. 
 He stared curiously, head down, like a watchful 
 panther, through the shadow of the room. 
 
 " My eyes are not quite what they were," he said 
 
400 HERSELF 
 
 as she still stood silent. " You'll excuse a parent's 
 natural anxiety, Winifred. Is anything amiss? " 
 
 " Brian I am sorry." She gathered tone with 
 an effort. " I am vexed to tell you indeed. Harriet 
 has left us." 
 
 " Not here? Where is she, then? " 
 
 " In Oxford, I believe." 
 
 " You believe ? " Clench laughed again. " Well, 
 I did think you'd keep an eye on her for me. Didn't 
 think of me so soon, eh? " 
 
 " She never had your letter. She cannot," cried 
 Winifred, with gathering indignation, " or she must 
 have told us. She would not have dared " 
 
 Brian broke in. " I went to Versailles to find her," 
 he said, slowly as though weighing his words. 
 " Sour faces on the women, and they send me on to 
 the Post. I proceed to the Post, and the young 
 female not sour, I grant, but with the face God 
 gave her hands me out your address. I come to 
 you, gladly as ever I was known to come, and here 
 you pass me on again, with a face upon you, as I live, 
 Winnie, no traveler could expect. Will you let me 
 have an explanation?" 
 
 He had one, longer and more passionate than he 
 had bargained for. He took it, still watching 
 panther-like, with his hands behind. Brian had 
 Patrick's elegant proportions and lithe build, but 
 greater stature, and far more dignity. The dignity, 
 
HIMSELF 401 
 
 it is true, was a recent acquisition, for in Winifred's 
 day he had been like his nephew, a genial tramp. 
 Somewhere on the hemisphere he had scoured, 
 Brian had absorbed majesty, as necessary possibly 
 to his years: more probably, as necessary to carry 
 off a fur-coat, fine linen and well-cut clothes. As 
 he stood before Mrs. Escreet, he might have been 
 any New York man of fashion, except for two 
 things. One was that lynx-like, brilliant gaze, in 
 which, under grizzled eyebrows and narrowed lids, 
 all the germs of his old madness lurked hidden. 
 The other was a singularly dirty pocket-handker- 
 chief, evidently used of late to clean a train-window, 
 which was gaily protruding from his breast-pocket. 
 
 " Well, that's a story," he said at last. " That's a 
 story." He seemed to be admiring it as at least 
 well-constructed, and neatly told. "It appears I 
 am to learn the girl before I see her, which is just 
 as well. It's melancholy realizing how a man's 
 family gets out of hand, and him not thinking of it. 
 It was not to any giddy eminence fat Madam raised 
 my hopes at Versailles. Yet it would not be rivalry 
 there," said Brian thoughtfully, "for she's not a 
 well-favored woman." 
 
 The compliment thus clearly indicated to herself 
 jarred Winifred. 
 
 " I never thought of rivalry," she said impatiently. 
 "How can you deliberately misread one, Brian?" 
 
402 HERSELF 
 
 " Well, what's it to be called, then? At present 
 I'm at sea, being shaky with long traveling upon it, 
 as stands to reason. What do you complain of in 
 her?" 
 
 " She is impertinent." Then, as he shrugged 
 " And dishonest." 
 
 " Has she taken the spoons? " 
 
 " Brian, if you can jest " Her voice choked, 
 
 and she turned aside. " Go," she said, " I cannot 
 speak of it yet." 
 
 " She's wretched, the poor creature," said Brian, 
 it seemed a soliloquy, spoken in a charming tone. 
 He only saw her shoulders move in answer. " Don't 
 think I'm defending the girl," he said; " it's not 
 right of her, on my honor, when you received her 
 in your house. Only now she's gone from you, as I 
 understand, so it will all come straight it's sure 
 to. I can inform you, who have had some experi- 
 ence. Since " as her head sank lower " it's the 
 girl you blame entirely in the matter." 
 
 " Him," said Winifred, a cry torn out of her. " I 
 saw it in her eyes. Oh, how could he ! " 
 
 " Ha ! " said Brian severely. " Him, is it? Now 
 didn't I always tell you he was a caterpillar? " 
 
 Mrs. Escreet turned at this as if she would have 
 struck. " Go," she said, in a choked tone. 
 
 " And a grand woman like yourself," pursued 
 Brian regretfully. " Not a day older, not so much 
 
HIMSELF 403 
 
 as I am myself. My girl's nothing to look at, is she? 
 Ill-bred and full of faults, as it appears." He broke 
 out. " It's the taste I'm sorry for, Winifred. I did 
 think, whatever his weaknesses, Ger vase's taste was 
 good." 
 
 Again his efforts in consolation seemed to make 
 no impression, for Mrs. Escreet stood before him, 
 looking noble and distressed. Brian began to think 
 it must be serious, and his face changed sym- 
 pathetically on the thought. He also would be 
 serious, he determined: and then he sat down on 
 the sofa, hands in pockets, meanwhile stretching out 
 his legs. 
 
 " Where's Gervase at present? " he asked, in the 
 discreet tone of one who enquires of a family 
 delinquent, or an invalid. 
 
 " In the library. He has been there all day." 
 
 " Has he taken food? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Winifred, moving irritably. 
 " I have had meals in my room." 
 
 " Phew ! that's bad." He paused. " Has he sent 
 any flowers to you? " 
 
 " Oh," she jerked, " what does that matter? " 
 
 "Has he done so?" Brian pressed, with his 
 narrowed, glinting eyes fixed upon her sidelong. 
 
 " He sent up some roses, yesterday, I think." 
 
 " He's willing to be friends," said Mr. Clench. 
 "And you there on your dignity, refusing them: 
 
404 HERSELF 
 
 cannot I see you at it? You look beautiful when 
 you're stately, Winifred." 
 
 " Pish ! " she said, gazing from him with a frown. 
 " Do you never grow any older, Brian? " He swept 
 her face with one keen glance, and smiled. 
 
 " You're not content with his remorse," he sug- 
 gested, leaning forward to take up the little brass 
 poker from the empty grate. " You want to punish 
 him ah, the soft sex always do." He brandished 
 the poker gently. " Well, punish him, it's a simple 
 thing. Give him something to make him remember 
 you, and feel you matter also, in your way." 
 
 " I cannot wrangle," she said wearily. " I cannot 
 speak of it even, it is too degrading base. I had 
 sooner do nothing and " 
 
 " And leave him to his reflections," finished Brian. 
 " He's had a day of it, the poor man six days is 
 it? well! The way I propose to myself, you'd 
 have little to do, and it would spur his thinking " 
 he spurred with the poker " not to say upset him 
 from the high horse to your feet." 
 
 " What do you mean? " she demanded, suddenly 
 facing him, as though suspicious. 
 
 " Just drop the letters on the table before him," 
 said Brian, smiling at the poker. " I must have them 
 somewhere, put away." 
 
 There was a very long pause in the exquisite room. 
 Mr. Clench put the poker tidily down, and dusted 
 
HIMSELF 405 
 
 his large fine hands on the disgraceful pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " You coward," said Winifred softly. 
 
 " You fool," returned Brian, with equal delicacy 
 of utterance. " I never said as much to a woman 
 before, though Heaven knows I have thought it 
 often. He takes a little diversion in his old age, 
 when it's no more than yourself did as a newly- 
 married girl. What harm when it goes no further, 
 you'll say: well, it's thanks to me it did not. I 
 never replied to your letters, Winifred, and indeed 
 I may have lost some of them, traveling so long as 
 I've been. But the moment you'd like me to look 
 them out " 
 
 " You brute ! " She changed the word. 
 
 " Stop there," said Clench, rising : and his massive 
 dignity crushed hers. He shone, and threw her 
 into the shade. In her hatred she knew he had never, 
 even in his youth, been so magnificent. 
 
 " Keep that word to yourself, or I'll have to return 
 it," he said. " For what treatment have you given 
 to my poor little girl? Who's she got to care for 
 her, ignorant and unmarried as she is, and the 
 sport of every married man with some time on his 
 hands, as yourself has been telling me"? She's 
 motherless, and alone, and you with no child to love 
 might have had a heart for her, as I've been reflecting 
 thankfully all the way. ' Thank God, at least it is 
 
406 HERSELF 
 
 Winifred,' I said in my own remorse, when I dis- 
 covered at last where she had strayed to. And now 
 good night to Winifred, and the home that has found 
 no place for the child, and I'm off alone to find her." 
 
 "Wait," the woman before him gasped. "Let 
 me explain." 
 
 " No need," he said, still standing with his head 
 lowered to smile at her, and dusting his hands. " It's 
 on old times I am thinking, these last few minutes 
 we're together. It was myself had the honor then, 
 as my daughter has now, to disturb you. Well, 
 we're clearing out of it, and into a better country; 
 let that be your consolation. Double-quick time, I 
 assure you, lest her warm heart be corrupted, with 
 the me-owling that goes on about marriage in this 
 worn old land. We're moving across, but we'd 
 sooner leave no ill-will behind us. We'd sooner that. 
 You go in, Winifred, and on your knees to him in 
 one of those graceful attitudes, of which yourself 
 holds the secret, and be nice to him, as such a culti- 
 vated, kind woman can be. He will meet you, for 
 surely he's long been sorry, after this bewildering 
 treatment from one he's used to see smiling. Kiss 
 and make it up again; and as for the dignity 
 there!" 
 
 With great grace Mr. Clench picked up a satin 
 sofa-cushion, made as though to kick it like a foot- 
 ball across the room, dropped it on the floor, blew 
 
HIMSELF 407 
 
 through his fingers, flung his hands behind his back, 
 and made her a profound and courtly bow. The 
 single misfortune was, that the last part of this 
 agile exhibition was performed in the company's 
 rear; for Mrs. Escreet walked out of the room. 
 
 When she had quite gone, Mr. Clench relaxed his 
 fine attitude, and performed a solemn solitary jig 
 about the cushion on the floor. 
 
 " It's my own girl she is, when I'd hardly dared to 
 think it," he crowed to an audience of chairs. " And 
 me sitting there solemn like a bishop to preach at 
 her!" 
 
 After that he departed, paralyzing John in the 
 entry by his sable coat, and mournful dignity. 
 
II 
 
 MR. CLENCH, who was burdened merely with a bag, 
 went first to his daughter's lodging, on his arrival 
 in Oxford, and found that she had left it. Where 
 she had gone they could not inform him, but she had 
 departed several days since, with a gentleman who 
 had come to fetch her. This piece of information 
 did not seem to disturb Brian particularly, and he 
 proceeded to make the round of the best hotels in 
 Oxford to find a room, his face an inch longer as he 
 emerged from each. Finally, avoiding the quarter 
 of lesser hostelries, he came back to the first hotel 
 he had tried, where he trusted with really excess- 
 ive optimism that they might have forgotten him 
 in the interval. On his way there, in the middle of 
 Broad Street, he happened upon a short, broad per- 
 son stamping angrily along in the opposite direction. 
 
 " Gudgeon ! " he exclaimed, straddling in this 
 person's path. 
 
 " Clench ! " exclaimed the organist : and they 
 shook hands vigorously as old acquaintances. 
 
 " I've got a girl in the town," said Brian, without 
 
HIMSELF 409 
 
 preamble and very loud. " Can you tell me where 
 to find her 4 ? " 
 
 " No, I can't," said Dr. Gudgeon. , " You come 
 along to the house, though, and see Horn. He might 
 be able to help you." 
 
 Brian took the offer as made, changed all his 
 plans on the instant, and turning right-about-face, 
 they tramped along gaily together. 
 
 Now, one collectable alone can perambulate the 
 world with no more than a surprised eye fixed on him 
 from time to time; but when two collectables meet, 
 their manner of conducting themselves, and the 
 noise they make in a public thoroughfare, is apt to 
 attract an admiring crowd to follow them. Small 
 boys began to run in the rear of the couple of queer 
 men T- one so tall and well-dressed, the other so> 
 short and snuffy whistling other small boys at 
 every corner they passed to hasten to the spot, so that 
 the attendant troop increased, and Brian had to 
 swing round from time to time, and flick at the 
 company with his cane. 
 
 " Who's this Horn," he demanded, the stick laid 
 across his shoulder, " who I'm tumbling over at 
 every step since I've come to England 4 ? " 
 
 "Where have you tumbled over him?" said 
 Gudgeon. 
 
 " I was on his tracks just lately at Farover." 
 
 " He was to go there to-morrow," said Gudgeon. 
 
410 HERSELF 
 
 " But I've a notion I shall persuade him to refuse. 
 He has a quarrel with Winifred Escreet about the 
 girl." 
 
 "What girl?" said Brian. 
 
 " Yours." 
 
 "What's Horn doing quarreling about my girl? 
 Will he be the fellow who fetched her off? " 
 
 " You had better ask him," said Gudgeon, show- 
 ing a prudence that one would not have suspected in 
 him. " I am out of the quarrel, of course : though 
 between ourselves, Clench, I think Winifred Es- 
 creet's a fool." 
 
 " I shake your hand on it," said Brian. " I told 
 her so just lately." 
 
 "Did you now?" said Gudgeon with interest. 
 " Well, I came pretty near it though, hang it, 
 forms must be preserved. It's a good house to be in, 
 and the cooking's a marvel." 
 
 " I couldn't have stayed to dinner," said Brian 
 thoughtfully, " I hardly could." He paused in the 
 roadway and sighed; then they tramped away 
 again. 
 
 " At least, she's not so much a fool as blind," said 
 the Doctor, resuming suddenly. " And not so much 
 that either as deaf." 
 
 " You don't say," said Brian. " I never noticed 
 she was afflicted." 
 
 "Well, look here: I picked out a magnificent 
 
HIMSELF 411 
 
 pianiste from under her nose. I shouldn't wonder 
 if I picked by the way, I suppose you know your 
 girl has a voice." 
 
 " H what? " vociferated Brian, stopping short, 
 and so loud that four or five of Oxford's respectable 
 citizens looked round with shocked expressions. 
 Then, in the open end of Broad Street, where the 
 book-shops are as full as bee-hives, and good young 
 men and women walk back and forth to the libraries, 
 he and Gudgeon solemnly shook hands. 
 
 " Not a doubt of it," said the latter proceeding. 
 " Though, acting by the light of nature only, she's 
 placed it too low. It'll go up by strides when she 
 gets in good hands. You wait and see." 
 
 " Wait? " laughed Brian. " Me? " 
 
 " I believe she's ill at present," Gudgeon ex- 
 plained. " But that will pass. Girls' illness always 
 does." 
 
 Brian agreed. He did not afford much of his 
 paternal attention to the illness, though he thought 
 over the voice for some minutes longer, with 
 ejaculations in an undertone. 
 
 "What's her age?" he reflected aloud. "My 
 God, it's a blessing I came. And to think that little 
 weasel might have detained me another year, but 
 for a slice of luck I barely deserved." He shook his 
 head, pondering awe-struck at Fate's ways. 
 
 " I can't put you up for the night, by the way," 
 
HERSELF 
 
 said the organist suddenly. " My second room, the 
 last visitor broke down the bed." 
 
 " What for did you not have it put to rights? " 
 said Mr. Clench, displeased. "Here I've walked 
 the whole town round for hours, trying to find some- 
 thing fit to sleep in. I've half a mind to go back 
 to-night to New York." 
 
 Dr. Gudgeon stopped in turn their proceeding 
 was irregular and looked his companion up and 
 down with his most formidable scowl. 
 
 " You've made a fortune, I suppose," he snapped. 
 " You're a rich man, now, don't deny it." 
 
 " I had to," said Brian in apology. " It was the 
 first step, you see, to what I wanted, to make a pile. 
 If you've ever seen a face, Gudgeon, looking out of 
 a high window in a great gold house a sky- 
 scraper well ! So I made the dollars necessary by 
 giving all my attention to the matter, and it was not 
 so hard as I'd always thought." 
 
 " You generally found it simpler to borrow, didn't 
 you? " said Dr. Gudgeon. 
 
 " I did," said Brian. " And by the same token I 
 ought to have paid Gervase back. But he is such a 
 caterpillar, my instinct was to avoid treading over 
 him. I never gave thought to it, though it's true he 
 could claim it of me." 
 
 " Pay him," growled Gudgeon, who was an honest 
 
HIMSELF 413 
 
 man. " Money's a curse altogether, but borrowed 
 money's a hell." 
 
 " I will, since you advise it," said Brian. " I have 
 not found money a curse, though, I'll tell you, so long 
 as I've tried it, which is a matter of five months. 
 Doubtless I shall in time. How are you going? " he 
 added politely. 
 
 "Low for the moment," said Dr. Gudgeon. 
 " The table's poor. I told Horn he had better dine 
 out a good deal, and he has taken me at my word. I 
 shall go up again soon, when some lesson-fees come 
 in this is a cursed town for delaying. I've lent a 
 lot of money to this woman I've found, to launch 
 her; she's launched, though, now, and will do. Then 
 I spent a lot more on a work of art in the spring a 
 bit of marble, which now Horn's trying to buy back 
 from me." 
 
 "I'll come and look on at the deal," said Brian 
 affably. " What is the fellow like ; you never told 
 me." 
 
 " Horn? Well, Horn is Horn's not bad. He's 
 rather a shilly-shally, I say: but the London public 
 seems to like him." 
 
 " Not a voice upon him? " queried Brian with a 
 spark of interest. 
 
 " Not he; only a book or two, and a society play." 
 
 "That's not bad," said Brian, detaining Dr. 
 
414 HERSELF 
 
 Gudgeon to consider the point. " He'd be out of 
 society, at least, to write it." 
 
 " Out of it, as you say. Now society's trying to 
 get him back." 
 
 " I'd like to stop that," said Brian, having thought 
 again. 
 
 " You can if you like," his acquaintance re- 
 turned. 
 
 " What's that insinuation? " said Brian, and pro- 
 ceeded to reflect for some time, his stick across his 
 shoulder. He did not expect Gudgeon to explain, 
 for collectables rarely explain their insinuations, at 
 least to one another. Suggestion, shadow, passing 
 impression is the breath of their life, and they live 
 among such, only bolting a solid fact when they 
 must in order to put it out of sight. For this 
 reason, among others, they madden all sensible 
 people. 
 
 On entering Gudgeon's library which in its 
 comfort and beautiful fittings belied his account of 
 his own poverty the host made a laudable en- 
 deavor to present his guests to one another. But the 
 effort was quite useless, for there happened to be in 
 the room that which interested Brian more than 
 Horn. He marched straight to a side-table, which 
 supported a white sculptured figure of a youth with 
 a drooping head. 
 
HIMSELF 415 
 
 "By all the powers above, what's that*?" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "That's the thing of which I told you," said 
 the collector, easily diverted from his duties. " I 
 bought it from Horn there for a song in Paris, while 
 he was distracted by his twopenny play last year. 
 Now he has woken up, and wants it back." 
 
 " Clap on the price and disappoint him," advised 
 Brian, as if the other party had not been in the room. 
 " It's far too good to lose, and it's Brian Clench who 
 is telling you." 
 
 " There you are," said Gudgeon to Horn with a 
 nod. He alluded not to the bargain, but the name, 
 thus conveniently saving him the effort of an intro- 
 duction. 
 
 " I had suspected it," said Geoffry politely. 
 "How do you do, Mr. Clench? I heard a report 
 you were in England." 
 
 "You would, I dare say," said Brian, pleased. 
 " You will be able to tell me, Gudgeon said. Has 
 the little girl Harrie heard it too? " 
 
 " We hardly ventured to believe it," said Geoffry, 
 remaining quite grave. "Though the poor boy 
 did." 
 
 "Which poor boy?" 
 
 " Your nephew, Patrick Morough the sculptor 
 of what you are touching." 
 
 "Morough!" ejaculated Clench. He drew his 
 
416 HERSELF 
 
 hand from the marble as if it burnt him. " Tell me 
 where to go and see him." He seized his coat. 
 
 " You can see his grave," said Horn. 
 
 The man, drawing slowly up to his full height, 
 dropped the coat again, and crossed himself mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 "God rest him," he said after an interval. 
 "Where did he die?" 
 
 " Here, in the hospital, three days since. We 
 buried him to-day." 
 
 " Horn," cried Gudgeon, shouldering in, " and 
 you never told me ! Before Heaven, I would have 
 gone with you." (For thus the collectables draw to 
 their kind, without warning, or any help but the 
 beautiful instinct that unites them, like the birds.) 
 
 " I could not speak of it," said Geoffry, with per- 
 fect simplicity. " I only speak of Pat now, to cry." 
 
 " That is so," said Brian. " That is so." Both 
 he and Geoffry turned their backs for a moment, he 
 fondling the suave lines of the cold marble with the 
 large, delicate fingers of his left hand. 
 
 " All that is left of him," he said, " and her. 
 Well ! " Then he and Geoffry faced one another 
 again, and no one regarded anyone's wet eyes. 
 
 " Was Harrie with you at the funeral? " he said. 
 
 " She was. She insisted against advice, though it 
 broke her down. I saw her safe home afterwards, 
 and there's a woman with her there." 
 
HIMSELF 417 
 
 " She was right," said Brian nodding. " Quite 
 right to go. I could have wished one of us to be 
 there." He spoke consciously as the head of the 
 clan; then turned to the lesser business. "So you 
 know where she is, Horn? You have all the 
 information*? " 
 
 " I can tell you most of it, I believe. Indeed, I 
 should prefer to, to save your daughter." 
 
 " Sit down," said Gudgeon suddenly. " Brian, 
 I'm going off to see about your bed. The fools must 
 be able to mend it." With which ridiculous plea, 
 betraying the most perfect consideration, the host 
 vanished in a lurch from the room. 
 
 Geoff ry Horn and Brian sat down and talked; 
 and really, considering Horn's essential uncollect- 
 ability, the sudden intimacy they struck up was 
 creditable. They had, of course, to start with a 
 common interest, and a common sorrow, which 
 things make for intimacy even with ordinary 
 mortals. But beyond that, they liked one another. 
 Brian was a breath of wider air to Horn, whose late 
 life in town had alarmed and disgusted him, for he 
 had not foreseen the necessity of acting the lion 
 after his long retreat, and among the very society he 
 had been satirizing. For Brian, on the other hand, 
 Horn escaped all danger of being a caterpillar, 
 
418 HERSELF 
 
 owing to the facts of his having seen Patrick Mor- 
 ough buried, and bought his work. The fact that he 
 had written a successful play into the bargain stood 
 in the background, not unregarded, but rather 
 pushed aside by these more necessary things. 
 
 In talk, Brian appeared scarcely to attend to 
 Horn's careful list of dates and occurrences, not 
 bearing directly on Harrie, but all concerned with 
 her. Yet it later appeared that he had mastered 
 them perfectly, and with Harrie herself he made 
 eventually very few mistakes. 
 
 " It seems to me you came late on the scene," he 
 observed, in one of his flashes of keenness. 
 
 " I could not leave the last rehearsals," said 
 Horn, running his fingers through his hair, as though 
 in remembered distraction. " If she had told me 
 
 half ! On the first night I let the confounded 
 
 thing go to the devil its own way, and came. I had 
 sent my housekeeper before me, as soon as I realized 
 Miss Clench was here alone. But that was late, of 
 course, considering how things were." 
 
 " Was it news of the boy brought her from Far- 
 over?" 
 
 " No, she did not even hear of it till she was here 
 at the hotel. Then she went to the hospital at night, 
 and they would not admit her." 
 
 "Was she alone?" snapped Brian. 
 
 " The first time to my sorrow I confess it. The 
 
HIMSELF 419 
 
 second time an admirable woman came in to go with 
 her: the Vicar's wife from Stackfield parish." 
 
 " Harrie friends with a Vicar's wife*? " 
 
 " She quarreled with her husband to come, so I 
 understood from Miss Clench; and she is mortally 
 ill herself," added Geoffry. 
 
 "Name?" demanded Brian, with the collector's 
 eye. 
 
 " I have forgotten it. You must ask her." 
 
 " How did she hear of the need 4 ? " 
 
 " Some maid at Farover came to tell her. It 
 seems all the servants there love Harrie." GeofTry 
 bit his lip suddenly, but the excellent father oppo- 
 site noticed nothing. Mr. Clench was engaged in 
 pondering on his recollections of John, the Escreets' 
 manservant. 
 
 " No doubt I did the young fellow injustice," he 
 said to himself. " Well, on my honor, it makes 
 Winifred's part in it look worse." 
 
 GeofTry's face altered at Mrs. Escreet's name. 
 He was a capable detective, when he was once on 
 the trail; and he had by this time more than an 
 inkling of the history of Pat's missing letter. Har- 
 riet herself had been too overborne by distress at the 
 news Tom Champion sent her to show any curiosity 
 as to the fate of this all-important missive, which 
 must have arrived and vanished on the Wednesday 
 of the Iffley picnic. A scrawled line from Hester on 
 
420 HERSELF 
 
 Tom's sheet mentioned the fact of its arrival, which 
 Harrie had overlooked or failed to read. What be- 
 came of it, since it never reached her hands, 
 remained open to conjecture, and it was not till 
 later that Horn swept up some more small but 
 salient facts in the evidence: as that on the day in 
 question, Harrie had in the morning opened by mis- 
 take a letter of his to Mrs. Escreet, and that Mrs. 
 Escreet received the Vicar at tea the same afternoon. 
 He was not, however, without strong suspicions at 
 the present time: and a feeling rankled in him 
 towards his proximate hostess, the quality of which 
 argued ill for her chances of receiving him. He 
 began, during the pause in the conversation, while 
 he teased his beard with his long fingers, to think 
 out the phrases of a note of excuse, which should be 
 sufficiently courtly without committing himself to 
 any appearance of backwardness in his Vanessa's 
 cause. He spoke no word, however, of all these 
 ideas to Brian, who, as he had understood from 
 Gudgeon, was himself the old friend of the mistress 
 of Farover. 
 
 " Well, then," said Brian at last, rousing from a 
 train of his own thoughts, which had drawn his griz- 
 zled brows together, "by one means or another, 
 Horn, my girl saw Kathleen's boy before his end*? " 
 
 Geoffry shook his head. " He was too hopelessly 
 ill by then to make it possible. A week earlier she 
 
HIMSELF 421 
 
 might have managed it. They picked the poor 
 fellow up on the station road in a dying condition, 
 the doctor tolcf me. He had walked most of the 
 way from London, according to his own account; 
 and indeed it was clear, for his boots were quite 
 worn through." 
 
 "Poor lad, poor lad. . . . And me nearly 
 home by then, with all this money upon me." (It 
 never came to Pat's uncle's mind, that some of the 
 money was Pat's.) 
 
 " Fortunately," said Geoffry, " he was found by 
 good people, and wanted for nothing after that. 
 And his death was quiet, as I know." 
 
 " You were there? " 
 
 " I was with him the last night, when he had a 
 short period of consciousness. Miss Clench had 
 been tired out, waiting about all day, and it was not 
 worth while then to disturb her. I was glad, how- 
 ever, to be there." 
 
 " I am glad of it," said Brian, " wanting myself 
 or her. Did he speak any words that were sen- 
 sible?" 
 
 " A message for your daughter, which I wrote at 
 his dictation." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Then they were known to each other. 
 They had been together at least, before this time we 
 speak of." 
 
 " So much as was possible," said Geoffry, " they 
 
HERSELF 
 
 had." Saying it, his deep-set eyes studied Brian 
 sadly. Of course, in the world as this man saw it, 
 the little cousins might have lived together all the 
 time, and never a thought of harm, since both were 
 Clenches. Geoffry granted him his world, with all 
 its pretty properties of moonlight and haycocks ; but 
 he kept his own more sober mansions, and longed 
 for them to shelter Harrie. It was for her peace, 
 not his own, he was contending consciously in every 
 word he spoke. 
 
 " I am glad of that," said Brian. " I am glad of 
 that." After an interval he rose and took the lamp 
 in hand, to study once more the work of Kathleen's 
 son. 
 
 When he was far, Geoffry said: 
 " Will you visit her to-night, Mr. Clench? " 
 " No, no," said Brian absently. " Let her sleep 
 in peace, with her little maiden dreams." He spoke 
 the soft accents of Irish a moment, quoting poetry 
 with sunk head. " To think," he said presently, " I 
 should have gone through two worlds to find the 
 woman fit to mount a horse with me; and here's my 
 own girl riding as if she'd been born to it, and all 
 alone." 
 
 " Pat used to speak of the horse," said Geoffry, 
 who had risen too, and followed him, as though 
 drawn by the same charm: a remembered charm it 
 was, too, for this marble boy was the very Patrick, 
 
HIMSELF 423 
 
 modeled, as Geoffry knew, upon his image, and 
 poignantly expressing a familiar mood. 
 
 " He'll not have found his horse, the poor lad," 
 said Brian, studying the exiled Cupid's drooping 
 head. 
 
 " He said he had not, in the message to Miss 
 Clench I mentioned." 
 
 11 He'd be loving her," said Brian, with sure 
 divination of his own kind. " I'm loving her too in 
 advance, because of him. Well, well, horse or none, 
 I wish I could have known him." 
 
 He sighed heavily, an old man for the moment. 
 Not till Gudgeon came back, to bring the news that 
 the bed had been successfully mended, was Mr. 
 Brian Clench himself again. 
 
rn 
 
 HARRIET was living in the tiny rooms which Geoffry 
 had found for her off High Street : to the occupation 
 of which she had only been persuaded with infinite 
 difficulty, and which no subsequent suggestion of 
 better quarters could tempt her to leave. She had 
 clung in the beginning to her wretched little hotel 
 lodging, with an obstinacy that defeated all the 
 wiles of Madame Rochette, commissioned by her 
 master to detach her; and when Mr. Horn himself 
 followed his envoy to Oxford, he found the good 
 woman in a state of elaborate despair. 
 
 " Mademoiselle makes her economies, monsieur," 
 wailed Madame Rochette, " and not one of mon- 
 sieur's messages, which I delivered faithfully, will 
 turn her from them." Yet for all her fair words, 
 Mr. Horn suspected his housekeeper of faithlessness 
 in his cause, for if Madame had a private passion 
 herself, it was for the smaller saving, and her heart 
 applauded Miss Clench's prudence while her tongue 
 condemned her wilfulness. Madame Rochette, for 
 all her comfortable bulk and cheery presence, was 
 
HIMSELF 435 
 
 far-sighted, would not trust fortune a grain, and 
 was mildly cynical about those who did. She never 
 countenanced spendthrift ways. Geoffry had long 
 had reason to believe, that even while she devised 
 and dressed feasts for him in the Paris days, she 
 lived happily on parings and scrapings herself. 
 When pressed by him too closely on the subject of 
 these tricks to save his purse, she was wont to be- 
 come portentously gloomy, shelter herself behind a 
 mythical doctor in her native town, and allude to 
 the scanty diet as her " regime." A stock of further 
 medical details remained at call, should she be forced 
 to resort to them; but this battery needed rarely 
 to be used, for her shy master's curiosity was easily 
 satisfied; and he preferred to let her starve according 
 to her tastes, rather than pursue the enquiry further. 
 However, in the end, since the new rooms were 
 near, and not much more costly than the burrow she 
 had chosen first, Harriet was persuaded to make the 
 change; and when Mr. Horn still showed himself 
 discontented with the result attained, Madame 
 Rochette made a sudden stand, faced about and 
 joined the enemy. She found things to her taste in 
 the stuffy eighteenth-century house, which happened 
 to have faded furniture in the " Styles " to which 
 she was accustomed, and in which one back room 
 possessed a comfortable wide hob for cooking. 
 Having made this last discovery, without delay she 
 
426 HERSELF 
 
 abandoned Geoffry to his fate at the hotel, and estab- 
 lishing herself under the same roof with Miss 
 Clench, soon made friends with its proprietor. Once 
 that was done, all was accomplished. Madame was 
 self-appointed as dictator, in all matters relating to 
 Harrie's table. Each morning she issued on the sur- 
 prised Oxford world, at an hour when their eyes 
 were hardly open; and bare-headed, her bulky 
 basket on her arm, she ravaged the stalls of the cov- 
 ered market. Having few English words, her 
 method was to seize a cream-cheese, or a bunch of 
 asparagus, stow it in her basket, and count down 
 heavy pence on the edge of the market-stall, until 
 the indignant owner was satisfied. Her discrimina- 
 tion was terrible, and she never came twice to a stall 
 which supplied her with a bad article. Returning 
 home to her charge, she brought with her in the 
 basket the wherewithal to prepare perfect meals : in 
 the kitchen for courtesy's sake, but by preference in 
 her own quarters, on the bedroom hob. The land- 
 lady, gaping suspiciously at first over her doings, 
 showed growing respect as the results of them came 
 to light; and the fame of Madame Rochette went 
 forth by degrees, whispered through the agency of 
 tradesmen to the neighboring kitchens, so that the 
 back premises of High Street stood amazed. 
 
 It was to these restricted quarters, the scene of her 
 culinary conquests, that the good woman brought 
 
HIMSELF 427 
 
 Harrie back after the funeral, almost ill with fatigue 
 and grief. Without Madame Rochette and her 
 motherly cares, she would probably have collapsed 
 altogether, for her nerves had been slowly unstrung 
 by that dragging week of trouble. But there was 
 something strangely comforting in the French- 
 woman's genial compassion, above all in her manner 
 of treating Pat's death as a family loss, not peculiar 
 to Harrie, but common to them all. The suspicion 
 and curiosity that had tormented the girl so long 
 were entirely absent from her consolations: owing 
 no doubt in part to her having herself fallen under 
 the charm of the " cher petit," as she called Patrick, 
 in Paris; but also to a valiant faith in her master's 
 power, and to that fine discernment in matters of 
 the heart which the French middle ranks possess, 
 and which none but the Irish middle ranks can equal. 
 
 Harrie was still under her capable charge and 
 close surveillance when Brian found her the next 
 morning; languid still, her soft eyes shadowed by 
 a night of grief, but sufficiently recovered to eclipse 
 herself in a large apron, and assist Madame Rochette 
 in the housework. 
 
 " Voila Monsieur votre Papa, cherie," said 
 Madame Rochette, and let the large man in sud- 
 denly upon her charge; then she retired to her 
 cooking with strenuous pursed lips, and a number of 
 contented little nods. It was a good morning evi- 
 
HERSELF 
 
 dently: she had made several surprising bargains at 
 an early hour while the carts were unloading, her 
 cherie had been singing again, and Mr. Clench's ap- 
 pearance pleased her. The dinner must be worthy 
 of these happy events, and she set to work. 
 
 It is not our intention to talk at length of the 
 meeting of Harriet and Brian, on the morrow of 
 Patrick's funeral. We give just so much indication 
 of its setting, and leave the couple there, until the 
 moment when Mr. Horn came in, to find Miss 
 Clench upon her father's knee, her fair head di- 
 sheveled against his shoulder, and her large apron 
 crumpled by the constriction of his other arm. She 
 was still pale exceedingly, but her eyes were serene 
 as they lifted to GeofTry's, and as for Brian, he was 
 beaming foolishly. Harrie had of course talked of 
 Geoffry a little discreetly; only Mr. Clench at 
 the moment had not paid much attention, and he 
 showed marked jealousy of the other man when he 
 appeared. 
 
 " We're talking French, Horn," he observed, 
 " and we've not finished. You would like a little 
 walk around the colleges till lunch- time, I shouldn't 
 wonder." 
 
 " I have seen the colleges," said Geoffry, blush- 
 ing. " And I talk French very well ; and it's lunch- 
 time already according to the canons of Madame 
 Rochette. I just came to tell you." 
 
HIMSELF 429 
 
 " Can't she go to the devil? " enquired Brian. 
 
 " Not with the omelette upon her," said Harriet. 
 " The climate would frizzle it, and you know you'd 
 be sorry, Brian." 
 
 Mr. Clench smiled, still in a perfectly foolish 
 fashion, stroking her hair. 
 
 " The voice of her," he murmured, " and me all 
 this time stravaguing after another girl." 
 
 "What about the other girl?" said Harriet de- 
 murely. " To be sure I have never enquired after 
 her." 
 
 " I told old Gudgeon the story lately," said 
 Brian, unashamed. " You shall have it also if you 
 will, darling, though it's a sad tale, on my honor. 
 You must know how she lived, this girl, in a tall 
 gold house, quite at the top of it: and Brian Clench 
 came riding by in the New York street among the 
 cabs, and saw her away up there. Well; and so he 
 had to make some gold stairs to get to her, and he 
 made them one by one, until (and it's the truth I'm 
 telling you, so keep that dimple till it's wanted) he 
 got very nearly to the top." 
 
 "Didn't she come down to him at all? "said 
 Harriet. 
 
 "She did not, the little vixen, for her reasons; 
 though she nodded and seemed agreeable to his 
 climbing. And then, one black day of fate, he 
 heard her speak to her sister out upon the stairs." 
 
430 HERSELF 
 
 " Well, and then? " said his daughter. 
 
 " Nothing then except she spoke through her 
 nose." 
 
 Both the auditors laughed at his rueful face. 
 
 " And all the while," said Brian, seizing the girl, 
 " here was the nicest little darling, with a voice like 
 the first thrush of April, waiting for me unbeknown ; 
 mine entirely, is she not? without any of the 
 trouble of working for her." He looked her up and 
 down a minute with his keen loving eyes, reviewing 
 every part of her, every curl of her pretty hair, her 
 plain black dress, worn shoes and capable hands. 
 " What money have you of your own, I'm wonder- 
 ing," he enquired. 
 
 "Little," she admitted, "but I will make some 
 soon. I have seen a teacher here about pupils for 
 French Mr. Horn gave me a letter for him. They 
 have always said that I taught well, and England 
 is better at paying you than France." 
 
 " Then I'll not have to work for you," said Brian. 
 
 " I'll manage for the two," said Harrie, confi- 
 dently, clasping a small hand round his beard. " If 
 you will stay by me, Brian, and not go far." 
 
 " But it's far I must be going, me dear, and that's 
 the trouble." 
 
 " Far? " Her brow knit slowly. " And in which 
 direction now?" 
 
HIMSELF 431 
 
 "West where else? And then West of that 
 again." 
 
 " To Ireland? " she cried softly. " Not further 
 than Ireland, Brian? " 
 
 He nodded with gravity, though still his mar- 
 velous eyes twinkled between their narrowed lids. 
 
 " I had hoped to have you here," she said, steady- 
 ing her voice, " in this nice little house. I've been 
 planning it while you talked. There's another room 
 we could have, when Madame Rochette goes to 
 London and it's not expensive." 
 
 " I doubt if I can do it," said Brian, running his 
 disengaged hand in his pocket. " Would Horn there 
 lend us some to start with? " 
 
 " No, no," she said alarmed, and seized his beard 
 again. " You are not meaning it, surely." 
 
 " Well, wouldn't he lend you some if you asked 
 him?" 
 
 " No, he would not. He would not, Brian. Do 
 not listen to him." 
 
 " Isn't she a jewel? " said Brian softly, to Horn 
 for want of better audience. " Well, if he's such a 
 hard man, darling, he need not be about. We don't 
 require him round any longer, I suppose. Or must 
 we keep him a little for Patrick's sake?" 
 
 " Yes, yes: for a little. You must not hurt him. 
 He has been Patrick's truest friend." Her tears ran 
 over suddenly. 
 
432 HERSELF 
 
 "And yours?" 
 
 " And mine. Oh, why am I crying? I do not 
 know. It is since yesterday," she gasped, hiding 
 her face with both hands, " that I have been like 
 this." 
 
 Mr. Horn turned from where he stood by the 
 window, and went suddenly out of the room, to 
 scold Madame Rochette about delaying the dinner. 
 He could bear much, and had borne; and he was 
 certain now her future was safe, and her father only 
 teasing; but for all that, he could not bear to see 
 the bravest of the Clenches cry. 
 
 Of course, the conspiracy to deceive her could not 
 be kept up: no joke of Brian's ever could. After 
 the simple lunch which it is true would have been 
 hard to better they had the most wonderful 
 dinner the best restaurant of the town could 
 provide in the evening; and Geoffry was carefully 
 not asked to it : and Harrie, still in her black dress, 
 for she would not change it, was spoilt to her father's 
 heart's content, and shown off with a swagger to 
 all the hotel afterwards. The next evening Dr. 
 Gudgeon invited them in state to a dinner of four, 
 for which Brian insisted the blue dress must be worn ; 
 and after dinner she sang them the whole of the 
 Orpheus scene she had studied with Bertha, and Mr. 
 Clench left his accompanying completely at the most 
 
HIMSELF 
 
 critical point, and flung the music on the floor, and 
 wrung the other musicians by the hand, and 
 whirled about a chair, and absolutely cried with 
 rapture. Mr. Horn and his host were rather anxious 
 about him, but Miss Clench reassured them; 
 observing that she remembered it very well of old, 
 when new ladies sang to him; and it had often 
 happened like that. She seemed capable of calm- 
 ing him by an application of brisk good sense, such 
 as she remembered her mother using. Whereupon 
 Brian flung a sofa-cushion at her, and gradually 
 recovered; but only to sit on a sofa and prophesy 
 great things which no one singer could possibly ever 
 accomplish not to mention a series of teachers to 
 which no one income could ever rise. 
 
 His daughter smiled at Geoff ry; and leaning side- 
 long in a deep chair with one foot curled under 
 her, and a hand clasping her ankle, she talked low 
 to Dr. Gudgeon, and took his sane advice. There 
 was some remote person in a small German town 
 that Dr. Gudgeon swore by; but he admitted on 
 pressure that the continent of America might contain 
 as good, especially since an Italian lady of world- 
 wide renown had just gone out. 
 
 "It's not opera," observed Harriet at this junc- 
 ture. " Nor ever will be." 
 
 "It's opera," Brian shouted, leaping up, "and 
 you'll shut your impudent mouth." 
 
434 HERSELF 
 
 " My dear Brian," she said, " do look at me." 
 Mr. Clench looked readily. " How big do you sup- 
 pose I'd appear on a stage? " said Harriet. 
 
 " As big as you want to be," said Brian greatly 
 vexed. " You'd have to act it, as plenty have done 
 before you. You're none of my daughter, anyway, 
 to be so small. You can walk, can't you, and you 
 can wear your clothes; and there's money behind 
 you money. Well ! " He barked at her, arms 
 akimbo, for, after all his reckless expenditure, he 
 still had a slight fear she did not believe it. 
 
 " There are things," said Harriet, " your money 
 cannot do, dear Brian. And one is to make me 
 larger than nature did and the other is to make 
 me do what I don't care to." 
 
 And, indeed, Mr. Clench had soon to discover in 
 life that it was so. 
 
 It was Brian, of course, not Geoffry, who " dealt " 
 for Patrick's Cupid, and he did not have to haggle 
 with the owner. But, as he instantly gave Cupid to 
 Harrie, a difficulty presented itself. They could 
 not take the heavy thing to Ireland, still less to 
 America, and they had nowhere in England to store 
 it safely. Dr. Gudgeon generously offered to let it 
 stand where it was, until they next happened to be 
 coming that way; and Brian, who trusted and liked 
 
HIMSELF 435 
 
 him considerably, might have closed; but Harriet, 
 they found, had another idea. 
 
 " I am going to lend him," she said of Cupid. 
 " And it's according to circumstances which I will 
 judge of, Brian whether I ever take him back. 
 You can look at him well these three days, do you 
 hear? before we go up to London." 
 
 Thus, the three days and some others having 
 passed, Cupid's next appearance on the world was 
 in Bertha's little flat at Kensington. Harriet found 
 that Brian " hurrying West," as he assured all his 
 acquaintance had allowed a couple of weeks in 
 London in which to enjoy himself, and waste money 
 on his daughter. She spent the first week dutifully 
 over pieces of necessary business, of which three may 
 be mentioned as example: to meet Ann Maskery, 
 who had come up to town, during a pause of Tom's 
 bye-election preparations, to choose the more solid 
 part of her sister's trousseau, with the skilled assist- 
 ance of her friend; to be taken in state to see Geoff ry's 
 play, which now, with the aid of a clever actress, had 
 settled into shape, and was "running" gaily; and 
 hardest task of all to keep Brian from making 
 violent love to Miss Bridgnorth, Vanessa's charm- 
 ing interpreter, whom they entertained afterwards at 
 supper, and who offered Harrie some useful and 
 most kindly hints to smooth rough corners in the life 
 before her. 
 
436 HERSELF 
 
 But, necessary business being accomplished, the 
 second week Miss Clench faced her father's fury with 
 quietness, and abandoned him entirely for the plain 
 woman Bertha Lindt. 
 
 The pair of old friends talked much during the 
 days they had together, and Harrie learnt of 
 Botha's marked success in her first little trial con- 
 cert, and how Dr. Gudgeon had already found her 
 several pupils, and would recommend her more, and 
 how she had a good engagement for the autumn, 
 thanks to his influence with an important musical 
 agency. She learnt of the Graylings, too, and 
 Muriel, who had suddenly determined on her own 
 account to go to school, much to the relief of all 
 the neighborhood; and she enquired of Muriel's 
 mother, the answer to which was a gentle shake of 
 head. 
 
 But finally and chiefly, they spoke of the dead 
 Patrick in the manner in which true friends can: 
 and it was to Bertha's eyes alone that Harrie showed 
 the boy's last letter before she tore it up. The brave, 
 collectable Bertha wept over it tears that were 
 purely generous to the girl that Patrick loved. 
 " MY LOVE MY LITTLE DARLING " so it ran : 
 
 " Horn tells me you are not to come, but himself 
 is soon to be with you. (It is heaven's justice to 
 you, and so I know that it is true.) I will not send 
 a message, but write this by Horn's hand. It is 
 
HIMSELF 437 
 
 better I should go out, if Brian is there to take my 
 place. I hope still to see himself, if all the saints 
 are good. If not, say that my love is his and yours, 
 and I would have found the horse to ride and win 
 you only I had not time. Harrie, I will die bless- 
 ing you for that kiss in the windy road. . . ." 
 
 " And whom are you to marry? " Bertha whis- 
 pered in French at parting, on the eve of her last day. 
 
 "I think I am to marry Mr. Horn," Harriet 
 whispered back. " He will tell me out there in Ire- 
 land, I shouldn't wonder." 
 
 There is a district (west of the west) in Donegal, 
 and I offer the place freely to those who can find it 
 by description. It has three levels of coast, mighty 
 cliffs, against which the Atlantic throws its whole 
 force furiously, day and night gentle rocks, on 
 which the cormorants climb in sunny weather; and 
 if you patiently pursue to the north a little further, 
 an agreeable bay of flat yellow sand. A small way 
 out in the bay there is an island, where once a saint 
 bathed his feet, and left behind him a healing holy 
 well. Twice a day, and for twenty minutes, this 
 sacred place is attainable from the land, for the sea 
 in retreating leaves a straight path of sand un- 
 covered, on which prudent pilgrims can walk. But 
 pilgrims must be prompt, and are advised to go 
 
438 HERSELF 
 
 barefoot, and not even then to delay too long on 
 the island, whether they wish to ask a blessing at the 
 well, or to leave the customary offering of a crooked 
 pin upon it. (There's no trouble in procuring these, 
 as pins are all crooked in Ireland.) If they allow 
 themselves to be distracted, whether by piety or other 
 things, pilgrims in returning will certainly get wet. 
 People do get distracted in such places, as the 
 p'lgrims we are concerned with found; but though 
 one got wet in the skirts returning, because she 
 refused to be carried, they had accomplished all they 
 needed. For it was on this remote islet, west of the 
 west, that Mr. Horn " told " Harriet between the 
 tides ; and for such healing of all their sorrows, they 
 each left a pin fine straight ones that Miss Clench 
 provided upon the kind saint's well. 
 
'..'a 
 
 AUG 
 
YB 6V4b5 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY