THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs, Paul Boyich 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/forbetterforworsOOmaxwrich 
 
B ^'v ^^H 
 
 
 ^« * <ei ^HK 
 
 
 
 
 "SHE'S PRETTY." 
 . . . "YES, IN A 
 
 TT^F." "I 
 
 LIKE HER HAT/' 
 . . . "YES, SHE IS 
 PRETTY. I SEE ITj 
 NOW. I SEE THE 
 ATTRACTION." 
 
FOR BETTER, 
 
 FOR WORSE 
 
 BY 
 W. B. MAXWELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE GUARDED FLAME,' 
 "THE devil's GARDEN,'* ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1920 
 
coptright, 1920 
 By W. B. maxwell 
 
 g» eaiim & goben Company 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 RAHWAV NEW JERSEY 
 
1 b I 
 
 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 054 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT has become a trite observation that you cannot have 
 a home in London. You live in London, but your real 
 home is somewhere else, or you have not one at all. 
 
 In this sense Mrs. Gilmour and her family had always 
 been homeless. They lived in the large house at a comer 
 of a short road that runs out of Sloane Street, and they 
 lived nowhere else. They were very well off, with every- 
 thing they could desire, paying the modest super-tax of 
 those happy days without distress, and yet they could 
 not make themselves really comfortable: unconsciously 
 they banished from them any imitation or transient illu- 
 sion of the proper home feeling. There was an atmos- 
 phere of needless hurry throughout the house. Having 
 nothing of importance to do, its inmates seemed invariably 
 behindhand with their trifling tasks. They had no time 
 to think. They omitted to shut doors behind them. They 
 talked incessantly, in a running debate, about the little 
 difficulties that suddenly confronted them. 
 
 Thus, for instance, old Mrs. Gilmour, opening the li- 
 brary door and leaving it open, announced that she was 
 in trouble about the address of a friend. 
 
 " You can find it in the red book," said Emily Joyce, 
 her married daughter, who was ensconced in an armchair 
 by the fire and toasting her patient leather shoes. 
 
 " No, I can't find it," said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 
 " Oh, it must be there," said Mrs. Joyce. 
 
 " It's the book itself I canH find," said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 " I think it may have been left in the car. Unless, of 
 
 1 
 
2 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 course, I left it on the seat of some chair or other ; " and 
 she looked at her large and handsome daughter re- 
 flectively. " Emily, would you mind moving a moment ?" 
 
 "My dear mother, if I was sitting on the book, I should 
 know it." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour had a talent for getting people out of 
 their chairs ; but Emily Joyce was always the last to get 
 up, and she resisted now firmly. 
 
 "All right," said Mrs. Gilmour, for a moment looking 
 baffled and worried. Then her mind wandered. " I 
 haven't seen Mrs. Hackett this morning, and I know I 
 had something particular to tell her, but I can't remem- 
 ber what it was. By the way, where's Claire.?^ " 
 
 " In the morning-room, I think." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I thought you said at breakfast that we 
 were all going to sit in the morning- room .'^ " 
 
 " I'm coming there directly." 
 
 " Oh, now I remember," and Mrs. Gilmour's face lit 
 up. " It was about the sweep." 
 
 " What about the sweep.? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hackett said we must get the chimneys swept 
 at the very first opportunity ; " and she hurried from the 
 room. 
 
 "Mother, would you please " Mrs. Joyce called 
 
 after her despairingly. But it was no use. Already Mrs. 
 Gilmour's voice sounded on the other side of the hall, 
 in conversation with the butler. So Emily had to get 
 up out of her chair after all, in order to close the door. 
 
 " What are those dishes for, Belton.?* You don't mean 
 to say that Mr. Cyril hasn't been down to breakfast 
 yet.?" 
 
 "Not yet, ma'am." 
 
 " Why, good gracious, it's quite late, isn't it.? It must 
 be nearly eleven o'clock ; " and Mrs. Gilmour seemed as 
 much surprised as if this was the first time that Cyril had 
 come home in the middle of the night and lain in bed 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 3 
 
 istead of going to his work at the Temple next morning. 
 
 " Five minutes past eleven, ma'am," said Belton, sym- 
 )athetically affecting surprise also. Then, following the 
 ootman with the tray of dishes, he disappeared through a 
 :ed baize door. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour moved slowly across the black and white 
 pavement of the hall, and stood by the carved oak table, 
 on which newspapers and magazines lay neatly ranged. 
 For a few moments her face was overcast as she thought 
 of Cyril, her beloved son. The dear boy's mode of life 
 was, she feared, what Emily's husband slangily called 
 " rapid." He was getting into debt, although spending 
 such a lot of ready money, and she suspected that his ex- 
 travagant habits were fostered by the friendships he had 
 contracted among actresses. The proper place for ac- 
 tresses is behind the footlights. It is a misfortune when 
 this barrier is disregarded, and they begin driving about 
 in motor cars with members of the audience. If Cyril 
 wasn't careful he might get his name in the papers. 
 Then the expression of her face changed. Her attention 
 had been attracted by a slight hissing noise that issued 
 from the central-heating apparatus near the dining-room 
 door, and she went and gazed at the tubes and joints. 
 How pleased her late husband had been when he installed 
 this useful macliine ! What a long time ago, too. How 
 well it had worn. If there was anything wrong, it must 
 be repaired without delay, if only out of respect to the 
 memory of him who was gone. 
 
 Tender recollections of her husband brought into her 
 mind thoughts about one of his investments, a block of 
 leasehold houses at Finchley, from which she derived a 
 part of her income. The solicitors had written again, 
 reminding her that the term of these leaseholds was draw- 
 ing towards its expiration, and advising her to provide 
 against this eventuality by a sinking fund or an insur- 
 ance. She refused to allow herself to dwell on. so worry- 
 
4 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ing a subject. But the expiring leaseholds had reminded 
 her of something else. 
 
 She was the sort of amiable, but not very wise, woman 
 who puts trouble from her, refuses to recognize dangers, 
 tries always to believe that what she dreads happening 
 will not happen. She showed this temperamental reluc- 
 tance even when called upon to face the inevitable; but 
 of late, in regard to Claire, she had become unwillingly 
 aware of the insidiousness with which time in its passage 
 brings an annoyance and weariness nearer and nearer to 
 you, whether you think of it or not. Her youngest 
 daughter had grown up. 
 
 " It means that in future I shall have such a lot to do 
 for Claire," she used to say plaintively to friends. Or, 
 " That is something that must be postponed until Claire 
 is married and settled." Or, when making plans with 
 Emily or her adored Cyril, " It would only be possible 
 if Claire were out of the way." 
 
 " Are you there, Claire ? " she said, entering the morn- 
 ing-room and leaving the door open behind her. 
 
 Claire, a tall girl, with dark hair and pale cheeks, wel- 
 comed her shyly. 
 
 " What are you doing in here all by yourself, 
 dear? " ^ 
 
 " Only writing some letters," said Claire. 
 
 *' I have an immense number of letters to write myself »" 
 And, as if the mental vision of the mass of unwritten 
 correspondence had robbed her of energy, Mrs. Gilmour 
 sat upon a sofa and stared at Claire hopelessly. 
 
 Claire was now twenty, and as yet nothing had been 
 done for her. Next year she must be presented at Court 
 and given a good time. That is, Mrs. Gilmour must take 
 her to parties, show her the world; and presently, when 
 Claire had shut the door and returned to the writing- 
 table, Mrs. Gilmour spoke again of the coming good 
 time. She sighed as she spoke of it. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 5 
 
 " Oh, you musn't trouble, you know, mother," said 
 Claire, gently. 
 
 " My dear, of course I shall trouble. It wouldn't be 
 fair to you otherwise ; " and she sighed again. " Only I 
 am not as young as I used to be." 
 
 And she began to talk of her family with a curious 
 detached manner, as though in no way accountable for 
 the phenomena that she related. 
 
 " What was so strange, my children were so spread 
 out. The nursery was always starting again. I had 
 Nurse Mitchell back three times after we thought we 
 had seen the last of her. Even the big rocking-horse was 
 sold before you were bom. Do you realize that John 
 is old enough to be your father, if he had married at 
 eighteen.'^ " 
 
 John was the eldest son, who dwelt at Liverpool, and 
 still followed the shipping trade, from which the fortunes 
 of the whole family had first sprung; a nearly bald man, 
 with a stubby beard and abrupt, swift speech; almost a 
 stranger to Claire, and so different from Cyril and every- 
 body else that she had sometimes forgotten him in her 
 childish prayers, and been compelled, conscience-stricken, 
 to get out of bed and add a postscript to the general 
 petition : " Please God bless brother John too, and make 
 me a good girl." His mother and others said of him 
 always, " He will end by being a baronet " — much as 
 one says of a hunting man, " He will break his neck 
 before he has done." 
 
 " My little Lawrence," Mrs. Gilmour continued mus- 
 ingly, " was only five when I lost him. That nearly broke 
 my heart, Claire." 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " The dearest little chap you ever saw — in a Scotch 
 suit, kilt and sporran. Emily was the next, of course, 
 Emily is twelve years older than you, isn't she.? " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
6 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " And Angela, if she had been spared, would be twenty- 
 three next month. This is February, isn't it ? Of course. 
 Twenty-three. You were very good to poor Angela, Claire 
 — ^very patient and considerate — always wilUng to sacri- 
 fice yourself. But this won't do. How the morning is 
 flying! You musn't keep me chatting here." 
 
 She had risen, and she looked at Claire at once vaguely 
 and reproachfully. 
 
 " Can I help you in anything, mother.^ " 
 
 " No, my dear, thank you. There are matters I have to 
 attend to that demand personal attention ; " and she 
 passed from the room. 
 
 Through the open doorway Claire heard her give a cry 
 as though she had seen a ghost. It was the tardy appari- 
 tion of her son Cyril coming down the broad staircase. 
 
 " My dearest Cyril, they are getting your breakfast 
 ready. I will call. No, I will ring. Oh, they know you 
 are down.'^ " 
 
 Cyril, looking pallid and tired, came in and out of the 
 morning- room, and his mother hung about him fondly. He 
 lit a cigarette to encourage his appetite, sat at the piano, 
 and vainly endeavoured to play a tune which, as he ex- 
 plained, was haunting him. 
 
 " Claire," he said fretfully, " you pretend to be a musi- 
 cian. Can't you pick it up for me? " 
 
 But Claire had to confess that, without the score and 
 never having heard the melody, she was impotent to assist. 
 
 " I wish," he said, " they had taught me music instead 
 of Latin and Greek. A dashed sight more useful to a 
 fellow." 
 
 He was not hungry to-day, his breakfast was soon des- 
 patched, and after loud whistling for a cab, he was gone. 
 
 " Has Mr. Cyril gone? " asked Mrs. Gilmour, having 
 mislaid him at the last moment. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Belton. " Mr. Cyril has just 
 gone." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 7 
 
 ^ Oh dear, I wish I'd known he was going off like 
 t lat. I know I had something that I wanted to ask 
 I im/' 
 
 After this there was an unusually animated discussion 
 [ etween her and Emily as to whether they would go to 
 i he Army and Navy Stores before luncheon ; or, if so, 
 ^ hether they would have the horses out and use the double 
 ^ ictoria or go in the car. 
 
 " The carriage would be pleasanter," said Mrs. Gil- 
 Qour. 
 
 " But the car would be quicker,'^ said Mrs. Joyce. 
 
 The arrival of visitors automatically decided all points, 
 md put off shopping at the Stores till after luncheon. A 
 slergymian wished to see Mrs. Gilmour, and several ladies 
 asked for Emily. These ladies were close friends of Mrs. 
 Joyce or the house itself, and they drifted in from the 
 street and out again quite informally on many mornings. 
 They were elegant, richly attired, smiling, self-possessed; 
 and up and down Sloane Street, and in the squares and 
 crescents all round, there were hundreds of other ladies 
 all outwardly and inwardly exactly like them. They told 
 Emily and Mrs. Gilmour and one another astounding fan- 
 tastic scraps of gossip : such as, that Mr. Arthur Balfour 
 had long been secretly married to one of the royal prin- 
 cesses ; that Mr. Lloyd George, the " dreadful man," had 
 made a large wager that six named dukes would ask 
 him to dinner before the year was out, and that ths bet 
 had been duly entered in the betting book at the Reform ^^ 
 Club, where a friend of the speaker had seen it ; or that 
 an Australian millionaire had taken the haunted house 
 in Berkeley Square, and that his wife had had the bed 
 clothes pulled off her three times in the night by " a 
 presence ; " or that Self ridge's new shop was selling rose- 
 pink velvet curtains at one fifth of the cost of manu- 
 facture " as an advertisement." And none of these mar- 
 vels aroused the least sign of increduUty. Emily Joyce 
 
8 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 gave the hard little laugh that was habitual to her ; Mrs. 
 Gilmour nodded her head, smiled tolerantly, and sent 
 Claire on a message ; not even the curate protested. 
 
 " I shall run up to Oxford Street and secure some of 
 those curtains,'' said one of the ladies, with a well-bred 
 giggle. " There's no reason why we shouldn't profit by 
 such a chance." 
 
 " I don't blame you," said Emily Joyce, with her hard' 
 laugh. " Somebody else will score, if you don't." 
 
 They all drifted out into the street again, except one of 
 them; and next minute this lady was seated in the morn- 
 ing-room telling Mrs. Joyce's fortune with a pack of play- 
 ing cards. Mrs. Gilmour stood by, watching and listening, 
 with her head slightly on one side; Claire drew close to 
 the table, fascinated, almost awestruck by the boldness of 
 the sortilege; Mrs. Joyce puckered her forehead in strenu- 
 ous effort as she sought to make the words of the sooth- 
 sayer tally with existing facts. 
 
 " One, two, three, four " — the lady counted rapidly. 
 " Yes, yes, yes. There is someone you love and wish to 
 protect." 
 
 That, of course, might be Emily herself or her husband. 
 Leonard Joyce was the junior partner of an eminent firm 
 of solicitors, and she suspected him of having married 
 her for her money, and merely taken her beauty and great 
 scharm of manner as a honne bouche. She had not at this 
 time of day the faintest notion of why she married him. 
 She was quite satisfied with him for always " doing her 
 well," although she scarcely made any pretence of being 
 fond of him. She certainly managed his life for him, 
 intending to put him into Parliament, push him along, and 
 see that he grew richer and more respected. Yes, no 
 doubt, the cards in their queer way meant to indicate 
 Leonard as the thing she loved and desired to guard. 
 
 " Five, six, seven, eight. Yes, there's money. There's 
 a lot of money — yes. But I can't say whether money 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 9 
 
 jained by speculation or money saved by putting-by. It 
 nay be money from a relative." 
 
 Mrs. Joyce frowningly considered. She and Leonard 
 bad let their house furnished at a good rent for four 
 months, and by living gratis with her mother they were 
 undoubtedly economizing. But " a lot of money " ? You 
 could hardly speak of such modest savings as a lot of 
 money. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour tested her luck next, and then Claire 
 shyly asked if she too might have her fortune told. 
 
 " What fortune can she have at her age.? " said Emily, 
 in a tone of superiority that was almost contemptuous. 
 
 " Oh, let her try her wish," said the lady graciously ; 
 and Claire sat down to the table. " Wish, dear, and 
 shuffle your wish into the cards, and tell no one what your 
 wish is." 
 
 The room, like all the other rooms of the house, had 
 been furnished and decorated at great cost, but without 
 any real taste or controlling method. It was convention- 
 ally elegant, vulgarly charming; rich in objects of differ- 
 ent schools and periods. A gilt chair with Empire tapes- 
 try stood beside a Queen Anne cabinet; a landscape by 
 Leader hung between two Dutch mirrors ; immense Ori- 
 ental vases reflected themselves in the polished parquetry 
 floor; and so on. Through the glass of double windows, 
 filtered again by delicate lace curtains, came faint beams 
 of sunshine. Two large shrubs of azalea in full bloom 
 caught the soft sunbeams, while, weak as they were, the 
 firelight faded beneath them. 
 
 And the small group of people in the room formed 
 quite a pretty picture of the purely conventional sort — 
 the fortune-teller, with her fur coat thrown open on her 
 broad bosom her pearl necklace just perceptible, her 
 jewelled bangles and rings flashing as she moved her 
 hands ; the old lady looking very dignified with her grey 
 hair and purple velvet gown; the handsome, bouncingly; 
 
10 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 robust, young married woman lolling and smiling; and 
 the tall, graceful, innocent girl leaning forward, with 
 her pale cheeks faintly flushed, her eyes large and intent, 
 Lcr lips parted in breathless interest. Altogether it was 
 Just the picture that you might see at the Royal Academy 
 any year, painted by one of our very best painters, and 
 called " Opulence," or " Killing Time," or " A Modem 
 Prophetess," or some other title easy to be understood by 
 the public, and likely to please the critics and exonerate 
 the artist from any suspicion of " pot-boiling " by its 
 hint of good-humoured underlying satire. 
 
 ** Shuffle again. Thank you. . . . Here's a stranger 
 coming to the house. Five, six, seven. Yes, yes, yes. A 
 stranger coming to the house very soon. Shuffle again, 
 and cut as I told you. ... 
 
 " Yes, there you are again, side by side." 
 
 " Which one is he? " asked Claire in an enthralled whis- 
 per. 
 
 " King of Hearts. You're the queen. Yes, he looks 
 to you every time. One, two, three, four. Yes, there's 
 the ring." 
 
 Emily Joyce laughed. 
 
 " There's opposition by a dark woman. There's admi- 
 ration — eight, nine, ten. There's quite an extraordinary 
 amount of admiration." 
 
 Emily Joyce interrupted. " Don't fill her head with 
 nonsense." 
 
 " I'm only telling her what the cards show ; " and the 
 fortune went on. " You'll get your wish. Yes, it has 
 eome out every time. There; that's all. You may rely 
 on it, you'll get your wish." 
 
 " What was your wish, Claire.? " asked Mrs. Joyce, 
 patronizingly. 
 
 " Oh, she mustn't tell her wish, or she'll spoil it." 
 
 " No, I won't tell my wish," said Claire. 
 
 The fortune-teller had fastened the clasp of her fur 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 11' 
 
 c oak and was putting on her gloves. Emily Joyce asked 
 1 er if she Would not stay to luncheon ; but she said she 
 I lust hurry off. 
 
 •* Did somebody say it was a quarter to one? " asked 
 -" Irs. Gilmour. " Really the morning has simply flowiu 
 . ind I haven't even looked at the newspaper yet." 
 
 The morning, however, had been normal rather than 
 extraordinary. Mornings and whole days were passed 
 n a similar manner. Moreover, Mrs. Gilmour, Emily 
 foyce, and their friends were typical of thousands of 
 equally fortunate and prosperous people residing within 
 easy reach. 
 
 All these people, both male and female, were well-mean- 
 ing and at heart kind, but so far as their mental life was 
 concerned they were without order or direction. Their 
 ordinary thoughts were like little bits of dust blown about 
 in a small room : never going far but often taking a long 
 while to settle. They guided themselves no more in the 
 fluid maze of conjecture and imagination, even when they 
 fancied they were cogitating, than little corks or morsels 
 of wood guide themselves when they float and dance on 
 the surface of a shallow stream. Experience never helped 
 them; memory always played them false. Responding 
 only to external impulses, pulled about and to and fro 
 by unrecognized irrelevancies, postponing all important 
 decisions to the last possible moment and influenced then 
 most of all by processes of digestion, doing bold things 
 after a good dinner, feeling nervous on an empty stomach, 
 speaking words of pessimism under the transient darkness 
 of a bilious headache; and for these reasons performing 
 the great acts of life in as muddled a fashion as the 
 slightest, such people are, most strictly speaking, gov- 
 erned by chance. 
 
 And the misfortune is that if you are compelled to live 
 with them, although your nature may be entirely different 
 from theirs, you, too, are at the mercy of chance. 
 
12 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Good gracious/* said Mrs. Gilmour, putting down 
 the newspaper as- if it had stung her. " Is to-day the 
 eighteenth.'^ Then it's to-night that we have our dinner 
 party.?" 
 
 " Yes," said Emily Joyce. " Had you forgotten, 
 mother.'^ You don't mean to say you haven't ordered 
 dinner.?" 
 
 No, that was all right. Mrs. Gilmour had settled the 
 menu with the housekeeper two days ago; but she now 
 began to hunt for something in drawers and desks, reciting 
 names the while. " Old Sir Kenelm Grantley — he is com- 
 ing, and that Evan Giles; and the Drysdales are coming 
 — and the Pirbrights — and old Sir Kenelm, of course." 
 
 " You said old Sir Kenelm before." 
 
 " Did I? It is very confusing " 
 
 ** But you made a list, I suppose.? " 
 
 " Naturally I made a list. But I have lost the list. I 
 should have thought that was obvious." 
 
 After more hunting and counting, she confessed that 
 what hitherto had been a fear was now a certainty. They 
 would be thirteen at dinner. 
 
 " Very well," said Emily, " then Claire must be left out 
 of it." 
 
 " You are sure that Leonard will be with us .? '* 
 
 " Quite," said Emily. 
 
 So it was at once arranged that, instead of attending 
 the dinner party, Claire should be sent to the theatre with 
 her aunt Agnes ; and Claire was delighted. Aunt Agnes, 
 who lived round the comer in Hans Place, proved avail- 
 able for the evening, and Claire felt very happy. 
 
 But their troubles were not over, and luncheon was a 
 flustered and uncomfortable meal. Mrs. Hackett, the 
 housekeeper, hovering round them, declared herself posi- 
 tive that sixteen people were coming. Mrs. Gilmour had 
 said so distinctly. 
 
 " If I said it I meant it.'* 
 
'.6 
 
 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 13 
 
 ** You did say it, ma'am," said Mrs. Hackett, with great 
 irmness. 
 
 ** Then you may depend upon it," said Mrs. Gilmour, 
 
 we are sixteen ; " and shortly afterwards she gave a 
 cry of triumph. " Miss Fergusson and her brother ! 
 Those were the two that had escaped me." And, counting 
 rapidly, she made the company to number sixteen, includ- 
 ing Claire. 
 
 Claire must, of course, dine with them; she could not 
 absent herself from her mother's table without cause; it 
 would not be proper for her to do so. A message was 
 therefore sent to Aunt Agnes cancelling the theatre en- 
 gagement, and Claire felt disappointed. 
 
 After luncheon two blows fell upon them in rapid suc- 
 cession. A telegram from Colonel Pirbright announced 
 with regret that his wife was ill, and both she and he must 
 beg to be excused. 
 
 " How many are we now? " said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 
 " Why, fourteen, of course." 
 
 " Then that makes no difference to you, Claire. You 
 remain with us, dear. Oh, will somebody attend to that 
 hateful telephone.'* Claire, nm and stop it. The servants 
 are all at their dinner." 
 
 Claire, returning from the telephone, had to tell them 
 that the message was from Leonard Joyce. He was very 
 sorry, but unexpected papers would detain him at the 
 office till a late hour. 
 
 " Then we are thirteen after all," said Mrs. Gilmour, 
 seating herelf forlornly on a chair in the hall. 
 
 " Bother Leonard," said Mrs. Joyce. " Then we shan't 
 require Claire. She can have her theatre treat." 
 
 " What I think you had better do, dear," said Mrs. 
 Gilmour, " is to get on your hat and coat, and go round 
 to Agnes — ^taking Pope with you, of course — and explain 
 exactly what has happened." 
 
 " Oh, I can't do that," said Claire, deprecatingly. 
 
14 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ** Aunt Agnes might be offended. But don't trouble about 
 me mother." 
 
 Mrs. Gihnour gave her a preoccupied stare, rose ab- 
 ruptly, and began to pace the black and white pavement. 
 A nasty idea haxl taken possession of her. 
 
 " I do beHeve," she said, " that I have been led into the 
 same mistake again, and counted old Sir Kenelm twice for 
 the second time. . . . If I have done so, how many are 
 we? " 
 
 "Why, twelve," said Emily. "That is, without 
 Claire." 
 
 " Without Claire? What do you mean? I counted 
 Claire. Do we require Claire or not? " 
 
 " Well, not if we are twelve." 
 
 " No, you're wrong. I mean, I'm right. It was Miss 
 Fergusson's brother I'd missed. But, now, on my honour, 
 I begin to think there's still somebody else coming. Stop. 
 I make it eleven now, without counting old Sir Kenelm." 
 
 " Then that's twelve with him. My only suggestion is 
 that Claire should be dressed and ready, and if she isn't 
 required, well, I suppose it won't kill her to have her 
 dinner upstairs in her own room." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Emily," said Claire, with her lips 
 quivering. " You are always so thoughtful and consid- 
 erate." 
 
 ** My dear child," said Emily coldly, " I am perfectly 
 willing to stand out myself if you have set your heart on 
 dining downstairs." 
 
 " You know I haven't." 
 
 " Or if you aren't ready to sacrifice yourself for the 
 good of the community." 
 
 " You know very well that I am." And Claire went to 
 a window of the morning-room and looked out at the 
 street. She did not see very much of the street; for, in 
 addition to the double glass a^id the lace curtains, she wae 
 stupidly allowing her eyes to be obscured by moisture. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 15 
 
 It seemed that nothing could bring ease to poor Mrsu 
 xilmour. She was suffering from the well-known sensa- 
 ion of having a name on the tip of her tongue and yet 
 )eing unable to utter it. She had opened every door on 
 :he ground floor and she passed from room to room 
 taunting, or keeping up a running fire of talk with Emily 
 sirhich became alternately irritable and sympathetic. 
 
 " You are not helping me, EmJly. You go on chatter- 
 ing and merely perplex me. You give me no real help.'* 
 
 " Oh, very good," and Emily had the hardest of her 
 laughs. " The rest is silence." 
 
 " I own I have been unbusinesslike this time. I am 
 usually so accurate. I can only make us nine now." 
 
 " I wish you'd sit down, mother. You're simply wear- 
 ing yourself out." 
 
 Then Mrs. Hackett, the housekeeper, came running 
 down the staircase calling: 
 
 " I've found it, ma'am. It was folded quite small in 
 the pocket of your amber satin." 
 
 It was the lost list, and Mrs. Gilmour and Mrs. Joyce 
 stood poring over it unfolded on the carved oak table. 
 
 " There," cried Mrs. Gilmour triumphantly, " I knew I 
 was right. There is somebody else. Mr. Roderick 
 Vaughan." 
 
 "Who on earth is he?" 
 
 Mr. Roderick Vaughan was a friend of Cyril, and MrsL 
 Gilmour had never seen him. Cyril had asked that he 
 should be invited. 
 
 " And Cyril himself not coming ! Well, I must say,'' 
 declared Emily, " that it's a tall order for Cyril to ask 
 an unknown man like that and not be here to entertain 
 him. How do we know who he is or what he is.'^" 
 
 " My dear, he's a friend of Cyril's." 
 
 " That doesn't say much," and Mrs. Joyce laughed 
 again. " Anyhow we know our number now." 
 
 " How many are we.? " 
 
16 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Fourteen." 
 
 " With Claire or without her? " 
 
 " Why, with her, of course. Otherwise we should be 
 thirteen." 
 
 Half an hour later they rolled away quite peacefully in 
 the car. Claire had been upstairs, and when she came 
 down to find out what was happening the car had just 
 left the door. No one had sent her any message. They 
 had gone without her. They had not known that she 
 expected to accompany them, or they had not had time 
 to look for her, or, talking together, they had failed per- 
 haps to notice that she was not in the car. 
 
 Claire went upstairs to her bedroom again. 
 
 It was just such a young girl's room as one would 
 expect to find in a house of this kind : lofty, and clean, and 
 fresh; with well-polished furniture, bright cut-glass and 
 gay wall-papers ; with dwarf bookcases full of the books 
 that are known as innocuous classics; with silver and 
 ivory on the toilet table, framed photographs on the 
 chimney-piece, a prayer book and a New Testament, both 
 beautifully bound, within reach of the head of the bed ; — 
 with all the pretty things that one would look for as 
 evidence of the care and affection that are as it were 
 laid on in such households like the electric light and the 
 hot water. 
 
 There was also a nice, chintz-covered sofa ; and Claire 
 sitting down on this, cried as though her heart would 
 break. 
 
 Her mother was always amiable to her ; Emily had the 
 very best intentions with regard to her; in all her life 
 no one had ever struck her or said a brutally unkind word 
 to her; and yet, as the tears flowed in an unchecked 
 stream, she felt utterly, abjectly miserable. 
 
 Her mother might have maternal affection for her, 
 but she did not want her. No one on earth wanted her, 
 or was really fond of her for herself. All mother's true 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE IT 
 
 1 rve was given to Cyril. The little that was left over 
 I ad been absorbed by Emily. Mother liked to have Emily 
 ^ ith her ; but no one really and truly — not mother or 
 i nybody else — wanted Claire's presence or suffered from 
 1 er absence. The warm flood of tears seemed to carry 
 i way with it the last torn fragments of her courage, her 
 lope, her power to endure. 
 
 It was the dinner-party that had finished her. She did 
 I ot wish to attend their dinner, oh, far, far from it ; she was 
 s ^ shy that such festivities were still big with dread and tor- 
 3 nent to her ; but their way of counting her into and out of 
 :he party had so fearfully " rubbed in," as Cyril would say, 
 ■he sense that they held her of absolutely no account. It 
 lad seemed all at once to symbolize by little material things 
 che spiritual neglect from which she was suffering. 
 
 Unlike her relatives, she possessed that wild, deep sort of 
 inner life which must find its issues into and links of contact 
 with external phenomena if one is to be at peace. She had 
 imagination ; the future with her was strong enough to 
 make the passing moment often seem insignificant; the 
 past was always vividly alive. To think of things was to 
 see them. Her mind was a wonderful theatre, a palace of 
 moving pictures, a whole world, too, of dreams and 
 fancies. And she thought now, as she crouched sobbing 
 against the lilacs and rosebuds on the chintz sofa cover, 
 of things past, present and to come. 
 
 The pageant of Angela's funeral, the resurrection of 
 the dead, the sound of her father's voice, the queer crack- 
 ling noise made by the white veils of the nuns at the con- 
 vent where she received her education, the play she might 
 have gone to this evening. Nurse Mitchell sitting on a low 
 chair rubbing her kne^s with liniment, the pensive ex- 
 pression of Aunt Agnes alone in Hans Place to-night — 
 she seemed to meet the same inexorable logic in everything 
 she thought of. Nobody was fond of her for herself, or 
 ever would be. 
 
18 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Nurse Mitchell had grudgingly done her duty to her, 
 holding her of less account than her brother and sister; 
 the dear nuns had been kind to her, and fond of her neither 
 more nor less than they were fond of all girls. That also 
 applied to darling Aunt Agnes. If Aunt Agnes was fonder 
 of her than of the other girls she was fond of, then it was 
 because instinctive pity mingled with the love. Cyril, 
 whom she had so worshipped years ago, had quite forgotten 
 the old bond of tenderness between them. Mrs. Drysdale 
 was awfully kind to her, but Mr. Drysdale was to Mrs. 
 Drysdale what religion was to the nuns. Nothing else 
 really mattered. Lady Grantley had been glad for her to 
 go often to that house in Park Lane and read aloud. Yes, 
 if she was useful to people they remembered her; but the 
 moment the use came to an end she ceased to exist. No one 
 had ever made a companion of her ; and it was companion- 
 ship she craved for so desperately that death seemed 
 preferable to life without it. 
 
 The storm of grief passed, and because she was so 
 young and so completely devoid of any accurate know- 
 ledge of human affairs hope returned to her. She got up 
 and walked about the pretty room, discharged a gusty sob 
 near the window, and another by the fireplace, opened 
 one of her beloved books and dropped a large tear in it 
 like a temporary book-marker, shook her head, pushed 
 back her hair from her hot forehead, and presently had 
 a wan, flickering smile. 
 
 She stood dreaming now, and her mind was as young 
 girls' minds should be — a wonderful, airy, mysterious gar- 
 den, with feathery branches of unknown trees and flowers 
 of strange, surpassing loveliness, through and beyond 
 which one catches glimpses of a golden landscape, tower- 
 ing heights and sunlit valleys, and immense distances — a 
 place as innocent as the Garden of Eden before the fall — a 
 place that you cannot understand until you have found 
 your way into it. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 19 
 
 " Oh, well, there," said Pope, her maid. " I see you've 
 l( an having another of your crying fits. It i^ a pity the 
 w ly you give way to them. But, if the truth must be 
 t( Id, I was just the same myself at your age. I'd begin 
 a I of a sudden, and then I'd go on — for no reason, you 
 ]. low, miss, but just cry and cry as if I was never going 
 i) stop." 
 
 With dignity as well as gentleness Claire indicated that 
 z lese consolatory reminiscences were not needed, and she 
 g. ave Pope some orders about her dress for the party. 
 
 In due course, then. Pope, minding her own business, 
 pressed her mistress becomingly, and Claire went down- 
 .' tairs, paused outside the doors of the big double drawings 
 rooms, opened a door, and went to meet her fate. 
 
 If one could possibly use the word success in relation 
 to such a gathering, one might say that Claire was the 
 success of the party. Not a trace of all those tears showed 
 around her eyes ; there was colour under her transparent 
 skin; and her small, white teeth were visible again and 
 again in bursts of rippling laughter. Once she thought 
 how wonderful and unfathomable life is ; for she was thor- 
 oughly enjoying herself. And old Sir Kenelm, Mr. Drys- 
 dale, and other gentlemen thought how charming is the 
 sight of a young, happy girl and what a pretty orna- 
 ment she makes at a dinner table surrounded by dull 
 fogeys. 
 
 " My little sister is quite coming out of her shell,'* 
 said Emily, patronizingly but good-naturedly. 
 
 " I do love to hear her laugh," said Mr. Drysdale senti- 
 mentally; and then he beamed in the direction of his 
 middle-aged wife, as if adding: "No disloyalty in that 
 remark to i/aii, my ever dearest. Your laugh is the 
 melody that I love best of all." 
 
 Old Sir Kenelm simpered at Claire from his place of 
 honour by her mother's side, and watching her while she 
 
20 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 prattled and laughed, called to her presently across the 
 table : 
 
 " Too bad of you, Miss Claire. I believe you are talk- 
 ing and making jokes about me/' 
 
 Nothing could have been further from the truth. She 
 was talking to Mr. Roderick Vaughan about Sam Weller's 
 father, and the jokes at which she laughed had all been 
 made by Dickens. 
 
 The new-comer had taken her down to dinner. He was 
 a strong, well-built man of over thirty. He had brown 
 eyes, full lips beneath a short brushed-up moustache, good 
 teeth, and dark, close-cropped hair. He was very fashion- 
 ably dressed, and the only man present who wore a flower 
 in his coat. But Claire noticed these outward character- 
 istics much less than the surprising and pleasant fact that 
 he was so extraordinarily easy to get on with. He talked 
 about everything in the same jolly, friendly way. He 
 did not seem to know a great deal about books, yet 
 obviously he loved reading. 
 
 " I am glad they let me sit by you,'' he said, dropping 
 his full-toned voice, and speaking confidentially towards 
 the end of the meal ; " because you have been so kind to 
 me. You know, I felt awfully nervous and shy when 
 I arrived." 
 
 " No, did you really ? " asked Claire, with enormous 
 interest and growing sympathy. " Well, I am surprised ! 
 Really shy?" 
 
 " Trembling with shyness. Naturally — never having 
 been here before. But, now, thanks to you, I feel quite 
 at home." 
 
 " I'm so glad." 
 
 " I feel " — and his voice was quite low so that Claire 
 had to lean towards him to catch the words — " I feel as if 
 we were old friends — real friends." 
 
 " So do I," said Claire, leaning back in her chair again, 
 and looking at him with her sweet, frank smile. " I feel 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 21 
 
 j ist like that. As though I had known you for ages*^* 
 Mr. Vaughan whispered no more, but for a moment sat 
 h oking at her in silence. His brown eyes rested content- 
 € lly on her slim white throat, the sharp curve of her chin, 
 h ?r sensitive, mobile lips. Then he laughed gaily and went 
 
 1 talking and eating. 
 
 He talked to her again upstairs in the drawing-room. 
 
 1 [e talked about her music. He did not know much about 
 music, but he was evidently passionately fond of it. He 
 legged her to play something on the piano, and seemed 
 f'enuinely disappointed when she explained that it was 
 cuite impossible for her to do so. 
 
 " I'll play to you some other time," she hastened to add. 
 
 " But when? " 
 
 " Why, any time — when you come to see us." 
 
 ^* Then I may come ? " 
 
 " Of course you may." And then she felt momentarily 
 (embarrassed, because she fancied she might have implied 
 an assumption of proprietorial rights in the house that she 
 did not possess. '' I mean, of course, / don't ask people 
 here. Mother does all that. But she and my sister both 
 like seeing their friends. People are always coming — I 
 mean, every day." 
 
 " Oh, I won't come every day," said Mr. Vaughan. " At 
 any rate, not at first," and he laughed cheerily. And 
 Claire laughed with him, because he had said it so funnily. 
 
 As soon as the last of the guests had gone, Mrs. Joyce 
 suggested that Claire should not be allowed to sit up any 
 longer. She herself was pining to begin with her mother 
 the chattering debate that always followed a dinner-party. 
 To-night, however, the discussion was spoilt by the return 
 of Cyril. Claire, going upstairs to bed, heard him and 
 Emily start a brisk quarrel. 
 
 "Who asked for your advice, Emily?" 
 
 " Perhaps not. But I think it's high time you got advice 
 from somebody, CyrU." 
 
22 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 And so on. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour afterwards, when Claire was 
 safe in bed reading "Pickwick" bj the shaded electric lamp 
 that stood near the prayer-book, Cyril tapped at the door 
 and came into her room. 
 
 " Claire," he said, " I hear you did the civil to my friend 
 Vaughan, and I'm much obliged to you, and have come to 
 thank you. You were always a good-natured kid. What 
 did you think of him? " 
 
 " I thought him very nice indeed." 
 
 " You did ? And I think he's a very decent fellow 
 myself. Anyhow, he put me under an obligation to him the 
 other day, and as I don't happen to like shirking my obli- 
 gations, I endeavoured to repay it by a little politeness. 
 But, if you please," and Cyril snorted indignantly, " he is 
 not good enough for my Lady Emily. No, he isn't quite 
 quite. He laughs too loud for her ladyship. Heaven 
 knows laughter is rare enough in this house, and anybody 
 ought to be praised for doing it. And who's Emily, I'd 
 like to know.? Who are we, any of us, if it comes to 
 that?" 
 
 Without doubt, short as Cyril had made the day by 
 getting up so late, it had been long enough to contain 
 events untoward to his wishes. His charmers had treated 
 him harshly, his speculations had gone wrong, he was for 
 the hour unhappy. He sat on the edge of Claire's bed, 
 looking tired, discontented, querulous. 
 
 " Do you mind if I smoke ? " And he brought out a 
 cigarette. 
 
 " No, I don't mind. But I'm not sure if mother would 
 like it." 
 
 " Oh, will she come in and see you the last thing ? " 
 
 " No," said Claire, " she won't do that, but she might 
 smell it." 
 
 " Hardly, I should think," said Cyril, lighting the 
 cigarette. And then, between the puffs, he indulged in a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 23 
 
 til side against his family and matters in general. He said 
 su h violent, reckless things before he had done that Claire 
 W; 5 quite frightened and shaken. 
 
 '*' Claire, I'm about fed up with it. One day I shall walk 
 oi fc of the house and never come back again. My father 
 or :en said he'd do it. I shall." 
 
 " Oh, Cyril ! " 
 
 " I can't stand this smug respectability. If I find 
 myself happier in freer circles — artistic circles — I claim 
 riy right to join them. What's the family to me ? " 
 
 " But mother ! You know what you are to her." 
 
 " Nevertheless, if she cannot cut herself adrift from 
 1 riddle-class prejudices, separation must ensue. I'm not 
 going to turn my back on my friends, or let ladies I admire 
 and cherish be sneered at. Sneered at for what? " And he 
 >vaved the cigarette with a superb gesture of lofty irony. 
 *' Because they are brave enough to earn their own living. 
 Cvareer at the bar. What's that but middle-class smug- 
 fiess? I'm not going to chew red tape and snuff dust for 
 the rest of my life, in order to gratify Leonard Joyce^ 
 Uncle Derek, and the others." 
 
 " Why do you keep on saying middle-class, Cyril ? 
 We aren't middle-class, are we ? " 
 
 " Of course we are, through and through. Not one 
 thing or the other, without the boldness of nobles or the 
 freedom of peasants — afraid of this, afraid of that — 
 timid in our virtues, timid in our vices — doing nothing slap 
 out — half and half people all the time — just damnably 
 middle-class. Snobs, too 1 Arrant snobs. See how we try 
 to hang on the skirts of the aristocracy, because my 
 great-aunt happened to marry the second son of a peer — 
 sucking up to all that gang — ^kow-towing to that old ass, 
 Uncle Derek. So, I say for one, I'm precious near sick of 
 it all. If they drive me a few more inches, I shall take my 
 life into my own hands. I shall seek wider horizons. I 
 shall say * Good-bye, the lot of you.' I shall take happi- 
 
24 ^ FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ness where I find it, with those who can understand and 
 appreciate me." 
 
 " But mother, Cyril ? You simply covldnH desert her.'' 
 
 " She'd get on all right without me. She thinks not, but 
 I dare say she'd settle down more comfortably, very likely, 
 without me. Oh don't you worry, Claire. I shouldn't be 
 missed, not for long." And he got up, stretched himself, 
 and threw the end of his cigarette into the fireplace. 
 *^ Now I have confided in you, because i/ou are not a snob, 
 and your conduct to-night has pleased me, and because 
 we were always pals, weren't we? Good-night." And he 
 kissed her with more apparent affection than he had 
 displayed for years. 
 
 Then, the very last thing of all, when Claire was turning 
 off the light, Mrs. Joyce came into the room. She looked 
 very big and overblown in her Japanese dressing-gown. 
 She had just finished talking things over in her mother's 
 room. 
 
 " Claire, csm you remember the exact words of your 
 fortune? Didn't she tell you there was a stranger coming 
 to the house, and he would admire you? A lot of admira- 
 tion, wasn't it? Very extraordinary! Because Mr. 
 Vaughan was an absolute stranger to us all, and both he 
 and old Sir Kenelm paid you a great deal of attention." 
 
 In her love of the marvellous and her keen desire neatly 
 to match the divination with subsequent events, she was 
 reckless now about putting nonsense into the girl's head. 
 She went away, murmuring, " Very extraordinary, I Ttmst 
 say." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A LL thought of the queerly foreshadowed stranger, 
 
 A-% Mr. Vaughan, was soon banished from the mind of 
 
 ^ * Mrs. Gilmour by strange occurrences on that shift- 
 
 iig quicksand of accidents which she had crossed in her 
 
 c aily life for so many years. 
 
 On the afternoon that followed the dinner party, her 
 (Id friend Sir Kenehn Grantley drove up to the house in 
 Ids neat little brougham, presumably for the purpose of 
 telling Mrs. Gilmour how much he had enjoyed himself 
 (vver night, and to present to her the orchid blooms and the 
 box of peaches that he had brought with him in the car- 
 riage. Mrs. Gilmour, highly gratified by these civilities, 
 left him alone with Claire in the morning-room, while she 
 attended to her presents ; and, engrossed in the amuse- 
 ment of watching Mrs. Hackett put the orchids in water^ 
 and Belton take the peaches out of cotton wool, she per- 
 mitted herself to abandon the visitor for a considerable 
 time, if she did not temporarily forget about him alto- 
 gether. 
 
 " Ah, yes, indeed,'* said Sir Kenelm to Claire, " Isabelle 
 was more than my better half. She was a saint, in the 
 full meaning of the word. Not narrow^ but brimming over 
 with love and charity for all mankind. So patient too. 
 You had many opportunities of seeing her patience and 
 fortitude under all that grievous pain." 
 
 Claire had indeed been very kind to his poor dead wife, 
 and he now went maundering on about this. 
 
 " The little friend with the light foot-fall! That's how 
 I used to think of you ; " and he smiled at her tenderly. 
 " Oh, yes, I observed you — although not allowed to share 
 in the sweet companionship. I used to listen to your voice, 
 
 25 
 
26 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 as I stood outside the door, when you were reading aloud 
 to h^r. I often wished to enter the room and peep at you, 
 but would not do so for fear of appearing intrusive or 
 troublesome ; " and he took Claire's hand, and patted it 
 softly. " You don't mind my dwelling on the past ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. I'm so sorry for you — so dreadfully sorry.'* 
 
 She did not mind. She was full of sympathy. When 
 Lady Grantley died it had been said that he would not live 
 for more than two years ; and Claire had taken a childish 
 interest in this prognostication, wondering if grief really 
 killed people, and why, if so, its lethal action was thus 
 delayed. Why did it not kill at once ? However, that was 
 over four years ago, and here was Sir Kenelm still alive, 
 looking no more feeble than he had always looked, smiling, 
 and patting her hand till the gentle exercise seemed to 
 fatigue him, and relinquishing it he began to cough. 
 
 ^' I only caught my breath, dear Miss Claire. What was 
 I saying ? Yes, I think you felt that the old house was a 
 sort of second home to you. You knew that your presence 
 there was looked for with pleasure. It is all just the same. 
 Nothing has been altered. It needs redecorating, I dare 
 say. I wish you would come and go over it with me." 
 
 Claire said very politely and sympathetically that if 
 Sir Kenelm wished it she would be only too glad. She 
 would ask her mother to take her up to Park Lane at the 
 first opportunity. 
 
 " Yes," said old Sir Kenelm. " I will speak to your 
 mamma myself. I will tell her my wish. I will tell her 
 all my wishes. I must say nothing further to you. Miss 
 Claire, till I have addressed her." 
 
 And by dinner-time this same evening it was known to 
 everybody in the house, as well as to a good many people 
 outside the house, that Sir Kenelm had made a formal 
 proposal for the hand of Miss Claire in marriage. 
 
 Claire laughed when they told her about it. Really it 
 seemed so monstrously ridiculous that she thought it was 
 all a joke; but Mrs. Gilmour assured her that Sir Kenelm 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 2t 
 
 ■^ s quite in earnest, and an answer must be given to him. 
 
 '*' The answer is in the negative, of course," said Claire, 
 st 11 smiling. " But I do wonder what on earth made him 
 t ink of marrying me^ of all people." 
 
 *' Well, my dear, it seems that watching you grow up he 
 
 I ,s formed a very high opinion of your character. He 
 t J inks you are the only person he would really care to see 
 c,^ leening it in the place of poor Lady Grantley. He has 
 
 I I oumed for her long and deeply, but now, as I gather, he 
 c )nsiders that the time has come again to admit brightness 
 a ad gaiety into his life." 
 
 Claire had ceased smiling. Truly it was no laughing 
 matter. She stared at the faces of her mother and Emily, 
 and became almost horror-stricken; for she saw plainly 
 that both of them considered the dreadful boring old 
 gentleman to be quite a possible husband. A bitterly pain- 
 ful thought came to her: ''How they must want to be 
 lid of me, if they are ready to jump at such a chance as 
 this." 
 
 Her mother had perhaps been as much surprised and 
 nearly as much shocked by the notion as Claire herself, 
 when their ancient friend opened his mind to them. But 
 then she began to see the advantages of the plan. It would 
 cut the knot of so many fast approaching difficulties. 
 There! would be no season to do next year, with its heavy 
 task of chaperonage. Claire, of course, would go to Court 
 on her marriage, and that would be her husband's business. 
 If Claire fell into the plan, of her own free will, it would 
 mean an escape from all kinds of trouble and weariness. 
 But Mrs. GUmour was very firm with herself when thinking 
 in this manner. She said, " What I have to hope for is 
 what will be best for Claire, and not what will be most con- 
 venient to me and others." 
 
 She said this to Claire next day, and repeated the same 
 sort of thing day after day. 
 
 " I don't want to influence you either way — for or 
 against. It is for you to decide." 
 
28 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ** Mother, I couldn't. I simply covl&nH,''^ 
 
 " Very well, dear. All I say is, in justice to Sir Kenelm, 
 it would not be kind to give too hasty a refusal, even if 
 you have already made up your mind.'* 
 
 " Mother," cried Claire, " promise me you're not going 
 to make me do it against my wiD." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Mrs. Gihnour, with firmness. 
 ^ That would be very wrong indeed." 
 
 Nevertheless she continued to brood upon the advan- 
 tageous side of the proposal. From time immemorial she 
 and the rest of the family had never spoken of the suitor 
 except as ^* old Sir Kenelm ; " but now it was to be ob- 
 €erved that neither she nor anyone else used the invidious 
 qualification when mentioning his name. 
 
 Emily Joyce was altogether in favour of the match, 
 which, as she declared, many people would regard as a most 
 brilliant one; and she made nothing of the disparity of 
 the respective ages of husband and wife. 
 
 " I wouldn't say in all cases, but in this case I don't 
 think it matters a straw," she declared roundly. " You 
 see, Claire is such an odd, aloof sort of girl that she will 
 never miss the sort of things some girls might crave for. 
 She likes elderly people. Who are her especial friends ? 
 Who do€S. she make chums of ? Why, Aunt Agnes, Mrs. 
 Drysdale, that Mr. Giles the writing man. Every one of 
 them elderly. And Lady Grantley! Older than Sir 
 Kenelm himself. I challenge you to name any girls or 
 young men for whom she has ever seemed to show any 
 partiality." 
 
 And Mrs. Gilmour agreed, forgetting, no doubt, that 
 Claire had not been afforded many opportunities of show- 
 ing pleasure in juvenile society. 
 
 " No," continued Emily, " Claire was born to be a nurse 
 or guardian. It is an instinct with her to be moved quickly 
 by the least feeling of pity ; and all the more credit to her 
 Jor it. She likes looking after invalids, taking care of 
 Ettle children, and all that. I have noticed her again and 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 20 
 
 ag tiiL If there was anybody here as a visitor who was 
 la I le, or in deep mourning, or looking neglected, Claire 
 wc lid always work her way round to them and as it were 
 W£ tch over them and try to make them comfortable. It 
 W: s just the same thing the other night when that Mr. 
 Vj ughan came. Because she thought we were inclined to 
 lo >k down on him and treat him coldly she was all over 
 hi n. You know what I mean? The slang phrase. Well, 
 of course, with Sir Kenelm, that instinct of her nature will 
 hi thoroughly satisfied. Furthermore," and Emily 
 laughed; "that argument of his age cuts both ways., 
 Bother, doesn't it? If Sir Kenelm is so old, he isn't going 
 t: live for ever. Which means that Claire will be left roll- 
 ing in money and her own mistress while still a young 
 woman." 
 
 She spoke freely to Claire of other material consider^ 
 & :ions in favour of Sir Kenelm. His collection of pictures 
 was as interesting as valuable. And beyond the Park 
 Lane house there was the place in Buckinghamshire where 
 lie grew the orchids and the early peaches. " Really 
 beautiful gardens," Leonard says ; " all in terraces, one 
 above another. You Wee gardens, Claire." 
 
 But Claire was unmoved by arguments, or rather waa 
 frightened instead of being convinced by them. She 
 thought of being the wife of Sir Kenelm without at all 
 thinking of what marriage really means. She saw herself 
 driving about in the pill-box brougham with him, fetching 
 one of his white scarfs to wrap round his neck, reading 
 aJoud to him late at night, and did not even think of hav- 
 ing to kiss him when they met at breakfast in the morning. 
 Yet her thoughts were sufficient. She understood that she 
 would belong to him. She knew that he would be her daily 
 companion, and she knew that she could not bear it. So 
 with tears she implored her mother to tell Sir Kenelm out- 
 right, and at once, that he must replace Lady Grantley 
 with somebody else or continue to rub along by himself. 
 
 " Very well, dear," said Mrs. Gilmour. " It shall be so. 
 
30 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Now dry your eyes — and help me to look for my tortoise- 
 shell card-case. The way things disappear from under 
 one's very hands. Really as if bewitched. I had it a 
 moment ago. . . . Oh, thank you so much, Claire." 
 
 Being always as good as her word, whenever she hap- 
 pened to remember it, Mrs. Gilmour duly delivered Claire's 
 ultimatum to Sir Kenelm; but it was only to bring forth 
 another unforeseen weariness to her. Sir Kenelm said 
 he would not take " No " for an answer. 
 
 *^ Oh, no," he said gallantly, " charming young ladies 
 must not be hurried, much less pestered, on such occasions. 
 It is their privilege to claim unlimited time to make up 
 their minds. It is all a new idea to dear Miss Claire, 
 although one that I have nourished for a great while. Tell 
 her to take time, and that I shall go on hoping ; " and he 
 sat in front of Mrs. Gilmour, smiling, simpering, nodding 
 his bald head, while she sat staring at him with an expres- 
 sion of worry and fatigue. 
 
 *^ No, my dear ^old friend, it is no idle fancy with me. 
 Assure our dear young lady that I am not angry or even 
 huffed because she cannot at once gratify my wishes. I 
 will wait — yes, quite patiently." 
 
 There was nothing about him either satyric or sugges- 
 tive of the two apocryphal elders; he was simply idiotic. 
 Although fully alive to the charm of the girl's youth and 
 freshness, he had not a single sensual or unworthy thought. 
 He too thought of the marriage as of a life-long com- 
 panionship and nothing else. In imagination he also saw 
 himself driving about in the little brougham with his young 
 wife. He saw himself slip his arm in hers and take a little 
 support from her as they ascended the stairs at Christie & 
 Maason's rooms. He heard himself twaddling to her 
 about one of the lots for sale — a real little gem — The 
 Haymcbkers by Wackermann— panel — ten Inches by eight. 
 *' Shall we secure it for our! very own, Claire? Very well, 
 dear. You and I will sit side by side over here looking 
 very unconcerned, while Mr. Isaacson bids for us." Then 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 31 
 
 B :ter hours spent in such pleasant bandinage and excite- 
 r ent, they would drive home in the brougham with The 
 1 [aymakers between them, both of them holding it, both of 
 t lem as happy as birds. All that he saw or heard in these 
 i aaginings was intensely enjoyable to him; and he was s<» 
 V ^mpletely incapable of mentally putting himself in an- 
 ( ther person's place that he could not for a moment xuider- 
 ;tand that it would not all be enjoyed by Claire too. 
 
 " No, no," he repeated, smiling benevolently. " I do 
 3 lot dream of renouncing my suit ; and all will come right 
 n the end. If you will permit me to come now and then, 
 !I will not abuse the privilege. And I promise not to be 
 obtrusive either, by asking for a tete-a-tete with Mademoi- 
 ;jelle — unless she herself graciously suggests it. 1 will let 
 :ime plead my cause." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour, reporting the conversation to Emily, 
 said it got on her nerves; but Emily avowed that she 
 thought the attitude adopted by Sir Kenelm was rather 
 fine. 
 
 ^*.But what are we to do? If he persists, it will be 
 agitating Claire to no purpose as well as being so wearing 
 to everybody else." 
 
 During these weeks of doubt and anxiety Mr. Roderick 
 Vaughan had come to the house once or twice, and Mrs, 
 Gilmour had been too preoccupied to bother aboiit him. 
 He also brought presents — more flowers for Mrs. Gilmour, 
 a box of sweets for Emily, and a book for Claire. His 
 presence was a relief to Claire; she compared him with 
 the silly old man, and the comparison was very much in 
 Mr. Roderick's favour. The little compact of friendship 
 that they had made at their first meeting was tacitly re- 
 newed or confirmed ; and in several conversations with 
 him, although naturally she did not speak of Sir Kenelm, 
 she found herself talking of her thoughts and feelings with 
 more freedom than she had ever yet attained. 
 
 One afternoon when her mother and sister returned from 
 Woollands' spring sale, Claire was playing Chopin to him 
 
32 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 in the morning-roam. He leaned on the piano watching 
 her face, her attentive eyes, her busy fingers; and their 
 low-toned voices made an accompaniment to the slow move- 
 ment of the nocturne. He sprang to attention when the 
 others entered the room, and for the remainder of the 
 visit was assiduous in making himself agreeable to Mrs. 
 Joyce; laughing exuberantly, at one of her facetious 
 anecdotes, accusing her of cynicism, and even venturing 
 tentatively and deferentially to chaff her. He succeeded 
 so well that he was allowed to extend his visit till long 
 after tea; and then, at the last, astounding as it seemed, 
 he only went away in order to dress and come back to 
 dinner. He had gained Emily's approbation, at any rate 
 for one evening, by his brilliant suggestion that he should 
 take her and Claire to the Palace Music Hall to see the 
 wonderful new thought-readers about whom all the world 
 was talking. 
 
 "You do like him now, don't you, Emily?'' Claire 
 asked her after the music hall entertainment. 
 
 *' Yes," said Mrs. Joyce cordially. " I think he is a 
 very cheery person, and most obliging. . . . Did you ever 
 see anything more astounding than that man's reading of 
 the post-mark on my envelope? He read it without a 
 moment's pause. You bear me out in that? And the en- 
 velope had never been within sixty feet of him." 
 
 Henceforth Mr. Vaughan and Emily, for a little while, 
 hit it off together extremely well. They indulged now in 
 passages of open chaff, a rough-and-ready cudgel play of 
 humour rather than the fine rapier work of wit, during 
 which Emily became quite elemental, as was her wont when 
 gay, and used such expressions as " Oh, go along; Yes, I 
 dare say ; I have been there before, thank you "—expres- 
 sions which would have greatly surprised her, could they 
 have been carefully recorded and submitted to her for 
 consideration, when she had cooled down after her 
 merriment. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 33 
 
 Treated thus, not at all as a stranger but on familiar 
 and easy terms, Roddy, as he said he was called by his 
 intimates, aided with advice sometimes in the minor difficul- 
 ties which each hour produced for the household. 
 
 " The only chance of getting the hat safely home," said 
 Emily decisively, " is to send somebody to fetch it before 
 Madame Alcide closes." 
 
 She was speaking of her own new hat, which she craved 
 to wear to-morrow morning, and which would have been 
 here now if Madame Alcide had kept her promise. 
 
 " Yes," she repeated, " the only possible chance. It's 
 past five, and I believe she closes at six. But who can go? 
 Claire, may I send Pope? Do run and tell her to get 
 ready without a moment's delay." 
 
 " Who is Pope? " asked Roddy Vaughan, showing po- 
 lite interest in everything. 
 
 " Claire's maid." 
 
 Emily was fond of sending Pope on errands, and, be- 
 lieving that Pope had insufficient work to do, often taxed 
 her brain to find something which would keep Pope busy ; 
 but this was a case of urgency. She really needed Pope 
 now. 
 
 Then, however, the question arose as to how to convey 
 Pope to the bonnet-maker's. Mrs. Gilmour did not wish 
 to disturb the chauffeur again. Yet if Pope went mud- 
 dling round in omnibuses or failed to get a cab, the whole 
 errand might prove a failure. Time inexorably urged 
 her. 
 
 Roddy Vaughan was prompt with an offer of assistance. 
 *^ I'll take her there in my taxi, and send her back in it." 
 
 " It's too kind of you, but I oughtn't to let you do it," 
 said Emily, brisk and gracious as she hurried him out to 
 the hall. \ 
 
 A minute later he and Pope were rattling through Len- 
 nox Gardens in the taxi-cab. She was a shapely and suf- 
 ficiently well-favoured young woman of thirty or thirty- 
 
34 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 two, and Roddy at once paid her a full-bodied downright 
 compliment on her personal charms. 
 
 " Oh, really," said Pope, apparently neither scared nor 
 offended. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Pope, that's a fact, as you know very well, 
 my dear, in spite of your fascinating modesty. You don't 
 run short of sweethearts, I'm sure ; " and he laughed 
 genially. " But don't think I'm going to ask you to add 
 me to their number. Very likely I should have, in other 
 circumstances; but just now, as it happens, I'm desperate- 
 ly in love with somebody else — your young mistress." 
 » " Oh, sir, I don't know whether it's right for me to 
 listen when you tell me things like that." 
 
 " Of course it is. I'm candid and open. I never beat 
 about — always come straight to the point." 
 
 He had brought out his sovereign purse, and lamplight 
 as they passed it showed him extracting one gold coin 
 after another as though he expected to have a big bill to 
 pay for the taxi-cab. 
 
 " I want you to put me up to all sorts of tips — to tell 
 me all about her, and mamma and the others — the whole 
 state of affairs — and to be quick about it. I swear you 
 can trust me. My intentions are strictly honourable, and 
 I'm beginning to worship the ground she treads on." 
 
 Importuned so earnestly. Pope told him at least this ; 
 that she believed Miss Claire had never been happy at 
 home, and that she was very unhappy there now because 
 they were all trying to make her marry a horrid elderly 
 gentleman for his money. 
 
 " But they won't do it," said Roddy. " Not if / can 
 help it. And not if i/ou can help it either, eh? Remem- 
 ber, Miss Pope, on my word of honour, I'm not the sort 
 that forgets the friends who give him a hand. No, I'm 
 grateful, and I make it worth their while, if it lies in my 
 power to do so." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 * 'TTTI MILY," said Mrs. Gilraour, " your aunt Agnes 
 
 Bi i has sent me a rather silly letter. Somebody has 
 been telling her about Sir Kenelm. I wonder who 
 ^an possibly have told her." 
 
 " Oh, everybody knows. What does Aunt Agnes say 
 ;n her letter? " 
 
 " Well, for one thing, she says she is coming round to 
 see us. I must confess that I sometimes dread Agnes. She 
 in so incurably sentimental, and in any argument with her 
 I always feel at a disadvantage from the fact that she is 
 still unmarried. One has to keep on remembering that 
 although over sixty she is a spinster, and there are there- 
 fore so many topics that one cannot touch upon, much 
 less discuss without reserve." 
 
 Miss Agnes Graham was Mrs. Gilmour's only sister, 
 and their characters and temperaments were singularly 
 unlike. Possessed of a modest competence, Agnes lived in 
 her quaint little house in Hans Place, surrounded by pretti- 
 ness, taste, order, and comfort. She was adventurous, 
 fond of travel, always eager for new experiences. Al- 
 though so quiet and ladylike, she Was absolutely emanci- 
 pated in all her ideas; she was not afraid of any facts; 
 she had no prejudices, no religion, not even superstitions; 
 but she was extraordinarily kind, believing firmly in love, 
 and that this one short life of ours should not be wasted. 
 She was devoted to young people, especially to Claire- 
 much more so than Claire herself knew. 
 
 Her reputation for excessive sentimentality had been 
 earned solely by the things she said concerning youth and 
 love. She spoke at all times gently, almost caressingly; 
 but, as the family knew well, she had often a do^vnright 
 
 35 
 
36 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tongue, and on occasions could utter very sharp words 
 with a very sweet manner. 
 
 When angry she never lost control of herself, but her 
 bright little eyes used to glitter, and faint red patches 
 glowed high on her cheekbones, almost as if she had dabbed 
 them with a rouge pad. Both these danger signals were 
 perceptible as she gently told Mrs. Gilmour and Emily 
 that it was an impious shame to traffic with Sir Kenelm 
 in young flesh and blood. 
 
 " What ideas you do get into your head, Agnes. Of 
 course Claire isn't going to be forced to do anything 
 against her will." 
 
 "Isn't she.? I'm glad to hear it," said Agnes, in 
 soothing tones. " But if you are tired of her and don't 
 appreciate her, let her come and live with me. Give her 
 her money — ^let her have the money to which she's entitled,^ 
 and ril take care of her." 
 
 " She isn't entitled to any money," said EmUy. " No 
 money at all till she's twenty-five years of age." 
 
 "Isn't she, Emily dear.f^ But she's entitled to a just 
 and proper lise of the money, for her benefit. And the 
 capital too, if she marries a suitable husband." 
 
 " Yes, if mother approves and consents." 
 
 '* It doesn't look, dear, as if your mother's approval 
 will be difficult to gain." 
 
 " I don't agree," said Emily, tackling her aunt in a 
 matter-of-fact and resolute style. " As mother has told 
 you, she has no intention of influencing Claire in favour of 
 Sir Kenelm. Claire has said * No,' and nothing will be done 
 unless she says * Yes.' But in my humble opinion " 
 
 " Oh, I wouldn't call it humble, Emily dear. At any 
 rate, you're always ready to give it to us, aren't you? " 
 
 " That may be so or not ; " and Emily laughed hardly. 
 " But my opinion is, for what it's worth, that from knowl- 
 edge of Claire and all the circumstances she can't do bet- 
 ter than accept Sir Kenelm's offer." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 37 
 
 "But what ai:e the circumstances? " And the eyes of 
 . iunt Agnes were glittering. " Da you mean that Claire 
 ] las fallen in love with the old monkey ? " 
 
 Mrs, Gilmour made a helpless gesture. There you were. 
 >heer sentimentality. But, determined to bear with it, 
 lowever fatiguing, she spoke tolerantly and placidly. 
 
 " Agnes, of course what Emily implies is that Claire at 
 ler age is perhaps not so competent to judge as are those 
 dth far greater experience and much older than she." 
 
 " Meaning you and Emily.? " 
 
 " Emily winced and flushed ; Mrs. Gilmour went on 
 smoothly. 
 
 " Marriages made simply for love sound very attractive, 
 when described in books and so forth, but does not ex- 
 perience show that they are often far from the happiest .f* 
 Our parents made the match between Claire's father and 
 me, and I will freely confess that I was not in love with 
 him." 
 
 " No," said Agnes, " but you did not dislike him as 
 much as you came to do afterwards." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour gave a little cry as of pain, and then 
 quite lost her temper. She said that Agnes had seriously 
 offended her. She and the late Mr. Gilmour had been very, 
 very fond of each other. 
 
 " Yes," said Agnes, with an air of pouring oil on 
 troubled waters, " but you were glad when he was away, 
 and bored when he was at home. Surely there must be 
 something better in life than that." 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour had been so greatly upset that it 
 was some little while before Emily could restore her to her 
 usual calmness. " He was a little exacting at times," she 
 said, still heatedly, to Agnes, " but you may be quite sure 
 of this. I could not do without him — and I don't think 
 he could have done without me. Emily, you are not to 
 believe there is the slightest true foundation for your 
 aunt's odious taunt." 
 
38 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " No, mother, that's all right," said Emily. " I don't 
 think Aunt Agnes always understands the double-edged 
 character of remarks she lets fall." 
 
 Aunt Agnes smiled sweetly. 
 
 " Anyhow," she said, " you have both reassured me. 
 Claire has been sacrificed all her life till now. She mustn't 
 be sacrificed in this. You speak of my lack of under- 
 standing, EmUy, and I am sorry if I am dense. But at 
 any rate, I am not so stupid as to fail to appreciate 
 Claire. She really mustn't be sacrificed. It would be too 
 absurd — with that perfect nature of hers. And she's so 
 pretty." 
 
 Involuntarily Emily sneered. " Yes," she said patron- 
 izingly. " I suppose she is — in her way." 
 
 " Yes, dear Emily, we know her way isn't your way. 
 But beauty isn't necessarily measured by weight or size. 
 The other day a young man was raving to me about her." 
 
 " What young man ? " 
 
 " A very nice well-bred young man — Mr. Everett." 
 
 " Oh, that priggish person. Foreign Office clerk, isn't 
 he? He has the regular Foreign Office manner. Leonard 
 says they get it the day after they're appointed." 
 
 " Well, my dear, we can't all be solicitors, you know." 
 
 Aunt Agnes left them both in a ruffled condition, and 
 hurried upstairs for a moment's talk with Claire. She 
 said that lately she had not seen as much of Claire as she 
 wished, and suggested that they should spend to-morrow 
 afternoon together. 
 
 Claire regretted that to-morrow would be impossible, be- 
 cause she had arranged to pay a visit to Nurse Mitchell, 
 and she did not like to disappoint the poor old soul. 
 
 " Then I must wait," said Miss Graham. " But don't 
 go on neglecting me. Now I will run away." 
 
 Nurse Mitchell having done such protracted work in 
 the Gilmour's nursery was now a pensioner of the house. 
 She lived at Richmond; and as Claire was the only mem- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 39 
 
 bi r of the family who ever went near her, she had come 
 a most to adore Claire, quite forgetting her own unkind- 
 11 ss in the past, and believing that, as she said, Claire had 
 f a ways been her prime favourite. Claire, incapable of 
 " n mrishing resentment, gave herself to the old woman's 
 fancies, went to see her as frequently as possible; and 
 }) 'ought on these visits baskets of grocery, a bottle of wine, 
 a cake, which she purchased at shops, and so saved all 
 b 'ouble to Mrs. Hackett, Belton, or the cook. 
 
 Thus ^provisioned, then, with Pope in attendance, she^ 
 vent on the following afternoon to Sloane Street station, 
 ) nd almost the first person that she saw when she reached 
 he platform was Mr. Roderick Vaughan. 
 
 ^' I'm off to Richmond," said Roddy, smiling. " Where 
 £,re you going? " 
 
 '* I am going to Richmond, too," said Claire. " How 
 funny meeting you." 
 
 " How lucky," said Roddy. 
 
 And Pope looked as if it was all pure fun and luck, 
 entirely unassisted by her. 
 
 At Richmond, Mr. Vaughan was very useful carrying 
 the baskets, getting a fly to take them half way up the 
 hill, to the row of cottages where Nurse Mitchell lived, and 
 helping them out when they arrived at her door. He was 
 so nice to Mitchell that he won her heart at once. In 
 audible whispers behind his back, with significant nods toe, 
 she pronounced him to be a fine handsome gentleman, 
 ** more robust and solid-built than Master Cyril ; " and 
 to his face she related how Miss Claire had always been 
 " the flower of the flock," her own favourite, and " able 
 to turn Nana round her little finger." 
 
 Having polished off Nurse Mitchell in this satisfactory 
 manner, he took Claire for a walk up the other half of 
 the hill, along the famous terrace, past the Star and Gar- 
 ter Hotel, and into the park; with Pope demurely 
 following. 
 
40 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " What a lark- this is,*' he said gaily. " So jolly to be 
 out of stuffy old London, if only for an hour." 
 
 He was gay and light-hearted, enjoying everything; 
 and Claire enjoyed it all, too — the view of the river as it 
 meandered whitely through vague fields and woods, the 
 deer moving under leafless trees, dusk falling upon the grey 
 valley, lamplight in the town, tea at a tea-shop, the crowd 
 pouring out of the railway station when they got back 
 to it again. 
 
 By that time he had told her heaps and heaps of inter- 
 esting things about his bold and adventurous life; ex- 
 periences during the South African war when he was serv- 
 ing in the yeomanry, wanderings in America, a wonderful 
 trip to Peru on a commercial mission. He described what 
 he had seen in very simple words and yet vividly ; without 
 any vainglory, although he could not deny that memories 
 of crossing the Andes and examining the stupendous monu- 
 m,ents left by the Incas, rather dwarfed the effect of Rich- 
 mond Hill and the Star and Garter Hotel. 
 
 " Thank you so much," said Claire, at the railway 
 station. " I have enjoyed it immensely." And indeed 
 it was the happiest afternoon that she had spent for years. 
 
 " I shall see you home, of course," said Roddy. 
 
 " Oh, no, please don't trouble," said Claire. " Let us 
 say good-bye here. Because I am sure you would rather 
 go in a smoking-carriage." 
 
 But, as Roddy said, he could smoke at any time, when 
 he was all alone, with nobody to talk to ; and he did not 
 intend to cut short a minute of this pleasant treat. He 
 offered suggestions, in fact, that they should prolong it by 
 returning to London via Waterloo, instead of taking the 
 direct route by the District railway, and work their way 
 roimd to Sloane Street from a distance. Claire, however, 
 could not agree to these suggestions. 
 
 She was a little embarrassed, too, when he proposed to 
 her before they parted that they should arrange for an- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 41 
 
 her of these jolly meetings in the near future. He said 
 t tat if she would let him know at what time and place she 
 A 3uld be likely to be on any day, he could easily get there. 
 
 1 or instance, if she was out shopping, either in the morn- 
 g or afternoon, and had an hour or so to spare, they 
 
 : mid slip off together for a stroll in Regent's Park, or go 
 t > the British Museum, or the Westminster Cathedral, 
 c r any unfrequented spot where they would not be likely to 
 r urn into friends or acquaintances. 
 
 " No, I couldn't do that," said Claire. " It's very kind 
 c f you, but I know how busy you are. It wouldn't be right 
 td let you waste your time." 
 
 " You know, surely, that I shouldn't consider it wasted.'* 
 
 " We shall meet at home, of course," said Claire ; and 
 he did not urge her any further. 
 
 Nevertheless, although she would not as yet make ap- 
 pointments with him outside the home circle, they met 
 several times by accident. Chance seemed to be strangely 
 propitious to him in the weeks that followed, and she and 
 Pope came upon him in the most unlikely places. For a 
 busy man, doing work connected with the Stock Exchange, 
 he was much in the West End by daylight. 
 
 April had come now, more cold and blustery this year 
 than the month of March, an east wind sweeping the skies 
 at dusk as if with a fiery red broom that left its mark from 
 the horizon to the zenith. In Hyde Park, everything was 
 turning grey and indistinct as night approached; one 
 heard carriages that one could not see; lamps began to 
 show on the bridge across the Serpentine. There were still 
 a few promenaders on the paths by the water; and along 
 one of these paths Claire and Mr. Vaughan walked side 
 by side, with the faithful Pope following at a respectful 
 distance. To-day Claire had told him that he could meet 
 her here. She had been to tea with Mrs. Drysdale in 
 Cleveland Square and was on her way home. 
 
42 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ** But I do trust you, Roddy. Why do you say that so 
 often? " 
 
 "Because I love you so much, Claire." 
 
 *' Really and truly?" 
 
 ** I can't live without you." 
 
 As they strolled on they talked of their first meeting, of 
 their incipient friendship, and of the marvellous rapidity 
 with which it had ripened. 
 
 " But, Claire, you must never call it a friendship again, 
 after to-day." 
 
 Then she told him of the very wonderful circumstances 
 in connection with the fortune-telling performed by a 
 friend of her sister. " You know, Roddy, I'm not like 
 Emily. I honestly don't believe in fortunes by cards, or 
 by anything else. I simply can't. And I don't truly think 
 one ought to. But this is exactly what happened." And 
 she described how their friend had instructed her to wish 
 and not tell her wish to anybody. " Roddy, I was feeling 
 so lonely and unhappy — without any cause, you know, be- 
 cause I had nothing to complain of. But I couldn't help 
 it. And I wished that some one would be fond of me, and 
 want me for my very self. Roddy, has my wish really 
 come true? " 
 
 "Want you? I tell you I can't go on living without 
 
 you." 
 
 " Then I shan't have spoilt the wish by telling it," and 
 Claire laughed contentedly. " She said I wasn't to tell it 
 — and I haven't, except to you. Do you remember, at 
 dinner that night you said you were shy? But, 
 Roddy, you'd never be able to guess how shy I felt. 
 And then directly I seemed to feel that you were 
 different." 
 
 " So I am. So I will be always. But never so different 
 as you. Claire, there's nobody in all the wide world fit 
 to compare with you." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " And Claire laughed again, softly 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 43 
 
 i\ id happily. " You mustn't say things hke that to me, 
 ^^ ou must save them for Emily." 
 
 He slipped his arm through hers, and pressed close 
 a gainst her as they walked on. 
 
 " Now, Claire, my own dearest Claire, we may have a 
 ', t of a battle to fight, and you must swear that you'll 
 . ick to me through thick and thin." 
 
 " Through thick and thin. I swear it, Roddy." 
 
 " Your people may make objections. They're pretty 
 are to." 
 
 "Why should they?" 
 
 " They'll probably say I'm too old for you." 
 
 " Roddy, they simply can't say that,'' 
 
 ** They'll say I haven't enough money." 
 
 " Well, I have a little money of my own, I believe. So 
 ihat won't matter either." 
 
 " You darling girl ! But take it from me there's sure 
 to be opposition. We'll surmount it all right. Only 
 you've got to be brave, for my sake. They can't separate 
 us if y(5u stand firm." 
 
 " I'll do anything you tell me, Roddy." 
 
 Then he went on very earnestly, and made her repeat 
 her vow to be true to him. 
 
 " In less than a year you'll be your own mistress, but of 
 course they still pretend to some sort of power over you. 
 If it came to a real row, we could just run off together. 
 No power on earth could prevent us doing it. You see 
 that, don't you, Claire? But naturally I want to treat 
 your mother with deference and courtesy. But there it is, 
 you have only to walk out of the front door and we can 
 be married anywhere. All the relations in the world can't 
 undo a marriage." 
 
 " No, I suppose not. Roddy, I must go home now. It's 
 getting late." 
 
 " All right. But don't forget what I have told you, 
 and that you have solemnly promised yourself to me. Re- 
 
44 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 member, too, that I am always there, close at hand, no 
 further away than New Bond Street. If there is a real 
 crisis — if they bully you — above all, if you find out that 
 they are plotting to take you right away where I couldn't 
 get at you — ^why, then, just walk straight out of the house 
 and come to me.*' 
 
 Then he wanted to kiss her; but she said it was im- 
 possible in this public place. 
 
 " You'd let me do it otherwise.'' '' 
 
 " Of course.'' 
 
 He looked about him, and after a moment or two led 
 her close to one of the big elm trees. 
 
 ** No one can see us here. Claire, I must. Look for 
 yourself. You can't see what those people over there are 
 doing." 
 
 He had taken off his hat, and putting his left arm round 
 her waist he drew her to him. 
 
 It was a hasty, evanescent embrace, and she kissed him 
 just as she would have kissed her mother, as a child 
 kisses; putting her cheek against his, and in her hurry 
 kissing only the air. 
 
 But to him it was glorious, a delicate foretaste of the 
 rapture that was coming to him. After parting from her 
 presently, he walked eastward with triumphant footsteps, 
 feeling larger, stronger, and more important than he had 
 ever felt in his life^ thinking that the chequered, up-and- 
 down history of his existence was culminating in a splen- 
 dour as prodigious as could be found in any last chapter 
 of a fairy tale. 
 
 Before going home Claire looked in upon her Aunt 
 Agnes at Hans Place, and they sat for a little while by 
 the cheerful, crackling wood fire in one of the pretty little 
 rooms that were always so pleasant and restful. Claire's 
 large eyes wandered round the room, glancing at the 
 chintz curtains, the lattice fronts of low bookcases through 
 which the lovely readable books showed varied but gentle 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 45 
 
 C( lours, the row of framed miniatures, the palely-tinted 
 ci gravings, the blue and white china in a comer cupboard; 
 a id she smiled introspectively. She was thinking that if 
 t,] e e^er had a home of her own, she would wish it to be 
 i rnished in this simple style, with such modest, ordinary 
 i lings as these, and not with the heterogeneous grandeurs 
 o ■ her mother's mansion. 
 
 " Claire," said Miss Graham, watching her face, " what 
 Ii as happened to you ? You are full of new thoughts this 
 e irening.'' 
 
 " Am I, Aunt Agnes ? Are you a thought-reader, 
 too? " And Claire laughed and took Miss Graham's hand 
 Slid squeezed it. " Yes, I have some good news that I 
 \^anted to tell you — as the very first person to hear about 
 it.'' 
 
 And she told her aunt how there was now a man that 
 vshe was fond of. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " A friend of Cyril's— Roddy Vaughan.*' 
 
 " And you rea,lly like him very much? " 
 
 " Yes, I do really, Aunt Agnes. From the very begin- 
 ning I liked him a thousand times better than Sir Kenelm." 
 
 " But, you angel, you mustn't talk as if there were only 
 two men in the world and your choice lay only between 
 those two." 
 
 Seriously, even anxiously, she asked piaire a lot of ques- 
 tions, kissing and caressing her the while with great love 
 and tenderness. 
 
 " It was sweet of you to come and tell me, Claire. And 
 when are other people to know of it ? " 
 
 " He is going to tell mother to-morrow — or next day at 
 latest.** 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 RODERICK VAUGHAN had been at a good second- 
 class public school ; he belonged to a really good 
 second-class club; and he was generally popular 
 with the best sort of second-class people. He always 
 dressed exceedingly well; he could ride, and play g^lf, 
 billiards, and bridge, losing or winning like a gentleman ; 
 he went racing occasionally in a sportsmanlike genteel 
 way ; although not a member of the Stock Exchange, he 
 was known to be connected with a firm of stockbrokers; 
 and really that was about all that his friends, who were 
 never of the closest kind, did know about him. 
 
 Sometimes one of them would ask another, " Who the 
 devil is Roddy Vaughan? " 
 
 To which the other would probably reply ; " Ask me 
 something easier,'* or " I give it up," or " I'm not good at 
 riddles." 
 
 " But he has expectations, hasn't he? " 
 
 *^ Oh, yes, now you remind me, I' have heard him gas 
 about his expectations. Coming into a baronetcy and a 
 pot of money, according to his tale, one of these fine days." 
 
 Roddy's expectations were truly of a vague character. 
 The person upon whom he based them was his great uncle. 
 Sir Roderick Norton, an eccentric old fellow in Yorkshire, 
 upon whoiA, much to his own annoyance, a baronetcy had 
 been conferred more .than forty years ago because of his 
 wealth as a landowner. Sir Roderick's elder sister had 
 been for ever banished from her family for very improper- 
 ly marrying a groom on the estate, and the sole issue of 
 the marriage, a daughter, was Roddy's mother. She, doing, 
 a little better than her banished parent, had married a 
 livery stable-keeper in a southern town, who after pros- 
 
 46 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 4T 
 
 ]^ jring for a little while fell upon evil days and presently 
 d ed. Their only child, Roddy, would have fared badly at 
 i\ :*st but for the assistance of tradesmen relatives ; and 
 t len the great uncle came to the rescue, providing money 
 )r the boy's education and maintenance to the age of 
 . ^enty-one. But Sir Roderick desired that it should be 
 clearly understood no further aid would ever be granted, 
 g nd Roddy's mother subscribed one of those odious letters 
 that are concocted by family lawyers on such occasions 
 rnd administered to poor relations like an unexpected cup 
 c f poison just when they are beginning to feel hopeful and 
 happy — a letter saying that she quite understood how Sir 
 jloderick was acting out of charity, compassion, bene- 
 iiceaice, and not at all because he recognized or admitted 
 or coimtenanced any duty derivable from consanguinity, 
 and how she was never to molest or suffer to be molested 
 :heir benefactor with an attempt or pretence to establish 
 uij so derived claim upon his purse, leisure, or affection. 
 Roddy knew all about this letter, but, hating the mem- 
 ory of it, he usually managed to forget it. He certainly 
 thought it was time it should be forgotten by Sir Roderick 
 and everybody else. The passage of so many years should 
 heal all wounds. The old gentleman, still unmarried at 
 his very advanced age, could hardly have anyone " to look 
 to" except Roddy; and there was nobody that Roddy 
 cared to look to except him. Mother, grandmother, all 
 were dead. On his father's side of the house he had only 
 remaining, as prosperous connections worth thinking 
 about, an uncle and aunt who were hotel proprietors at 
 Hastings. They were fond of Roddy; and when younger 
 he had spent summer holidays as a welcome guest at their 
 hotel, livening the office with his gaiety, paying precocious 
 attentions to the chamber-maids, wagering shillings 
 against the billiard-marker, and altogether having quite 
 a good time. Of late years he had rather neglected these 
 fckid and jovial hosts. On attaining his majority he had 
 
48 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 written to Sir Roderick asking if he would care to continue 
 the allowance; several times since he had written, asking 
 if Sir Roderick would care to see him; and to all these 
 inquiries Sir Roderick had caused a reply to be sent say- 
 ing, " Certainly not." But Roddy felt that at any rate 
 such communications, though sterile, kept him in touch 
 with the head of the family; any day the old boy might 
 have a fancy to close the breach; so Roddy continued to 
 talk of his expectations, and being of a sanguine temper- 
 ament perhaps believed half the things he said about them. 
 
 Perhaps, too, his dreams of future grandeur had pre- 
 vented him from learning any particular trade or settling 
 down in a regular profession. " Pro tern.'' was a favourite 
 expression of his; all that he did wos pro tern. — selling 
 wine on commission, canvassing for newspaper advertise- 
 ments, going to North and then to South America as a 
 commercial traveller, getting mixed up with shabby little 
 financial enterprises, drawing directors' fees from small 
 moribund companies — in a word, living by his wits — ^but 
 only pro tcTn. The most creditable episode in his adven- 
 tures had been his African war service. Enlisting as a 
 trooper in the yeomanry, he had been promoted to the 
 rank of squadron sergeant-major, and before the war 
 finished had been given a commission. From those distant 
 military days he still retained a good carriage of the 
 body, a swagger that to expert observers was a nice blend 
 of the officer and the N.C.O., a capacity for roughing it 
 that is only learned on active service, and the extreme dis- 
 taste for doing so that is infallibly acquired at the same 
 time. 
 
 Now, at the age of thirty-three, he was in more com- 
 fortable circumstances than he had hitherto reached. His 
 half conmiissions and directors' fees enabled him to occupy 
 lodgings over a hatter's shop in New Bond Street; never 
 had he dressed so splendidly or possessed as many patent 
 leather boots, white waistcoats, and glossy braided morn- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 49 
 
 ing coats ; socially he felt himself to be at the top of his 
 game; but he knew that it was wise to consider all these 
 comforts and amenities as things to be enjoyed jpro tern. 
 At any minute the bottom of his affluence might fall out 
 again. 
 
 He was habitually successful with women, up to a point. 
 He understood them extraordinarily well, again up to a 
 point; their ways of thought, their love of mirth, their 
 emotional concentration in the passing moment; and of 
 all his appetites his appetite for love-making was the 
 strongest and most insatiable. He never felt that enough 
 was as good as a feast. When visiting a lady who had 
 entranced him he would kiss the maidservant while the lady 
 was out of the room. As soon as he had kissed a fair girl 
 he was hungry to kiss a brown one. The substantialness 
 of a big buxom wench in his arms gave him a massive joy 
 after cuddling what is termed a threadpaper ; but at the 
 same moment he tasted in imagination the great pleasure 
 he might experience from caresses vdth a middle-weight or 
 medium-sized fairy. Sometimes he sank rather low in 
 these unceasing heart affairs, taking his patent leather 
 shoes and shining silk topper into very humble surround- 
 ings and very queer company; but on the whole he pre- 
 ferred or was more moved by reiSned, well-bred women. 
 Something intrinsically common in his nature made him 
 feel the sharp zest of conquest with the finer kind. 
 
 Thus it was not strange that he should be immensely 
 captivated by Claire Gilmour, and feel now in his ecstasy 
 of triumph that he had never really been in love before. 
 
 He had been taken with her at first sight. She seemed 
 to represent all the things that he had always craved for 
 and always been shut out of by unjust fate — gracefulness, 
 delicate nurture, elegance of thought and manner; the 
 prettiness that one associates with hothouse flowers; the 
 sense of security and inaccessibility that belong to care- 
 fully-guarded and strictly-forbidden fruit. He was much 
 
S$ FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 impressed by the house in which he saw her, its air of 
 opulence, its lavish decorations, its velvet hangings and 
 parquetry floors, its store of cut glass and silver, and even 
 gold. Nothing in these splendours jarred upon his eye 
 or offended his judgment; and before two minutes had 
 passed, as he sat by her side at the glittering board, he 
 had thought what a prodigious coup it would be to win the 
 daughter of such a house, to establish oneself in the family 
 group, and be classed henceforth as one of these well-to-do, 
 eminently respectable people. It would be a soft thing for 
 the rest of one's life; nothing could ever let one down 
 again. 
 
 Then before the evening was over, and more and more 
 CTery time that he saw her afterwards, the charm of the 
 girl herself penetrated and subjugated him. The way she 
 held her head, her sharp chin, the flicker of colour under 
 her white, transparent skin ; little tricks of manner, sweet 
 little tones of voice, gracious little words that fell from 
 her lips as perfume comes from the moving petals of 
 flowers, obviously quite naturally — everything to do with 
 her lured and excited him. Before going to sleep he used 
 to lie in bed with his hands clasped behind his big, strong 
 neck, throbbing with recollections of her; and if he did 
 not dream about her when he fell asleep it was only be- 
 cause he never dreamed at all. He thought of her directly 
 he woke in the morning. He astounded himself by the 
 lofty thoughts that she had aroused in him. " What does 
 money and all the rest of it matter? " he found himself 
 saying. " Only love counts. I'd marry her to-morrow if 
 I could, though she hadn't a single penny to her name." 
 
 He courted her diffidently, scarcely daring to hope, and 
 afraid of venturing on the rough and ready methods that 
 had served him in the past. Then when he seemed to 
 recognize by infallible signs that he was making real head- 
 way, his desire and delight were unbounded, and he began 
 ** to brisk things along a bit." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 51 
 
 But what was it that Claire the refined, the day-dream- 
 i igy the book-loving, could find in him to attract her? 
 I [e asked himself this question, and shrewdly answered it 
 » ith something not very far from the truth. She liked his 
 I ebonair attitude to life, his brave if childish philosophy, 
 i is gaiety and laughter, and above all his air of comrade- 
 : hip and unfailing good temper. In all their intercourse 
 le accentuated these characteristics, and was careful not 
 o attempt thoughts and fancies that he knew were far 
 )eyond him. 
 
 Well, he was sure of her now. That slight, fluttered kiss 
 ^as still making his blood circulate rapidly ; her voice, as 
 3he echoed his words, still thrilled in his ears. " Throu^ 
 thick and thin. I swear it." And, strangely with the re- 
 lief that came in the assurance of ultimate possession of 
 his beloved one, there returned to him old notions as to 
 the value of money. He did not feel that he was becoming 
 mercenary again; but the fact of the solid cash seemed 
 now to heighten the romance of the whole affair, to give t© 
 it that touch of glamour which one looks for in the beet 
 kind of love stories. It was still the girl he desired, and 
 yet the material benefits that she might carry with her 
 were certainly not any longer to be despised. They were 
 the trappings of his victory. 
 
 He did now what he felt that a vulgar, thick-skinned, 
 avaricious person in his situation would have done some 
 time ago. He dropped in at Somerset House and studied 
 the provisions of the will of the late John Richard Merlkig 
 Gilmour. He wanted to know just how he stood before 
 getting to work with the old lady. 
 
 Claire and the other daughters, it appeared, were to be 
 given such a capital fund as would yield three thousand 
 five hundred a year on their marriage if marrying witk 
 the consent and approval of their mother, and in any event 
 on reaching the age of twenty-five years. So much was 
 clear ; but it was not so clear to Roddy whether the capitcd 
 
52 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 was to be given out and out, or whether there was to be "rot 
 about trustees,'' and so on. The wording of the clause 
 was infernally complicated, and Roddy, thinking he would 
 like to chew over it at leisure, had produced his pocket 
 book and was beginning to copy the clause in his neat, 
 business-like writing when the official in charge warmly re- 
 proved him. 
 
 " You ought to know very well," said this guardian, 
 bursting with indignation, " that you're not allowed to 
 do that." 
 
 "How the hell should I know? " said Roddy, so fierce- 
 ly that the man was quite taken aback. " I'm not like 
 you. I don't live here." 
 
 " Well, you know now, anyway," said the man gnmib- 
 lingly. 
 
 And Roddy went swaggering out of the building, feel- 
 ing as light as air. 
 
 He had found out all that was essential. Three thou- 
 sand five hundred — a most satisfactory income — more than 
 he had anticipated. He expanded his chest, threw back 
 his head, and spurned the pavement with boldly-swinging 
 footsteps. Delightful, ambitious thoughts kept him com- 
 pany as he swung along the Strand. 
 
 With a sweet-tempered, highly-accomplished, widely- 
 admired wife like that, there was nothing to which a man 
 might not aspire. Success would be easy, failure impos- 
 sible. He felt as if in winning Claire he had gone half way 
 towards conquering the universe. 
 
, CHAPTER V 
 
 ( ^^ OON it was known to all concerned, and to large 
 1^^ numbers of people not in the least concerned, that 
 ^■^ Mrs* Gilmour had received a second proposal for the 
 liand of her daughter, that she did not approve of this 
 i uitor, and that she was very much upset about it. Beauti- 
 jully dressed ladies meeting one another outside shops in 
 Ijloane Street spared a minute to discuss the matter, 
 among other astounding facts of transient interest. 
 
 " Emily Joyce says they are going to stop it at once. 
 ;8ut what I wonder is why they have let it go on as long 
 as they have. They sent Leonard Joyce to make inquiries 
 — ^through detectives, I suppose — and it appears that the 
 man is a sheer adventurer. But the girl herself seems 
 !liypnotized by him.'* 
 
 ** Hypnotized ! No, really? " 
 
 *^ So it seems. By the way, did I tell you what a man 
 belonging to the Treasury told my husband? About Mr, 
 Billow, the rich man, you know. He offered the Prime 
 Minister a million pounds for his own pocket to make 
 him a peer, and the Prime Minister took the money." 
 
 " No, really? " 
 
 " Yes," and the lady tittered and nodded her head ; 
 *' but wait a moment. Without saying a word about it 
 to anybody, the Prime Minister very quietly built an iron- 
 clad with the money and gave it to the nation. Mr. Billow 
 was simply furious, going for him, and saying, ^ What 
 about my peerage?' The Prime Minister said, 'Well, 
 what about your peerage?' just echoing the words and 
 pretending not to understand. Wasn't it clever of him? 
 Such a good score." 
 
 And then the ladies entered their shops and went on 
 
 58 
 
54 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 with the business of life, thinking no more just then either 
 of the hypnotized girl or the leg-pulling Premier. 
 
 Perhaps the only person on the Gilmours' visiting-list 
 who remained in ignorance of the new turn of events now 
 agitating their household was old Sir Kenelm Grantley. 
 One afternoon when he came to pay his respects, armed 
 with a pannier of large Buckinghamshire strawberries, he 
 was almost hustled in the hall by a young man who was 
 flouncing out of the house. The young man was splendidly 
 attired but red in the face, angry of aspect, brusque of 
 manner. He scowled ferociously, tramped past danger- 
 ously close to Sir Kenelm's gouty toes, banged the front 
 door before the footmen could shut it behind him, and left 
 the old gentleman tottering feebly with his strawberries. 
 
 " Might I ask who was your friend? " said Sir Kenelm 
 to Emily Joyce, as she came into the hall also flouncingly. 
 
 " Oh, that," said Emily with decision, " was somebody 
 you aren't likely to see here again." 
 
 Sir Kenelm was rather pleased to hear it. But he be- 
 came conscious of the extreme unrest and discomfort in 
 the atmosphere. Claire passed up the stairs with the 
 rapidity of a slim ghost. Mrs. Gilmour, opening the 
 doors, began to wander about as one who walks in her 
 sleep. Belton the butler seemed unable to make up his 
 mind what to do in regard to bringing tea, Emily chatted 
 and laughed with the visitor, but had nervous movements 
 of her hands and sudden jerks of the head. Sir Kenelm, 
 without understanding why, felt that on this particular 
 afternoon he had become distinctly obtrusive, and he 
 meekly and rather sadly withdrew. 
 
 Of a truth the opposition that Roddy met with was 
 greater than he had anticipated, and it appeared to be 
 steadily growing in volume. The whole family had turned 
 against him. No one had a good word to say for him. 
 He had begun by talking very big about his expectations ; 
 saying that although, because of their contingent char- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 56 
 
 ^ a ter, he could not bring them into settlement, they might 
 I f irly be considered as a set-ofF against Claire's inherited 
 -]: )ssessions ; pointing out that he was the normal heir, 
 <i iking them to whom else the old bachelor should leave 
 ]] s money, and assuring them that it would be easy to 
 i) )tain a special remainder to the baronetcy, so that the 
 t tie might pass to him with the property. He was long- 
 ing, as he said, to take Claire to Yorkshire and make her 
 \iown to his uncle. She would gain the old fellow's 
 ;3od-will before you could look round or say Jack Rob- 
 ison. 
 
 But he was mortified by his failure to produce any 
 sDftening effect upon them with these boasts. They made 
 lim angry by their insufferable airs of superiority. 
 *They treat me," he told Claire, " as if I was somebody 
 trying to rob a hen-roost." 
 
 At the very first, when he startled her with his confident 
 proposal, Mrs. Gilmour had felt a weak temptation to 
 say " Yes," and be done with it. If, as he alleged, Claire 
 and he both wished to be married why not let them.'^ It 
 would be another road, a fresh short cut, out of all her 
 difiiculties. With cessation of worry showing plainly at 
 the end of the new vista, she paltered and delayed at 
 first, asking Mr. Vaughan to give her time and promising 
 to think about it. But next day she told him, and Claire 
 too, that it was not to be thought of any longer by any- 
 body. 
 
 It was Emily who had said so; and as soon as Emily 
 had made this decided pronouncement, with buring heat, 
 Mrs. Gilmour felt strongly that Emily was quite right 
 and that it was really her own decision. However tempt- 
 ing under certain aspects, it would not do. 
 
 Emily was, indeed, warm against it. " This," she cried, 
 with scorn and anger, " is what we have to thank Cyril 
 far." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour naturally defended Cyril. " Cyril merely 
 
66 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 made the introduction — nothing more, Emily. No, I 
 blame myself for letting him have the run of the house. 
 But the other thing drove him out of my mind ; and you 
 yourself seem to have forgotten the hint you gave me that 
 first night he dined with us." 
 
 " Yes, because he began at once to throw dust in people's 
 eyes. He has behaved outrageously." 
 
 Perhaps she was thinking of Roddy's obliging attentions 
 to herself when she spoke of his dust-throwing tricks. 
 Robust flattery was always pleasant to her, and although 
 far too matter-of-fact ever to be led into the dalliance or 
 sentimentality with which many married women of her 
 acquaintance freely indulged themselves, it may have been 
 that while remaining unconscious of the origin of her ireful 
 emotion she resented the sudden loss of the cheery person 
 who had certainly seemed to fall captive to her carelessly- 
 exercised attractions. " I really must say very treacher- 
 ous and underhand, since, as now comes to light, he was 
 after Claire all the while." 
 
 Curiously enough, Cyril was no less indignant than 
 Emily. Notwithstanding his often expressed disgust for 
 old-fashioned prejudices, snobbish nonsense, and so on, he 
 betrayed an arrogant displeasure at the mere idea that 
 any member of his family should marry below the family 
 level as judged by the most conventional standards. 
 Moreover, he seemed to feel that his personal dignity had 
 been assailed. 
 
 " If Vaughan had approached me," said Cyril, " as was 
 his duty, of course, I might possibly have taken a different 
 standpoint. At any rate, I should have thought differ- 
 ently about him. But no, without a single word to me, 
 he has the consummate impertinence to make love to my 
 sister. It was / who admitted him to the house in the first 
 instance. He chooses to forget that." 
 
 " Well, we don't forget it, if he does," said Emily, witk 
 bitterness. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 57 
 
 " In the absence of John,'' continued Cyril, ignoring the 
 iterruption, " / am the head of the family ; and it is my 
 ntention to go to Mr. Roddy Vaughan and tell him so. 
 
 shall ask him to explain himself to Tne — and in all proba- 
 )ility the interview will end by my punching his head or 
 ;icking him downstairs." 
 
 " My dearest boy," cried Mrs. Gilmour, " for goodness^ 
 ;ake don't do that. If there was the smallest fracas of 
 :hat sort we should all find ourselves in the newspapers 
 lext morning. The one thing I am anxious to avoid is 
 inything like talk or scandal. Nobody can help unless 
 they do it with real tact. It is such a misfortune," she 
 concluded plaintively, " that Derek Harpington should be 
 staying down at Brighton just when he could have been 
 so useful to us." 
 
 " You are not going to bring that old ass into it ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour, gently chiding Cyril for speaking of 
 him so disrespectfully, said that of course she had written 
 to Uncle Derek for his advice. Equally, of course, she 
 had written to her eldest son John. Uncle Derek was 
 recovering from influenza, and John said that he would 
 probably be passing through London in two or three 
 weeks' time. She thought that John might and perhaps 
 ought to have come up from Liverpool on purpose, and 
 at once. " But you know what John is," she added, with 
 a gesture so vague that it could not by any possibility 
 have assisted in making her meaning clearer to anybody 
 who did not know John very well indeed. 
 
 With such talk the days dragged themselves slowly by 
 and surprised one by becoming at last weeks. Never had 
 the house been quite so uncomfortable as now; even the 
 servants felt the worry and annoyance that custom for- 
 bade them from openly sharing. And in the midst of it 
 all Claire, nagged at by Emily, hectored by Cyril, pricked 
 now and then with sharp words even by her mother, ex- 
 hibited as well as patience and docility, a quite unexpected 
 
58 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 stubbornness of purpose. She turned her large eyes from 
 one to another in mute appeal as she listened to argu- 
 ments or reproaches, seeming perhaps to say, if one might 
 so interpret the trembling of her lips as she looked more 
 especially at Cyril, '^ Et tu. Brute; " but she uttered no 
 audible protest. When compelled to speak, she said very 
 simply that she could not renounce Roddy because she 
 had given her word to him, and that she had heard noth- 
 ing up to now which could justify her in breaking it. 
 
 " Mother, I know what I should do with her," said 
 Emily. " If I were you, I should send her back to the 
 convent and keep her there till the silliness is got out of 
 her. She could go on with her French and music." 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour said she could not resort to such a 
 violent measure, at least unless some man of the world 
 like Derek Harpington counselled it. 
 
 Emily shrugged her shoulders and laughed with grating 
 hardness. - 
 
 " Something will have to be done if it is to be stopped. 
 At present it is going on as if we were so many dummies." 
 
 " I don't think you ought to say that, Emily." 
 
 " Mother," she asked, on another occasion, " have you 
 forbidden him the house or have you not ? " 
 
 " Well my dear — no, not exactly." 
 
 " You said you meant to." 
 
 " I know I did. But I merely hinted that I thought he 
 had better keep away. And for this reason, Emily ; as I 
 told you, I was anxious to get Uncle Derek's advice before 
 taking ant/ strong step." 
 
 " Well," said Emily. " He ignores your hint. He was 
 here yesterday afternoon." 
 
 "No.?" 
 
 " Yes. I've just found it out from Mrs. Hackett. He 
 left the house only five minutes before you and I returned." 
 
 " Mother," said Emily, after breakfast one morning. 
 " She is wearing that ring he gave her, and you said she 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 59 
 
 ivasn't on any account to put on an engagement ring. It 
 is effrontery. Open rebellion, / call it. Didn't you see 
 the ring at the breakfast table? " 
 
 " I did not look her way" said Mrs. Gilmour. " Between 
 yoii and me, I have tried to avoid any further passages 
 between Claire and myself, until my hand is further 
 strengthened." 
 
 She said the same sort of thing when Emily reported 
 the presence of Roddy once more. 
 
 "He has been here again — while we were driving. I 
 must say I think you should give Belton instructions to 
 keep him out. Naturally Belton cannot act on his own 
 initiative.'' 
 
 Then one morning Mrs. Gilmour came downstairs look- 
 ing positively radiant. 
 
 " I have heard from Uncle Derek," and she flourished a 
 letter before Emily. " He is hack from Brighton, and 
 quite well again. Writes from the Travellers'. As al- 
 ways, he assures me, he places himself unreservedly at our 
 service. I never knew Derek Harpington fail one. So 
 now, my dear, we can all put our heads together and 
 quietly settle a definite course of action." 
 
 Derek was not really an uncle of theirs, but they gave 
 him this title by his own wish, because of his age and the 
 affectionate regard in which he held them all. He belonged 
 to that noble family with which the Gilmours had con- 
 nected themselves by marriage, and whereas they had per- 
 haps been rather kept at arms' length by the remainder 
 of these nobles, they had been adopted by dear old Derek 
 as close and valued relations. At moments of excessive 
 crisis or confusion Mrs. Gilmour always turned to him 
 for assistance and support; and the late Mr. Gilmour 
 used to say of him that he was " a gentleman in the best 
 sense of the word " — an illogical expression which seems 
 to convey a great deal to one's mind, although no effort 
 of the imagination may be able to conjure up the picture 
 
60 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 of what " a gentleman in the worse sense of the word " 
 would be like. 
 
 Derek, in fact, was both kindly and unselfish, if not sur- 
 prisingly brilliant of intellect ; fond of his own clan to the 
 remotest almost uncountable cousin, amiably inclined to- 
 wards large crowds^of human beings outside the clan, will- 
 ing to take trouble on behalf of the merest acquaintance. 
 Everybody liked him; everybody respected him. At club 
 meetings when chairmen suggested that before doing any- 
 thing formal they should approach their landlord in a 
 spirit of fair play and give-and-take, getting some member 
 of tact, experience, and recognized position to represent 
 them, all eyes were immediately concentrated on Derek. 
 And without hesitation Derek rose in his place and said, 
 with a modesty quite unaffected, that now as at all times 
 he was unreservedly at the service of the club. 
 
 He was now nearly seventy years of age ; but if you had 
 not known you could not have guessed it. 
 
 " Well, now? '' he said inquiringly, when Mrs. Gilmour 
 had ushered him to an armchair in the library, which was 
 converted for this afternoon into a solemn council cham- 
 ber. 
 
 " We won't be at home,'' she had instructed Belton. 
 
 " Not at home to anybody'' Mrs. Joyce had added. 
 ^' You understand, Belton?" 
 
 Mr. Joyce had suggested that the debate should take 
 place in the dining-room, where they could all sit round 
 the big table with Uncle Derek seated as president at the 
 top of the table; but he had been over-ruled. From an 
 unanalyzed association of ideas which made his motions 
 scarcely more than reflexes, he had prepared pens, ink, 
 and paper for everybody, and he was now busying him- 
 self about the position of the chairs, until sharply re- 
 proved by Emily. 
 
 " Leonard, for Heaven's sake, don't fuss. It's not a 
 board meeting." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 61 
 
 There were also present Cyril from the Temple and 
 John Gilmour from Liverpool, luckily passing through 
 London just at the right moment. No summons had been 
 sent to Aunt Agnes ; she was purposely left out. Without 
 any voting into the presidential chair, it had been tacitly 
 assumed that Uncle Derek would take command of the 
 whole sitting, and unostentatiously he did so. He was 
 employed on the helpful work that had become a pleasure 
 as well as a habit of his life. No agenda paper, such 
 as Leonard Joyce would probably have made out if given 
 free scope, was really needed. The business before the 
 council was so obvious ; and it automatically fell into two 
 divisions or main heads: (a) Analysis of the annoyance 
 commonl}'^ known as Roddy Vaughan; (6) Question what 
 to do about it. This was understood by Derek and all 
 the others. It was also understood that at a certain point 
 of the proceedings Claire would be called upon to present 
 herself before the council. She had been warned to hold 
 herself in readiness; and as members of the council took 
 their seats to right and left of the presidential armchair 
 they instinctively placed themselves facing the door of the 
 morning-room, the door through which Claire would prob- 
 ably enter. 
 
 " See if she's there now," said Emily. " We don't want 
 her to hear what we're saying. She wouldn't listen, of 
 course, but she might overhear some of our words without 
 being able to prevent herself." 
 
 " That would be a pity," said Derek ; " for I take it 
 that among ourselves we are going to speak quite frankly."* 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " But I suggest," said Derek, suavely and benignly,, 
 " that when Claire joins us we should be very careful in 
 any thing we say before her concerning Mr. Vaughan. 
 Words that wound and that one may so bitterly regret 
 afterwards sometimes pop out if one isn't on one's guard."' 
 
 Leonard Joyce had crossed the council chamber on tip- 
 
62 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 toe. He opening the moming-roora door, peered through 
 it uiysteriouslj, and closed it again. 
 
 " Not there," he said in a portentous whisper, as he 
 returned to his seat. " Room empty." 
 
 ** Very well, then ! " said Derek ; and there was a pause. 
 
 **You were saying?" said John Gilmour, and he 
 scratched his stubbly beard and looked at his watch. Bald, 
 rather short, alert and businesslike, he seemed very differ- 
 ent from the rest of the family. 
 
 " I have carefully gone through all the notes and in- 
 formation with which you have favoured me," said Uncle 
 Derek, at last opening the proceedings. " I think I have 
 mastered them," and he smiled. " I have supplemented 
 them by ascertaining a few facts on my own account. I 
 don't want to express any opinion. It would not be be- 
 coming if I did so. Nevertheless it may be that I have 
 formed an opinion." 
 
 " I expect," said Cyril, with a snort, " your opinion is 
 precious like anybody else's. The fellow is an impudent 
 bounder." 
 
 And Emily chimed in, making use several times of that 
 ugly word adventurer. 
 
 " Don't interrupt Uncle Derek," said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Derek, " / don't want to do all the 
 talking. I am merely here to help — that is, to bring out 
 your views, and perhaps be of some small aid in collating 
 them so £hat you can yourselves form a judgment on 
 them. Suppose as a beginning you each in turn tell me 
 all you know about him — all you think, and all you feel." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour, Emily, and Cyril started talking together. 
 
 " No, please. One at a time," and Derek bowed to Mrsr 
 Gilmour. " Will you begin ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour, so voluble the instant before, fell 
 silent. It seemed that the thread of her string of words 
 had been snapped in the chorus of voices or her mind 
 had suddenly wandered. She sat staring at the president 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 63 
 
 sedly, gloomily, for a few moments. Then her face 
 I rightened, and she spoke with impressive force. 
 
 " Derek, I do not like him, I have thought it all out — 
 or and against. I can assure you I have thought of little 
 ' Ise during these last weeks — ^both by day and at night 
 oo. And it is all summed up in that. I don't like ham. 
 '^or can I see how any one can pretend that he is good 
 nough for Claire." And she looked round almost sternly, 
 is if expecting an attempt at this pretence from somebody 
 )r other. 
 
 ' Then Emily and her husband gave their opinions, Mrs. 
 Grilmour presently breaking in again, so that the discus- 
 sion became both desultory and repetitive. ^ 
 
 " We come back to where we started," said Derek, after 
 a considerable time had been thus spent. " Evidently 
 you don't like him, Emily, any better than your mother. 
 But, after all, we have only dealt so far with likes, or 
 rather dislikes. We are not making much progress as 
 to the reasons on which our feelings are based. That, 
 perhaps, is scarcely fair to him. You will remember I 
 suggested that each should say what we knom about him 
 as well as what we feel about liim." 
 
 Then Cyril, questioned by Derek, related what he knew 
 about Roddy. 
 
 " Fellows I know well know the fellow," said Cyril. " I'd 
 known him by sight, and to nod to, -and all that-; and he 
 makes out we stayed together in a week-end party at the 
 Elephant Hotel at Pangbourne. But I can't remember 
 ever exchanging half a dozen words with him, until he did 
 me a service." 
 
 "What service?" 
 
 In the fewest possible words Cyril described a row that 
 had occurred at a restaurant. " The lady I was with — 
 I decline to give her name, Leonard — quarrelled with a 
 lady at another table. And Vaughan assisted me and 
 made himself useful in smoothing things over." 
 
64 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Emily laughed. " Then all we know of liim amounts to 
 this: Cyril made his acquaintance during a tavern brawl, 
 and at once asked him to dinner at his mother's house." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," said Cyril furiously. " Besides, 
 you just go about calling the Paradise Restaurant a 
 brawling tavern and you'll jolly soon land yourself in 
 s. thumping libel action, clever as you think yourself." 
 
 " I am competent to advise my wife," said Leonard 
 Joyce, " as to any risk she runs in expressing her opinion 
 privately or publicl3^, and I'll thank you, Cyril " 
 
 " Gently, gently," said Derek. 
 
 " My dearest boy, don't squabble," said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 ** Emily, do restrain yourself." 
 
 Their recriminations, however, continued, and it was 
 necessary for the president to call them to order several 
 times before the hubbub abated. " We are getting veuy 
 wide of the mark," he said suavely. / 
 
 " Yes," said John Gilmour, " let us at least make an 
 -effort to keep to the point." 
 
 He had said very little, but he looked at his watch a 
 great deal ; and just now Mrs. Gilmour had implored him 
 not to. " You have no idea how enervating it is to see 
 you doing it. You make me feel as if were in the waitings 
 room of some great railway junction and missing all our 
 trains." 
 
 The president looked towards him now. 
 
 " By the way, you haven't given us your views, John. 
 What do you think about it ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said John. " Never seen him." 
 
 He said it so briskly that it made his mother jump. 
 
 There was another blank pause, and then somebody 
 proposing that Claire should now be brought before them, 
 all agreed that the moment had come, and Leonard was 
 sent to fetch her. He went into the morning-room, and 
 presently could be heard loudly calling her name, like the 
 usher of a court. Then he returned, and whispered con- 
 fidentially : 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 65 
 
 ** She's coming downstairs.'' 
 
 And they all sat looking at the door of the morning- 
 
 )om. 
 
 Then they all started and moved their chairs a little, 
 laire had come in through the other door, the door from 
 le hall, and was standing on that side of the room looking 
 i t them. 
 
 Old Derek got up, and hurried to greet her and lead 
 er forward. He kissed her, reminding her that she was 
 ne of his godchildren, gave her a little pat on the shoul- 
 der, and resumed his armchair. 
 
 Leonard Joyce had brought a straight-backed chair 
 from the wall, and he carefully placed it immediately be- 
 hind her. 
 
 " Thank you, Leonard ; but I think I'd rather stand." 
 
 She stood tljere facing them, seeming when compared 
 V7ith themselves very pale, very slight and frail although 
 so tall, and almost ridiculously young to be thus arraigned 
 or caDed upon to defend her cause before this solid worldly- 
 minded tribunal. But her firmness surprised them. 
 
 " Now, you know," Uncle Derek was saying, " I never 
 interfere. Indeed how could I? My motto has always 
 been Live and let live. I merely want to put certain 
 considerations before you." 
 
 " Yes, Uncle Derek." 
 
 And he went on with great benignity to explain that a!l 
 of them had arrived at the conclusion that she was in 
 danger of making a great mistake. At considerable length 
 he advised her to abandon the idea in deference to the 
 desires of her nearest and dearest, or to postpone it so 
 indefinitely as to achieve the same end as would be gained 
 by abandonment. He assured her that later on she would 
 thank everybody for preventing her from taking a rash 
 step and that she would then recognize her existing predi- 
 lection as really no more than a passing fancy. 
 
 " Well, now? What do you say, Claire? " 
 
 " He asked me to marry him, and I wish to do it." 
 
66 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " What makes you so sure? " asked Derek, in the kind- 
 est tone. 
 
 " He is fond of me. And I am very fond of him." 
 
 " But do you love him? " 
 
 " Of course I do. I have just said so." 
 
 " But you wouldn^t do anything to make your mother 
 unhappy?" 
 
 " No," said Claire, " I wouldn't do that ; " and there 
 was a little break in her voice. 
 
 " If we tell you that you're not to," said Cyril, " you 
 jolly well won't." 
 
 Claire turned towards him at once. 
 
 " Cyril, kindly answer a question. Are you Roddy's 
 friend or not? " 
 
 " No, I'm not. I was his friend, but I have ceased to 
 be so." 
 
 " Then nothing you can say can have the least influence 
 with me ; " and she turned away from him, never looking 
 at him again. 
 
 Soon they told her she could withdraw, and she left 
 them to carry on the debate. 
 
 The debate was continued, but it became more and more 
 repetitive in character. All were fully agreed that the 
 marriage was impossible and that Mr. Vaughan must be 
 made to understand this at once ; the only doubt was as to 
 the exact method of conveying the verdict to him. Clearly, 
 Uncle Derek must be their intermediary; and everybody 
 except John Gilmour offered hints as to how he should 
 set about his job. There was a lot of chorus-talk, and time 
 passed slowly but surely. 
 
 " Say we won't stand it," suggested Cyril ; " and that if 
 he doesn't want his head punched he'll* give it up. I'll go 
 with you, if you like, Uncle Derek." 
 
 " I should simply tell him," said Leonard Joyce, " that 
 neither by birth nor fortune is he a suitable husband for 
 Claire. He must see that himself." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 67 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour was now walking about; and she talked 
 { if to herself, only occasionally addressing members of 
 i e council as she passed them in her walk. 
 
 " The idea mooted by Cyril of frightening him as well 
 i forbidding it seems to me to have something in its 
 
 vour, Derek. But if so, it must not be Cyril to under- 
 ike it. He is the last person for such a task. You are 
 >o quick-tempered, Cyril. You would only lose your tem- 
 21' and bring us all into trouble by creating a scandal. 
 ' evertheless, that people can be frightened in cases not 
 3ry dissimilar to this I know as a fact, Emily. I re- 
 iiember perfectly — though it is over twenty years ago — 
 ow your father frightened a man who was paying im- 
 proper attentions to one of the maids. He used to sta- 
 tion himself outside the house hour after hour, and when 
 the girl came up the area steps he, as it were, pounced 
 upon her. ' Oh, indeed,' said your father when the annoy- 
 ance was reported to him. ' Give me my stick, please.' 
 It was the stick presented to him as a souvenir by that 
 Waterford Steamship Company that afterwards went 
 bankrupt. I dare say you recollect it, John. ' What are 
 you loitering here for? ' said your father, twisting the 
 stick as he approached the man, and looking as if he had 
 had enough of such nonsense — I mean, really incensed and 
 indignant. You know how your father-in-law could look, 
 Leonard.'' 
 
 " Tell him," said Emily, " that if he thinks he will get 
 any money with her he is utterly mistaken. Not one penny 
 till she is twenty-five. You may add that we all of us 
 know he is a shameless adventurer." 
 
 Then John Gilmour intervened in the debate. 
 
 " Look here," he said abruptly. " Are you sure that 
 you won't all give way and let him marry Claire in the 
 end.?" 
 
 " What on earth do you mean.? " 
 ^ *' I mean what I say, Emily. If there is any chance of 
 
68 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 your caving in finally, there's no sense in making an im- 
 placable enemy of him now. You want to choke him off. 
 I suggest that you should try to do it without grossly 
 insulting him." 
 
 Then this new view of the situation was discussed. 
 Uncle Derek seemed inclined to support John's sugges- 
 tion. It was contrary to his instinct to be rude to people ; 
 he said that experience had proved to him that in nine 
 cases out of ten moderation was advisable; and he made 
 a classical quotation: " In medio tutissimus ibis." 
 
 The remainder of the proceedings seemed to be strangely 
 hurried. It was getting later and later, and the council 
 generally were tired. Mrs. Gilmour, seated again, was 
 yawning woefully, and explaining to Emily that the yawns 
 by no means indicated waning interest, but merely the 
 sinking sensation caused by the loss of afternoon tea. 
 Emily asked if Belton had been given any orders about 
 tea; and Leonard was told to ring the bell. 
 
 Meanwhile Uncle Derek recited what he now understood 
 to be his final instructions. He was to do the best he could 
 to " stop it at once." He was to do it with the greatest 
 tact compatible with absolute firmness. He was to carry 
 the thing through as only he could. He was to make 
 Mr. Vaughan comprehend that it really would not do, 
 and yet leave Mr. Vaughan feeling that he had received 
 a compliment rather than a rebuff. 
 
 " And now, if you will allow me," said John, " I will be 
 going ; " and he looked at his watch. " Where is mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour, with Emily, was just outside the door of 
 the council chamber talking to Belton ; telling him to serve 
 tea in the dining-room as quickly as he could, to add 
 sandwiches to the usual fare, and put whisky, soda water, 
 and glasses all ready on the sideboard. 
 
 " After all we have gone through, and the long delay," 
 she said to Emily, " I am quite hungry ; and I think a 
 regular sit-down schoolroom tea will be very enjoyable." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ir UST as old Sir Kenelm had done, Roddy Vaughan 
 I refused to take " No " for an answer ; but unlike Sir 
 ^ Kenelm's refusal, his was of a blustering, truculent 
 ch.^racter. Uncle Derek's mission had failed, but the dear 
 ol: chap was not disheartened; he reported that he would 
 tr ' again, and indeed go on working helpfully until told 
 tc desist by the family^ themselves. He had succeeded 
 in making Roddy swallow a part of the ultimatum, al- 
 though not without indignant coughings and chokings on 
 tl •» part of Roddy. Speaking for the family he had 
 forbidden Roddy to come to the house, and Roddy came 
 tli^re no more. 
 
 But however offended and angry Mr. Vaughan might 
 be, he had no real fear that his intentions would be finally 
 fmstrated. Like Sir Kenelm he felt confident that every- 
 tliing would come right in the end. He would tire them 
 o it before he had done with them. At the worst, it was 
 oily a matter of waiting, with what patience he could. 
 
 He wrote to Claire, making sure that the letter wouU 
 roach her by a safe hand, and adjured her to stand firm. 
 " Be true to me, my dear one ; " and so on. " Don't let 
 t lem break your spirit. Remember I am always here, 
 c ose at hand, your faithful knight." 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Gilmour's home atmosphere continued to 
 be charged with worry and distress. Emily was always 
 asking her mother troublesome questions. She asked so 
 riany of them that sometimes she made Mrs. Gilmour's 
 head ache. Although none of us others ever saw Mr. 
 ^'aughan, was Claire seeing Mr. Vaughan secretly, on the 
 s^lj? Ought not Claire to be watched? And Pope.? Sud- 
 c enly suspicion was aroused in Emily's compact and sol- 
 
 69 
 
70 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 idly-moulded bosom concerning Pope. Should not Pope 
 be watched? Was it not possible that Pope might act as 
 a go-between? 
 
 Occasionally, as if in self-defence, Mrs. Gilmour coun- 
 tered or parried by questioning Emily. She did so now. 
 
 " Where did Pope drop from? " 
 
 ^"Drop from?" echoed Emily. ^' What do you mean, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Where did we get her from in the beginning? She 
 has been here at least four years. Did we get her through 
 Mrs. Willoughby's Agency? Can you recall the date of 
 the letter in which I told Mrs. Willoughby that I would 
 never have anything more to do with her, after the dis- 
 graceful way in which she had treated me about that 
 kitchenmaid? Was that more or less than four years 
 ago? Pope didn't come through Mrs. Willoughby if it 
 was less than four years. No, I mean more than four 
 years, don't I? Which way would it be? " 
 
 Another question that she asked Emily with great 
 solemnity related to Sir Kenelm. 
 
 " Don't you think, Emily, that I ought now to tell him 
 what has happened? I don't like deception of any kind." 
 
 But Emily thought not. Indeed she was quite sure 
 about it. She said that no deception was being practised. 
 The Vaughan affair was theoretically over, settled and 
 done with. On the other hand, Sir Kenelm had adopted 
 _ the fine attitude of not being in a hurry, and wishing time 
 to be allowed. His chances, in her opinion, were as good 
 as they had ever been; and it would be against reason 
 and common sense to go and throw him over or put him 
 off by the disclosure of circumstances that he need never 
 hear of. 
 
 " I should call that doing Claire a very bad turn indeed" 
 said Mrs. Joyce emphatically. 
 
 " Well, you know I don't want to do that," said Mrs. 
 Gilmour. 
 
^ FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 71 
 
 ' I'll tell you one thing," said Emily, late in the evening 
 in ; ressively starting a conversation that worried her 
 mu her more than any previous confidential chat between 
 th n. " Whether Claire marries Sir Kenelm or somebody 
 el , she will have to be enlightened a little, and honestly 
 I aink the sooner you have a talk with her the better. 
 I 1 lean " — and Emily had her characteristic laugh — " I 
 d( I't see the sense of waiting to have the interview be- 
 tv < en mother and daughter that one reads about in French 
 Hi els — the day before, you know." 
 
 ' Oh, really I can't follow you, Emily, into such very 
 dciicate subjects. Nor do I think it can be necessary." 
 
 She tried to shy away from Emily's impressive forefinger 
 pointing at her; she felt a reluctance that seemed to be 
 air lost religious so old-established was it. She had the 
 st 1 ongest distaste for many dreadful new-fangled notions ; 
 and in her mind the topic of Emily's discourse connected 
 itself with a group of kindred objectionable ideas — such 
 as,, The prevention of disease by publicity. Natural history 
 lessons for children. The social rehabilitation of the fallen, 
 eic, etc. But Emily was, as usual, resolute. 
 
 " Mother, haven^t you yourself noticed how sillily she 
 talks? Heaven knows the girls of the present day don't 
 a;> a rule require to be told what o'clock it is ; " and she 
 d3scribed how she had been " frozen " by the free-and-easy 
 talk of up-to-date girls, the daughters of her friends. 
 " But Claire is different. Of course, being brought up by 
 all those nuns — and I often wonder at father ever having 
 had the idea, as she isn't a Catholic — may account for it; 
 also the queer, secluded existence she has chosen to lead 
 ii this house amid all the gaiety and fun that has gone 
 en all round her. At any rate, I'm certain I'm right." 
 IviiA she narrated how Claire had " blurted out things that 
 fhe simply couldn't have said if she wasn't in the dark 
 i bout everything." For instance, at a recent luncheon- 
 ] »arty here, when somebody had spoken of immensely rich 
 
72 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 people praying in vain to have children, Claire spoke of 
 other people who pray not to have children. " ' Equally 
 in vain?^ asked Colonel Pirbright, and Fm almost 
 certain that I saw him exchange a wink with Mrs. 
 Pirbright." 
 
 She went on to say that if her mother couldn't tackle it, 
 she ought to get Aunt Agnes to talk to Claire. 
 
 " My dear! " said Mrs. Gilmour, extremely shocked. 
 " A spinster .'^ How can you suggest such a thing? " 
 
 Emily replied to the effect that what Aunt Agnes didn't 
 know wasn't worth knowing. " In spite of all her treacly 
 sentiment, I often think Aunt Agnes is the most go-ahead 
 party I ever met. You should see the books she gets 
 from the London library — Socialism, Psychology, and all 
 the rest of it." 
 
 Finally she said : " I'd do it myself, only relations are 
 now so strained that Claire and I are scarcely on speaking 
 terms. I suppose, ordinarily, I should be the proper per- 
 son to do it." 
 
 And Emily laughed, shrugged her shoulders, and went 
 to bed. 
 
 At this time, although none pursued the course pro- 
 posed by Emily, many people talked very seriously to 
 Claire. Amongst others Mrs. Drysdale sought her out 
 and told her a lot about her wifely affection for Mr. 
 Drysdale. 
 
 " I dare say we make ourselves very absurd, and that 
 people laugh at us for it," said Mrs. Drysdale. " But 
 even at our time of life, both of us well past middle age, 
 we cannot help letting it be seen how truly devoted we 
 are. I just jump for joy when he says something nice 
 to me, and he never misses a chance of saying nice things. 
 Possibly, having no children has concentryated our love, 
 but the fact remains we really are all in all to each other. 
 Believe me, Claire, when he comes home earlier than I 
 expected and takes me for a walk in the park, it is every 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 73 
 
 it as big a treat to me as it ^as nearly thirty years ago 
 'hen we were an engaged couple. We are such real com- 
 )anions. 
 
 " Marriage, Claire, truly ^is companionship. That is 
 he key-note, the raison d'etre, the true foundation of all 
 )erfect marriages. Now, do you really feel that your 
 loddy is the companion you will want always? " 
 
 And Claire said she thought she really did feel that.. 
 5he felt that Roddy was the most companionable of all the 
 )eople she had ever met. 
 
 Another person was Evan Giles, the writer, who came 
 ;o tea one day. He had only a word or two with Claire, 
 ind to obtain these he manoeuvred hex into a recess of 
 one of the drawing-room windows under pretence of ex- 
 amining a miniature that Aunt Agnes had given her. He 
 vas a tall thin man, grey and sad of aspect; and Emily 
 (3omplained that he always looked shabby as well as sad. 
 But Claire admired and reverenced him, both because he 
 was the only author she had ever seen in the flesh and 
 because his earlier books were really very delightful read- 
 ing. 
 
 " I have heard of your courtship, Claire," he said hur- 
 riedly. " The old saying is quite true, you know, that 
 marriage is a lottery. Don't draw a wrong number if 
 you can help it, Claire. Remember, it's for ever. There's- 
 no way out of it — no way that you'd be ever likely to find.. 
 And God bless you ' Claire, whatever you do." Then, 
 speaking louder, he said, " Yes, that is very prettily 
 painted. There were numbers of clever miniature-painters 
 of the period, besides, Cosway ; " and they went back ta 
 the others. 
 
 Later he talked of Claire to Mrs. Gilmour, not without 
 adding to her fatigue by his eccentric turns of expression 
 and his habit of generalizing rather than saying straight 
 out, exactly what he meant. He was a " muddling " sort 
 of man. 
 
n FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 She herself often felt muddled now, especially at night. 
 Under the worry and strain to which she was subjected 
 she felt that she was in danger of losing that strong grip 
 of a situation, that rapid logic, that luminous insight for 
 which, as she considered, she had always been justly fa- 
 nlous. Her thoughts while she lay trying to go to sleep 
 seemed to be confusedly whirling in all directions ; she could 
 neither stop them nor make anything of them. 
 
 One night when the muddle, was at its worst a sudden 
 solution of her difficulties occurring to her, or rather flash- 
 ing upon her apparently from nowhere, seemed in her 
 excited and over-wrought state to be quite new and fresh. 
 Why should not Claire marry Sir Kenelm after all ? It 
 would clear up the whole tangle ; and its advantages mar- 
 shalled themselves as a magnificent array. Perhaps Claire 
 would change her mind. Perhaps she had changed her 
 mind already. Girls have these choppings and changings 
 and then perhaps from pride or reticence won't confess 
 that their opinion has gone right round. She determined 
 to sound Claire in the morning. But she could not wait 
 till to-morrow. It would be so delightful to know now 
 that everything was all right, and then sleep comfortably 
 on the good news. 
 
 She scrambled out of bed, wrapped herself in her seal- 
 skin coat because she did not see her dressing-gown, has- 
 tily put on a large feathered hat to conceal the 
 disorder of her hair, and went straight to Claire's 
 room. 
 
 " Claire, are you awake? Do you mind turning on the 
 light .'^ It is so long since I have been in here that I have 
 forgotten the position of the furniture, and I'm afraid of 
 blundering into something. Thank you, dear." 
 
 Then she sat, almost jauntily, on the arm of the sofa, 
 with her big hat on one side and elfin wisps of hair es- 
 caping while she expounded her solution of the problem. 
 She was grievously disappointed by Claire's replies, and 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 76 
 
 h T pose gradually lost its spring and became drooping 
 a id dejected. 
 
 " But you'll think about it Claire ; " and although she 
 
 *i d not actually beg Claire to marry Sir Kenelm for her 
 
 i other's sake, she showed how Claire would immensely 
 
 (' ihance the comfort of all her relatives by marrying him, 
 
 " Well, if it can't be, it can't be," she said dolefully* 
 '' I will merely ask you to think about what I have said. 
 Turn out the light, dear." 
 
 Claire lay thinking about it in the darkness. 
 
 Next day was Saturday, and Mrs. Gilmour had booked 
 .'fats for herself and Emily at Madame Clara Butt's 
 ivftemoon concert at the Albert Hall; but towards the end 
 of luncheon she expressed a doubt whether she would go 
 It) the concert. She said she felt worn out. 
 
 " I am not surprised," said Mrs. Joyce meaningly, and 
 ^]ie glanced across the luncheon table at Claire. Then 
 hhe continued, with an affectation of cheerful fortitude. 
 *• You'll be all right, mother. We needn't start early, so 
 there's plenty of time for you to take a little rest." 
 
 " Rest! " said Mrs. Gilmour. " I think I have for- 
 gotten the meaning of the term ; " and she stared at the 
 ceiling, as though wondering if she would rediscover its 
 laeaning some day in impalpable regions high above the 
 first and second floors. 
 
 " Oh, you'll be all right," repeated Emily. " I have 
 crdered the car at a quarter to three and we can come 
 ^way at half past four. It will be good for you." Then 
 she looked at Claire again, and tried to speak in a tone 
 ( f careless unsuspicious good-nature. " What are you 
 I ;oing to do, Claire ? " 
 
 " Nothing in particular." 
 
 *- You are going to stay in.? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry we can't offer to take you with us, 
 1 ecause we have only the two seats." 
 
76 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Let her go in my place," said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 
 " Oh, no, mother," said Claire. " I wouldn't think 
 of it." 
 
 " If it comes to that," said Emily with lofty indiffer- 
 ence, " you can take her instead of me." 
 
 But Claire said no, of course not. She could not oust 
 Emily, who was much fonder of that sort of music than 
 she herself. 
 
 She was presently left alone at the table, and she sat 
 there by herself till the servants came to take things away. 
 Then she went into the morning-room, and as she stood 
 by one of the lace-curtained windows looking disconsol- 
 ately at the houses on the opposite side of the street, she 
 heard her mother's voice close by in the library. As so 
 often happened all doors were open, for Mrs. Gilmour had 
 been prowling instead of resting. " No," said Mrs. Gil- 
 mour, with a sigh, " I'm afraid you are right, Emily, 
 and that there'll never be any real peace in this house until 
 Claire is out of it." 
 
 This truly was but a variant on many well-intentioned 
 speeches that Mrs. Gilmour had long been in the habit of 
 making when she spoke of Claire — such as, " That enjoy- 
 ment must wait till Claire is happily married and settled," 
 and so forth. Only to-day she left out all the softening 
 adjectives and expressed the thought crudely. Moreover, 
 Claire had never till now heard her mother emit so heavy 
 a sigh as that which preluded the speech. The sigh and 
 the words that followed took her breath away and left 
 her gasping; so that she could not have intervened or in 
 any manner have announced herself as being within ear- 
 shot, had she thought of doing so. 
 
 " If," said Mrs. Gilmour, " It is to go on like this much 
 longer, one of two things will happen. Either I shall 
 break down under it, or, for the first time in my life, I 
 shall lose my temper and be unkind to Claire. For, truly, 
 the very sight of her is beginning to get on my nerves." 
 
?0R BETTER, FOR WORSE 77 
 
 Claire pulled out her handkerchief, and hurried from 
 
 ti 3 room. And as she crossed the black and white marble 
 
 ^ oi the hall and hurried up the shallow steps of the wide 
 
 st urease, the echo of her mother's words stabbed her again 
 
 a] d again. 
 
 " Where is Miss Claire? " asked Mrs. Joyce at a quar- 
 ts r to three, when she and her mother came rustling down 
 t[ e stairs, both gorgeously attired for the concert in gay- 
 C( loured summer-like garments. 
 
 " Upstairs in her room, I believe, ma'am," said Belton. 
 
 Claire was in her room sitting on the pretty chintz- 
 covered sofa, clasping her slender fingers tightly, looking 
 T' th flooded eyes at all the graceful pretty things that sur- 
 iC'unded her, and thinking as strenuously as she could. 
 
 She thought of the violent tirade delivered by Cyril that 
 I ght when he had come in here to thank her for being 
 kind to his friend; she thought of the contemptuous things 
 I4? had said about snobbery and prejudice, of how he had 
 threatened to go right away in search of freedom and wide 
 horizons, because the narrowness of his life wlas stifling 
 him. Those were his real sentiments; his recent cruel 
 change of opinion in regard to her case had been occasioned 
 artificially. 
 
 Above all, she thought of how he had declared that if he 
 went away, their mother would not long miss him — not 
 even htMy the adored one. He was probably wrong in be- 
 lieving that ; but how foolish it would be for a momemnt to 
 suppose that she could miss anyone else, except, as she 
 herself had &aid, pleasantly ! 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ON this warm and sunny afternoon, Roddy Vaughan, 
 having nothing better to do, held a sort of informal 
 reveiw of his wardrobe. The lodgings that he oc- 
 cupied over the hatter's shop in New Bond Street were on 
 the first floor ; and they comprised a sitting-room in front 
 and a bedroom behind, the two rooms communicating with 
 large double doors. Rodd}^ in his shirt sleeves, and smoking 
 a pipe, passed backwards and forwards between the dark 
 bedroom and the not very bright drawing-room, laying out 
 and examining many pairs of trousers on the red velvet 
 chairs, going to the window, and standing at one side of 
 it to catch all the sunlight that was permitted to enter 
 by the hatter's Royal coat-of-arms, a large plaster orna- 
 ment very ugly to look at on this the wrong side, while he 
 inspected the braided lapels of a morning jacket or the 
 buttonholes of a white waistcoat. 
 
 " Come in," he called jovially, when his landlord tapped 
 at the sitting-room door. 
 
 " A lady to see you, sir ; " and the landlord, who had 
 been a valet in private service, ushered the lady into the 
 room with quite a grand manner and softly closed the door 
 behind her. 
 
 "Claire!" 
 
 " I've done what you said, Roddy. I've come to you." 
 
 He was so completely staggered that he stood there, by 
 the window, not even throwing down the white waistcoat 
 or taking the pipe out of his mouth. Then his face flushed 
 and the blood began to dance in his veins. 
 
 " Roddy ! " She looked at him, and her lips trembled. 
 *^ You did mean all you said, that you were really fond of 
 me and wanted me.^ " 
 
 78 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 7» 
 
 " My darling girl of course I did." 
 " If you don't, I'll go away. I can't go home. But I 
 <: )uld go to Aunt Agnes, or to Mrs. Drysdale." 
 
 " Tell me all about it." He dropped the waistcoat now, 
 
 ime to her with coatless arms outstretched, put his hands 
 
 1 her shoulders, and kissed her. " Understand, I adore 
 
 , 3U. I worship the ground you walk on. Tell me every- 
 
 ling that has happened." 
 
 " I've simply done what you said. I've come to you for 
 J pod. I have thought and thought, and I know it's best, 
 am fond of you. I trust you." 
 
 " Claire, you're a tip-topper. I knew you were full 
 ni grit and courage — and you have proved it, with 
 I vengeance. Now sit down while I think things 
 oat." 
 
 She sat on one of the dreadful red velvet chairs with 
 iier hands folded on her lap, and glanced about the room 
 ^5 onderingly . It was such a room as she had never en- 
 tered before in all her life, so sordid in its vulgar attempt 
 o seem luxurious, so repellent in its taniished air of offer* 
 ing welcome to all comers; worse than the waiting-room at 
 ci cheap dentist's, because it smelt of stale tobacco, as well 
 as of unswept dusty carpet. Roddy, pulling on his coat 
 .'is he came back from the bedroom, was conscious of the 
 splendid incongruity of her aspect in this place. She 
 };eemed to him like the princess heroine of a fairy-tale — 
 and she had come here to give herself to him, the humble 
 mt glorious hero. Obtaining her permission first, he lit 
 i pipe in order to calm himself. He must think now wise- 
 y and yet rapidly. 
 
 What should he do with her? He thought of differrent 
 courses of possible action. Get a special license and marry 
 ler to-morrow morning? Take her straight back to her 
 nother, playing the magnanimous, trusting them to be so 
 gratefully touched by his lofty chivalrous conduct that 
 hey would of their own free will reward him with her 
 
80 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 hand? Or hide her away somewhere, and treat with them 
 from a distance? 
 
 What every drop of blood, every pulse in his body told 
 him to do was to take her into the back room, smother her 
 with kisses, and hang the consequences. But he must not 
 ^o that. His conduct must of course be absolutely fault- 
 less. All the cards were in his hand now ; it would be too 
 absurd not to play them properly. 
 
 He asked her a few more hurried questions. 
 
 ** When will they find out you have gone? " 
 
 " I left a letter for mother." 
 
 "Yes, but as you say she was out for the afternoon, she 
 won't have got it yet. When will she get it? " 
 
 Claire looked at the little watch on her wrist. " In 
 about an hour from now. They won't be home till half- 
 past four at the earliest." 
 
 " An hour. Then we haven't any time to lose ; " and 
 he jumped up from his chair, went out to the dark and 
 dingy landing, and called down the stairs to the landlord. 
 ^' Mr. Mudge! You've got an A.B.C. guide, haven't you? 
 Bring it up, please. And, look here, help me chuck a few 
 things into the kit-bag — just a change — grey flannels. 
 I shan't need my dress clothes." 
 
 He had made his decision. There was a place that he 
 knew of in the New Forest, half farm, half lodging-house^ 
 belonging to nice respectable people. He would take her 
 down there. The hunting was over, the tourist season had 
 not begun ; they would not be likely to meet anybody they 
 knew. That was the wisest, most advantageous thing to 
 do. She would be technically compromised. Her family 
 would have no choice but to let him marry her on his own 
 terms. He could command them; and he determined to 
 carry the thing through with a high hand. 
 
 He came in again from the landing, clapped his hands, 
 and laughed gaily. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 81 
 
 " And you mean to say, Claire, you've come with noth- 
 i ig but what you stand up in ? " 
 
 " I couldn't bring anything else, Roddy." 
 
 " Upon my word, you are a tip-topper. I never heard 
 ( f such pluck. Just a little prize packet of all-right, in- 
 ^ ide and out." 
 
 The A.B.C. confirmed his recollection that a Bourne- 
 I louth express left Waterloo just before five o'clock. He 
 (hanged his clothes; Mr. Mudge packed his bag, and 
 i etched a taxi-cab; and off they went. In the taxi-cab 
 le laughed boisterously, cracking jokes and snapping 
 his fingers. 
 
 " Claire," he said, " this is the most tremendous lark 
 1 hat the world has ever seen," 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MRS. GILMOUR and Emily returned from the con- 
 cert rather late, but in excellent spirits. Mrs. 
 Gilmour had been spasmodically humming 
 " Home, Sweet Home " all the way back from Kensington, 
 and she was speaking of the simple little English ballad 
 as she came up the steps outside her own door. 
 
 " What a voice, Emily ! No wonder they encored it 
 like that. Five times, wasn't it? Well, Belton, has Miss 
 Claire had tea? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, Miss Claire is out. Pope wishes to see 
 you, ma'am." 
 
 "Pope?" said Emily sharply. "If Miss Claire has 
 gone out, why isn't Pope with her?" 
 
 " I couldn't say, ma'am." 
 
 And Belton retiring admitted Pope into the hall through 
 the red-baize door. Pope seemed to be scared and 
 nervous. 
 
 "What's the meaning of this?" said Emily, with in- 
 creasing sharpness. "Why have you let Miss Claire go 
 out by herself? You knew very well that unless she is with 
 one of us it is your duty to go with her." 
 
 Pope eagerly asserted that she had wished to perform 
 this duty, but Miss Claire had forbidden her. Miss Claire 
 was " upset," but very firm. Miss Claire, she thought, 
 had had one of her crying fits. Miss Claire had left a let- 
 ter, to be given by Pope to Mrs. Gilmour. Here it was. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour read the letter, began to shake and wave 
 her hands then gropingly made for the morning-room, 
 followed by Emily, and for once shut the door. 
 
 " Read it." And Emily read it. 
 
 82 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 83 
 
 " My DEAfiEST MOTHEE, 
 
 " I have gone away to marry Roddy. I know 
 ' ou will not mind, except perhaps at first, and I am sure it 
 ; the best thing for me to do. I will send you our ad- 
 ress soon. 
 
 " Claire." 
 
 Both of them very pale, both of them with tremulous 
 } ands, Emily and Mrs. Gilmour handed the letter to and 
 Iro between them, staring at each other and uttering 
 ejaculations to which neither listened. 
 
 " That's all she says. . . . Not another word. . . . 
 " lun away with him. . . . Bolted. . . . Gone out of her 
 jnother's house like that. . . . Yes, she's gone. . . . What 
 u thing to do. . . , Just bolted. . . . We must keep it quiet 
 at all costs. . . .1 shall die of shame if it's ever 
 imown. ..." 
 
 " Emily, give me back her letter." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour, suddenly stung to energetic effort, 
 plunged out into the hall again, calling shrilly for Belton. 
 
 " Wait there. Pope. It's Belton I want, not you, for 
 the moment. . . . Oh, Belton, the car ! Order the car at 
 once. It is no question of his getting his tea, I must be 
 off now. I have to see Mr. Harpington without a minute's 
 delay." 
 
 Emily had run to the telephone and was yelling for a 
 number. Mrs. Gilmmour called to her to stop telephoning. 
 ^' Ne dites rien a personne. Faut pas que personne sache 
 la verite." 
 
 "Only Leonard," said Emily hysterically, coming from 
 the telephone and leaving the receiver dangling. " I must 
 have Leonard here. We can't get on without Leonard." 
 Then seeing Pope, she turned on her savagely. ** Now, 
 Pope, I've seen through you some time, and you can just 
 go upstairs and pack your box, and clear out, and " 
 
 '*^No, no," cried Mrs. Gilmour. " What nonsense! How 
 
84 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 absurd ! " And she addressed Pope with a pitiable imita- 
 tion of her own normal manner. " It is not your box, 
 Pope, but Miss Claire^s boxes that you have to pack — to 
 send after her, you know. You will follow. Etes-vous 
 folle, Emily? You understand. Pope, Miss Claire has 
 had the idea of going into the country to friends of 
 ours." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " And I am not expecting her back for a few days. 
 Unless, of course, she changes her mind — in which case I 
 should be very glad to see her, and you would unpack 
 again." 
 
 Then Mrs. Gilmour started on such a pracing ramble 
 through the rooms as they had never yet seen. Through 
 the opened doors she passed like a whirlwind, and Emily 
 ran here and there to catch a word with her in transit. 
 
 " Mother, only Leonard. He counts as a son. He can 
 help — set the police in motion." 
 
 " Oh, will the car never come ? How long am I to be 
 kept waiting for the car?" 
 
 " Mother, what do you mean to do when the car is 
 here? " 
 
 ^' Go in pursuit. I must rescue my child." 
 
 " Then take Leonard with you." And Emily dashed 
 off to the telephone again. 
 
 " If you tell him, give him no particulars. It is Uncle 
 Derek who must know the facts. Ring up the Travellers', 
 Tell Derek I am on the way to him now. I will pick him 
 up and take him on with me." 
 
 Then when she was next passing, she fell upon Emily 
 in sudden explosive wrath. 
 
 " Emily, I heard you saying the very words. Half 
 the house could have heard you. You said the very 
 words — * Run away.' " 
 
 " Only to Leonard, ipother." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour burst into tears. " It is you, Emily,'* 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 85 
 
 e sobbed, " Who have brought this on me — mismanaging, 
 K) jscuring my judgment." 
 
 " It's cruel of you to say so, mother ; " and Emily be- 
 : m to cry too. 
 
 " You took me away just when I ought to have been 
 2re — the very afternoon she takes it into her head to do 
 : lis madness / am carted off to the Albert Hall " 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 Then they embraced, and wept for a few moments on 
 cich other's necks. " Forgive me, Emily. I didn't mean 
 :. Oh, where is that csly? " 
 
 " It's all right, mother. I know you didn't really mean 
 I:. Let me put your hat straight." 
 
 And then, by the queerest of chances, Cyril drifted in. 
 i^s a rule he was never here at such an hour, least of all 
 on a Saturday. 
 
 " Oh, my boy — my poor boy. You at any fate are 
 guiltless, for you never wavered in your dislike of him." 
 
 Quickly made aware of the catastrophe, Cyril dropped 
 upon a chair by the central heating apparatus, and in a 
 dreadful tragic whisper uttered his thoughts. 
 
 " The villain. The cursed villain." Then he began to 
 shout for Belton. 
 
 "Did you call, sir?" 
 
 " Belton, Where's that revolver that I bought when Mrs. 
 Gilmour was worried at night by those cats from Number 
 Nine?" 
 
 " I have it, put away downstairs, sir." 
 
 " Fetch it." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 And Cyril hissed through his teeth. " I'll kill him. I'll 
 kill him at sight." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour gave a moan. 
 
 " A duel ! Oh, heaven forbid. Do you want to make me 
 quite frantic? Don't you see that if there is a breath of 
 scandal, your sister's reputation is gone for ever? A duel 
 
86 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 — everything in the papers — when our one task is to pre^ 
 vent a soul from knowing. What you said to Belton is 
 already sufficient to arouse his suspicions." 
 
 " If he wrongs her, I intend to kill him." 
 
 *'Hush." 
 
 " Besides," said Emily, " he is just as likely to kill you 
 as you him, if it comes to firearms. He was in the army." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour moaned again. 
 
 "Where does he live?" asked Emily. " I suppose 
 mother will go there first of all — that is, after the 
 Travellers'." 
 
 " I know where he lives, but I can't think," said Cyril 
 distractingly. " Bond Street. They would know at his 
 club — but of course they might refuse to tell us. He 
 belongs to the Junior Regent." 
 
 " Yes, that is where I sent that fatal card of invitation," 
 said Mrs. Gilmour. 
 
 It was pitiful. This the greatest accident that had ever 
 befallen the house was altogether too big for them. The 
 colour seemed to be permanently banished from their 
 drawn faces ; all their hands trembled ; as they looked at 
 one another there was nothing to read in their eyes but 
 confusion, impotence, panic. 
 
 " The car is at the door," said Belton. 
 
 They drove about in the car, at first three of them, then 
 four with Uncle Derek, and finally five counting Leonard 
 Joyce. Not without delay and difficulty Derek enabled 
 them to get Roddy's address from the club porter; and at 
 last, having left the car round the corner, they stood out- 
 side the hatter's closely shuttered shop and feverishly 
 pressed the bell button at the side door. 
 
 The birds had long since flown. 
 
 Mr. Mudge, the landlord, could not say where. He did 
 not know what would be Mr. Vaughan's next address. 
 He had instructions to take Mr. Vaughan's letters down 
 to the club, and doubtless Mr. Vaughan would write to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 87, 
 
 t ' club and ask for them if he wanted them. Mr. Mudge, 
 c >ss-examined, even threatened, by Leonard Joyce, could 
 n b or would not tell them anything more than that. 
 
 Considerably past eight o'clock, Belton with his as- 
 s tants served dinner to them, stanchly maintaining his 
 p hte pretence that nothing unusual had happened or was 
 h ppening. But they were all of them still in morning 
 diBSS, and no circumstance could have typified more 
 s ongly the violent break in custom, the catastrophic up- 
 h xval that the house had suffered. They all ate heartily 
 b ' 3ause the stress of their emotions had made them very 
 h ngry, and some of them, moreover, had missed their 
 a'ternoon tea. When dessert had been put on the table 
 a d the servants had gone to fetch the coffee old Derek 
 d d his very best to sustain the courage of his courtesy 
 nephews and nieces. 
 
 " My experience leads me on occasions like this always 
 to say the same thing. Incidents that seem alarming in 
 tlie beginning often take a better turn before they are 
 fi lished. Don't let us be unnecessarily gloomy. Let us 
 ba as hopeful as we can. We have made no false step so 
 far. That is always a great thing. Your instinct," 
 a id he beamed at Mrs. Gilmour, " to keep everything in 
 the narrowest circle was absolutely sound. The fewer 
 p?ople we take into our confidence the better. I myself 
 an very hopeful. I quite see your point, Emily, about 
 tlie impossibility of their getting married so late in the 
 diy — as she did not leave the house till three p.m. — and 
 tlie annoyance of to-morrow's being Sunday. Also I fol- 
 low Leonard's argument. As a lawyer he is on his own 
 g "ound there ; " and he nodded and smiled at Leonard. 
 " You know what you are talking about when you assure 
 Ui that he could not obtain a special license, any more 
 t lan the ordinary kind, without making the false declar- 
 a ion that Claire is over age or that her guardians are 
 c unseating parties. But there are ways of getting round 
 
88 FOR BETTER, FOR \i^ORSE 
 
 things. And we have to consider whether in the peculiar 
 circumstances he would hesitate to make the declaration. 
 Personally I don't think that as a gallant man he ought 
 to hesitate. No, honestly, I don't attach too much im- 
 portance to Leonard's doubts — and I feel that we shall 
 be wrong if we impute the worst motives, until we have 
 greater reason to do so." 
 
 Then Belton came in with a telegram and offered it to 
 Mrs. Gilmour on a salver. 
 
 " It's a telegram," said Mrs. Gilmour, 
 
 Belton hurried from the room, rather shattering the* 
 polite pretence by his discreet anxiety to get away before 
 the telegram was opened and read. 
 
 " C. is quite safe. Will write. — Roddy." 
 
 They all read the message in turn, each contributing 
 ejaculations, and the paper was started for another round 
 of the table. 
 
 " That's all he says. . . . No more than that. . . . 
 Handed in at Southhampton West. . . . Fancy his daring 
 to sign it Roddy. . . . Yes, handed in at Southhampton 
 West." 
 
 And a feverishly agitated discussion burst forth as to 
 how the message should be interpreted. 
 
 Uncle Derek was inclined to think that the use of the 
 diminutive Roddy was a favourable indication. " Besides, 
 I ask myself: If he did not mean well, why should he 
 telegraph at all ? " 
 
 " You don't think," said Mrs. Gilmour, " that they are 
 married already? " 
 
 " Of course they are not married," said Mr. Joyce. 
 
 " I was asking Uncle Derek, not you, Leonard." 
 
 " No," said Uncle Derek regretfully. " I think if a 
 marriage of any sort had been consummated — I should say, 
 celebrated — that he would say so, and put us out of our 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 80 
 
 : ispense. No, I don't think they are married. Not yet."^ 
 
 " Soutlihampton West ! " cried Mrs. Gilmour abruptly. 
 
 ' That's where the ships sail for America ; " and she threw 
 
 erself right back in her chair, and closed her eyes. 
 
 ' It is plain. He has lured her down there in order to take 
 
 1 er to America." 
 
 " But why should he do that? " 
 
 "Who can say? Revenge, wickedness! We shall all 
 1 e disgraced. We shall never see her again." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Uncle Derek. " We must not throw 
 up the sponge like this. We must go on hoping for the 
 heet. There is no lane so long that it has not a turning, 
 ' ooner or later." 
 
 At this same hour of the eveniMg the runaway couple 
 liad just finished supper in their farmhouse parlour. Pres^ 
 (ntly they stood in the wooden porch with the lamplighti 
 behind them and the grey mysterious night in front of 
 them. Great bushes and shrubs in the small garden seemed 
 of enormous size, and clusters of blossoms showing their 
 true colours where the lamp glow fell upon them looked! 
 like paper flowers; further off she could make out dark 
 masses of foliage of apparently limitless extent, and, be- 
 yond some imseen meadows, a heath that they had crossed 
 in the fading daylight rose upwards to a long ridge and the 
 faint grey sky. The scene wgfs lovely, fantastic, dream- 
 hke, seeming to be millions of miles away from Sloane 
 Street and Lennox Gardens, belonging to a different world 
 — the outskirts of her newly discovered coimtry, her land 
 of freedom and hope. 
 
 Roddy said she must be tired by now, and after giving 
 him one of her childlike kisses she went upstairs to bed. 
 
 The lattice window stood open and the soft pure air| 
 came gently in, with whispers of the trees, strange, far- 
 off sounds of birds or beasts, and a wonderful fragrance 
 of flowers and herbs and earth. The ceiling waa so low 
 
&0 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 that she could touch it with her hand; the sheets were 
 stiff and rough ; the nightgown lent her by the landlady 
 was as heavy as a smock-frock. The whole little bed, as 
 she stooped over it, smelt like a field of new-mown grass. 
 But she loved it all; she would not have had anything 
 otherwise. Roddy was pacing to and fro in the garden 
 below the window, giving her a sense of company and pro- 
 tection in the midst of strangeness, and his voice was the 
 last thing that she heard before she dropped off to sleep. 
 He called to her softly and kindly. 
 
 " Good-night, you dear little, brave little Claire. Sleep^ 
 well. Good-night." 
 
 ** Good-night, dear Roddy,'' she murmured drowsily. 
 
 Next day was Sunday, but on the morrow he hired a mo- 
 tor car and took her over to Lymington, where he bought 
 her a cotton dress, a Panama hat, another pair of shoes, 
 and anything else that she wanted to make her comfort- 
 able. She was surprised that they had not been married 
 before now, but she felt no uneasiness on this point. She 
 was, however, slightly distressed when he refused to allow 
 her to write to her mother and give their giddress, as she 
 had promised. He reassured her by saying that he was 
 about to write to them himself, and reminded her that, hav- 
 ing had his telegram, they knew she was quite safe. 
 
 Then for day after day it was the happiest time of her 
 life. They tramped for prodigious distances through the 
 splendid old forest, drove in a little pony-cart, took their 
 food with them and had picnics. It was all novelty, all 
 happiness. The landlady, the farmer, the dairywcgnen, 
 even the animals in the farmyard, had become old and 
 valued friends to her. It was sunshine, health, laughter. 
 And throughout it all, Roddy was the perfect companion, 
 what Cyril used to be but could never be again, like a 
 brother, like a friend, like a boisterous, happy-go-lucky 
 schoolboy. 
 
 Yet beneath all the fun and frolic business was pro- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 91 
 
 f ressing satisfactorily. Before a week of the idyll had 
 
 - ipped away Roddy was in treaty with the family. Every- 
 
 ling was working out exactly as he had anticipated. He 
 
 ad all the trump cards ; and, metaphorically, he banged 
 
 t lem down on the table with exultant determination, say- 
 
 \g " Play to that. My trick, I fancy, if you don't mind. 
 
 (rot anything bigger than the King? No, I thought not. 
 
 ^ 'hank you.'' 
 
 He had sent them a terrible letter to begin with, saying 
 that Claire had sought refuge with him from the cruelty 
 3 nd ill-usage that she wa§ suffering at home, and in dread 
 list she should be forced into a marriage with a man old 
 enough to be her grandfather from the mercenary motives 
 cf those who were trying to abuse their position as 
 i.oiardians. He further told them that if they questioned 
 his conduct in the matter, he was quite " prepared to hslve 
 the whole thing thrashed out in public." 
 
 The absolute propriety of his conduct gave him an added 
 strength. He asked himself if ever a man had shown 
 greater delicacy of mind, more chivalrous self-restraint. 
 He was ardently, madly in love with the girl; she had 
 placed herself unreservedly in his power; and yet she had 
 been held as safe and sacred as if she had sought sanctuary 
 at an ancient religious shrine instead of at a hatter's shop 
 in New Bond Street. He thought of his virtue constantly, 
 feeling that he had really risen to great heights, and that^ 
 cost him what it might, he would keep on the lofty plane. 
 Indeed, in this respect, he felt so artlessly pleased with 
 himself, that when at last he went up to London to meet 
 them all he was ready to be magnanimous in his victory^ 
 to cry quits, to let bygones be bygones. " They have been 
 lucky," he thought, " to have to deal with somebody not 
 only genuinely devoted to her, but a true gentleman into 
 the bargain." If they would say something like that them- 
 selves, he would shake hands with them and all might be 
 smiles again. 
 
92 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 He was two nights in London ; and Claire had now be- 
 come so much at home down here that she scarcely missed 
 him. But she was on the heath cart-track at sunset on 
 the evening of his return, waiting for the little ponj-cart 
 in which a farm-hand was driving him from Brockenhurst 
 Junction. 
 
 He jumped down gaily from the cart, and as they 
 walked on side by side he told her all the news. First and 
 foremost, he was going to take her home to her mother's 
 house to-morrow. 
 
 "Roddy! You don't mean it? You ccmH mean that 
 you want to make me do that." 
 
 '^ Yes, my dearest, it's quite all right. You go back as 
 my affianced bride, and as such you will be treated with the 
 respect and honour due to you. Oh, I've put ray foot down 
 on the old nonsense, and they won't begin that game again 
 — treating you as if you weren't out of your teens. 
 They're sending the announcement of our engagement 
 to The Tknes and Mommg Post — and I shall send it my- 
 self to the Financial News, We're to be married as soon 
 as you can get your trousseau." And he ran on joyously. 
 " There are to be several large dinner-parties to introduce 
 me to people. It's going to be done in real style. You're 
 going to have a slap-up wedding — as many bridesmaids as 
 you please ; very likely a bishop there to turn us off. You'll 
 enjoy it, Claire." 
 
 " I shall hate it. Why can't we be married quietly here, 
 as you intended.'* " 
 
 " For all sorts of reasons. Now trust me — go on trust- 
 ing me, my pretty one. Roddy knows his way about; 
 Roddy will pull you through. I've a letter from yonr 
 naother in my pocket. She sends heaps of love, and im- 
 plores you to fall in with the arrangements she is making." 
 And his voice showed the satisfaction that he felt. " I 
 think your mother and I are going to get on very well 
 together. She called me Roddy once, and asked me to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 93 
 
 tch something from the next room. Claire, I felt quite 
 1 uched. It showed so plainly that she had come round. 
 1 es, the entire quarrel, or misunderstanding, is over ; and 
 ere^s no sense in not being friendly with one's wife's re- 
 tions if one can be so without loss of dignity. That old 
 11 ow Harpington sang a very different song — but I do 
 m the justice of admitting that he was always courteous, 
 a id; I believe he really took to me from the beginning, 
 ' 1 here's no humbug about your brother John ; he has his 
 lu^ad screwed on all right. He doesn't like me, not as 
 jzt; but we shall hit it off later. Master Cyril Is just 
 «- cub, and Mrs. Joyce still has her knife into me; but 
 ley both know they have got to be civil for the future. 
 ' uck up, Claire. Don't be down about this little sep- 
 aration. It won't be more than a month, all told, I dare 
 my — and then, think of it; you get your Roddy and I 
 ^»et my Claire. Tum, tum, terrumtum tum-tum,'* and he 
 Immmed the Wedding March and laughed. " Where shall 
 1 take you for your honeymoon.'^ " 
 " Bring me back here." 
 
 " Oh, no, that would be too tame and flat. We have 
 ] airly exhausted Do-nothing Valley and Slack-ab^ttt Hill. 
 Paris! I'll take you to Paris. It's ages since I've been 
 here. Paris, Claire — Longchamps racecourse, the Bois 
 .it tea-time, the boulevards by lamplight 1" AjmI he 
 laughed again. " Later in the day Mr. and Mrs. Roderick 
 Yaughan left for the continent. That sounds all right, eh.'* 
 But we'll break the journey at Dover, Claire." 
 
 He was in the highest good spirits, and did not under- 
 stand that Claire's lieart had grown as heavy as lead. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 AMIDST the ordinary traific of Sloane Street, and 
 considerably impeding it, cars and carriages loaded 
 ' with bright faces and gay-coloured frocks, with silk 
 hats and black coats, with bouquets and streamers, were 
 slowly approaching the church. People on omnibuses stood 
 up to look. " See, a wedding. A grand affair." The 
 invited guests were filing in through the crowd outside the 
 church, and the red carpet was hidden in the press ; police- 
 men were busy; all that part of the church not reserved 
 and guarded with red ropes was thronged already, and 
 still more uninvited surged in by side doors. A verger 
 at one of these doors struggled out, saying "Standing 
 room only ; " and of a sudden the other side door was 
 closed and bolted. 
 
 " They've shut the other door. If we don't get in this 
 way we shan't get in at all. . . . Don't push. . . . Take 
 your turn. ... I beg your pardon, I've been here ten 
 minutes before you." The desire to get inside before it 
 was too late produced something like frenzy in these nurse- 
 maids and shopgirls, who had arrived on the scene in the 
 beginning gnerely as quiet passers-by, and they elbowed 
 and shoved with violence. They called to the verger for 
 help, asking him to mind their perambulators for them 
 or take charge of their bonnet-boxes : " I wonder you talk 
 such nonsense," said the verger, perspiring and unable to 
 move in the scrimmage. " Who ever heard of bringing 
 perambulators to a wedding? " 
 
 Inside the church it was just lovely — worth all the heat 
 and tussle; sunlight, scent of flowers, music; rustling of 
 silk, movement of feathers, gauze and lace; buzzing as 
 of bees in a glass hive; the beautiful dresses passing up 
 
 94 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 95 
 
 tie aisle, the sleek rather Jewish-looking groomsmen es- 
 ( orting ladies to their pews — everything that they had 
 « ome for, hoped for. Only they would have liked to be 
 ] earer to the heart of it, within the ropes, in the inner 
 < ircle. 
 
 Up there you could see better, and hear what the guests 
 ^^ere saying. The guests were all whispering together, 
 
 "They've got a bishop, haven't they.? What bishop? 
 ' ?he one that married Emily Joyce. He's an old friend of 
 i he family, . . . Oh, my dear, look. On your right. Did 
 you ever? Painted two inches thick, and sixty if she's a 
 (lay. . . . What's the name of the best man. SchiUtzer? 
 Jew, isn't he? . . . .1 don't think the bridegroom's friends 
 ure anything to write home about, do you? And so fe'm 
 of them. . . . They wanted to put me on that side, but I 
 wasn't taking any. I said * Bride's friend, if you please.' '* 
 
 Roddy, with the sunlight full upon him, with his face 
 all radiant, and himself gorgeous in his brand new clothes, 
 stood in the correct position by the chancel steps waiting 
 for the bride. He, too, had noticed the emptiness on the 
 bridegroom's side* of the church, and it was he who told 
 the best man to fill those unoccupied pews with the bride's 
 people. And a little later when he saw that they, bound by 
 custom, refused to sit on what they considered their wrong 
 side, he issued orders to move up the vulgar,* or casual, 
 congregation. But to the end there were vacant benches, 
 
 Claire's family were all assembled. Their friends from 
 both south and north of the park had mustered in great 
 force, all smiling delightedly. And during these expectant 
 moments, while everybody waited for the bride, the buzz of 
 whispering talk grew louder, as of bees about to swarm. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that only women are fond of 
 weddings ; men are just as fond of them really. They often 
 make a fuss about going, but when there they enjoy them- 
 selves quite as much as their wives and sisters. Indeed 
 many men go to weddings of their own accord. Timid mei| 
 
^96 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 who never mean to get married go in the same way that 
 they go t* the Folies Bergere and other dangerous places 
 when they are in Paris, because it gives them a sensation 
 that they are playing with fire. Hard-hearted men of 
 business, such as solicitors, accountants, land agents, and 
 so forth, go to weddings without being dragged by female 
 relatives, because they have expanded a habit that started 
 by attending funerals. They take a gloomy interest in 
 observing pretty girls and substantial young matrons who 
 were children the other day, or the robust, overbearing 
 man with whom they quarrelled, now white-haired ajad 
 beginning to grow feeble. Poor relations, however rem©te, 
 also treat weddings as seriously as funerals, going to them 
 from vast distances and never missing payment of " this 
 last mark of respect." 
 
 What normal men and women ahke enjoy is the excite- 
 ment of a wedding: that crowd contagion to which it is a 
 pleasure to yield oneself, and out of which presently arises 
 a new vigour of individual thought. One is swayed by 
 the unreasonable emotion all round one ; a lump comes into 
 one's throat ; love of humanity is stirred by the sight of so 
 many cheerful faces ; aspirations for the good of the uni- 
 verse swell upward inside one because so many bright 
 young eyes are flashing with hope. Then as the general 
 excitement wanes a more definite but no less lively medita- 
 tion begins. 
 
 And it was so now at the wedding of Claire and Roddy. 
 Everybody was thinking. In all the big church there was 
 not a soul who did not feel stirred and strongly affected. 
 They thought of the sanctity of marriage, the loveliness 
 cf the bond; thinking of it, some of them, as the only 
 beautiful and yet unassailable thing left to us in England. 
 Husbands, bald and red externally, grew young and tender 
 inwardly as they thought of the day when they stood wait- 
 ing by stone steps, like the man over there. Elderly wives, 
 (forgetting the agonies caused by bad temper and unskilled 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 97 
 
 CO cs, remembered only the nights when they and their 
 lie >mates had watched and prayed by a sick child's bed. 
 M >. Drysdale furtively touched Mr. Drysdale's hand, and 
 M \ Drysdale acknowledged the pressure with an ineffable 
 sn le. Mothers of unmarried girls, those innocent girls 
 th nselves, even indurated old bachelors, all thought with 
 te demess of happy unions and hearts that from long 
 hfldt beat as one. Two little actresses, friends of Cyril, 
 w]i) were seated just inside the ropes on the bride's side, 
 lo s ; their terrible self-consciousness, ceased to look at them- 
 se res in tiny gold-framed mirrors or to dab their aoses 
 wi I h the powder puffs that they carried in their lace hand- 
 kn 'chiefs. They began to feel quite small and insig^ 
 Bif cant. After all, this was the real thing. 
 
 Roddy had sprung to attention. The buzzing was like 
 thit of bees about to acclaim their queen. The bride's 
 p:'3cession was coming up the church, and all heads had 
 ti *ned. 
 
 "How ygung she looks! . . . Yes, isn't she tall? . . . 
 So white! '' 
 
 She was arm in arm with Uncle Derek, who looked tri- 
 Uinphant, seeming to say, " What did I tell you? A little 
 p itience, and everything comes right in the end. Here 
 W3 are; and could anything be pleasanter or more satis- 
 ff.ctory? " Following them came little pages in white 
 satin and child bridemaids, with coifs on their golden hair, 
 who seemed to symbolize the aim and hope of this contract 
 a id ceremony. After them came splendid big adult brides- 
 naids, with nice skins and soft eyes, with immense ha,ts 
 f 'om Madame Alcide, and rather modest little bouquets, 
 t le gift of the bridegroom. Presently, when the proces- 
 s on halted, these fine big young women hid the contracting 
 parties and generally obstructed the view. 
 
 The organ stopped playing; instead of the whispering 
 t lere was a sudden tense hush, as on a racecourse when 
 t le flag has fallen and someone has shouted, " They're 
 
98 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 off!*' The solemnization had begun. And as the sonor- 
 ous words of the service, so familiar but still so grand, 
 fell upon listening ears, all the thoughts deepened. 
 
 . . . " And therefore is not by any to he enterprised, 
 nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly.''^ . . . 
 Uncle Derek, modestly drawn back a little way, beamed 
 with kindly satisfaction. ..." First, It was ordained 
 for the procreation of children?^ . . . Mrs. Gilmour 
 thought of her family: Lawrence in his kilt; Angela the 
 invalid, now gone : Emily, who had never given her a mo- 
 ment's anxiety ; and Cyril, of whom that could not be said 
 — and of Claire, too, of course. It was a great rehef 
 after all the fuss to see dear Claire being settled so pleas- 
 antly and comfortably, and as she herself had wished. 
 ..." Secondly, It was ordained for a remedy against 
 sin,^^ . . ; . Cyril's two little chorus girls nudged each other. 
 
 " Wilt thou have this Wovmn to thy wedded zdfe,^' — 
 the vows were to be spoken now — " to live together after 
 God^s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? WUt 
 thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sick- 
 ness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee 
 only unto her, so long as ye both shall Uvef " 
 
 That queer man Evan Giles, the writer, actually 
 groaned aloud. His thoughts had wandered far away. 
 But the thoughts of old Sir Kenelm Grantley were very 
 much to the point. Old and shaky as he was, he had 
 borne his disappointment like a man; making no com- 
 plaints, sending a present in the shape of a large cheque 
 accompanied by a very sweet letter of good wishes. He 
 thought now with sadness. He had seen her grow up, 
 and he would so much have liked to watch over her and 
 cherish her while she blossomed into maturity. He had 
 intended to be very gentle with her, very kind and gener- 
 ous, and never, if he could help it, either intrusive or 
 obtrusive. He would not have allowed her to regret her 
 goodness in accepting him. But it was not to be. And 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 99 
 
 he cnew of no one else at the moment that he could put 
 in he place of the late Isabelle. 
 
 * Who giveth this Woman to he married to this Man? " 
 l^mily Joyce and one or two others thought that she 
 hs ( given herself ; but Uncle Derek with the slightest and 
 m* ) it courteous of gestures indicated to the bishop and 
 assistant clergy that he was giving her, seeming to add 
 in jnspoken words that now and always he was without 
 reserve ready to do anything expected of him. 
 
 ' ' O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all man- 
 Jcird, Giver of all spiritual grace. ..." 
 
 Moddy and Claire were kneeling now, all by themselves, 
 at the altar rails, and the sunshine through the high 
 southern windows poured down upon them. Quite unex- 
 pccitedly, indeed much to her own surprise, Emily Joyce 
 began to cry. Aunt Agnes had been quietly weeping for 
 some little time, but as if she liked doing it. And a tear 
 stole down the nose of Mrs. Gilmour, as she went on 
 thinking about the girl that she had always neglected. 
 Dear Claire. She hoped that Claire had chosen wisely. 
 At any rate, she, her mother, had taken no responsibility 
 in the matter. It was all Claire's doing. In the words 
 oi the adage, Claire had made her bed and must hence- 
 fcrth lie on it. That was the purport of everything that 
 had been said throughout the ceremony. 
 
 The music burst forth again; the choir began to sing, 
 ajid the women in the church, old and young, ceased to 
 notice the bridegroom at all. Their hearts were vibrating 
 w ith sympathy for the white-veiled kneeling girl ; deep, 
 "WDmanly instincts moved them now instead of mere 
 tj loughts, and their wishes were as fervent as prayers. The 
 Kusic ceased; the song was over, or fading into breathless 
 s lence. 
 
 " Lordy have mercy upon us.'^ 
 
 " Christ, have mercy upon zis.^^ 
 
 " Lord, have Tuercy upon us,'* 
 
100 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 And then soon the bishop said a few words to the newly- 
 married couple. During the years that had passed since 
 he married Emily his style had ripened. He dehvered 
 what all felt to be a beautiful impressive address, in which 
 the priestly and paternal manner was gracefully blendedl 
 with the intimate tone proper to a very old friend of the 
 family. 
 
 " You, Claire, who come from a home of loTe," he began. 
 And he went on to say how she could not fail to excel in 
 the duties of a wife, because of the advantages she had 
 enjoyed in her upbringing and training, with examples 
 of domestic bliss ever before her eyes to study and imi- 
 tate. 
 
 " And you, Roderick, who are gallant and brave, who 
 have travelled to the ends of the earth and fought for your 
 native land." And he told Roddy, in effect, that he might 
 find it a bit difficult at first, but he would very soon pick 
 up the ways of a perfect husband. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour blew her nose and felt extraordinarily 
 contented and hopeful, full of affection for dear Claire, 
 and more and more confident that things had worked out 
 for the best. Why should not Claire be happy? She 
 had secured the man of her choice; and after her mar- 
 riage, as she knew from experience, the love always goes 
 on increasing. The knowledge that you ought to be 
 happy, that you have to be happy, in your married life, 
 is half the battle. As so beautifully and forcibly im- 
 pressed upon one in the service now drawing to a close, you 
 have so many sacred duties to perform in married life 
 that, unless you are fanciful, you have not tvms to be 
 unhappy even though it lasts till death puts an end to 
 it. 
 
 The married couple had gone into the vestry, followed 
 by Mrs. Gilmour, Aunt Agnes, Uncle Derek; and more 
 and more people were being fetched to sign the book. 
 All was now gaiety. One whispered no longer, but talked 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 101 
 
 fy ely in one's natural voice. As always, it was said by 
 tl se not invited into the vestry that they had never 
 k >wn such a long wait at any wedding. Cyril came 
 d v^n the church and sat for a little while with his two 
 C: )ms girls. The best man came hurriedly down the 
 c' irch, looking pale and anxious, as though somebody 
 h ' i fallen ill and he was in search of a doctor. But he 
 w s only making sure that the big doors at the bottom 
 
 the church stood wide open and that the right car 
 w : s outside them. 
 
 Then, next moment, the organ began to play the " Wed- 
 d ig March.'' The triumphant melody filled the church, 
 s rring deeper chords inside one than as yet had been 
 t« ) iched, making the stone and wood and iron of the build- 
 ii ^ itself vibrate. And in the midst of the tremor, the 
 s inlight, and the beating hearts, the happy pair swept 
 pcst and out through the big doors. 
 
 PeojJe down there were standing on the pew seats ; 
 nursemaids and bonnet girls could not contain them- 
 s }lves. 
 
 " Did you see her face.? . . . Did you see how it lit up? 
 . . . He^s all a man, mind you. . . . Did you see how 
 he looked at her.'^ . . . Looked as if he could eat her, 
 didn't he.?" 
 
 In the ugly street traffic was again impeded; the crowd 
 of sightseers overflowed the pavements ; cars and carriages 
 fall of bridesmaids, dowagers, bald-headed gentlemen, and 
 f owers and ribbons and silk hats, slowly threaded their 
 \ ay past Cadogan Place and round the comer to the 
 
 1 irge house with the red carpet and the awning. 
 
 Many of the guests walked from the church to the 
 
 1 ouse. One old buster, in white spats and pearl grey 
 
 trousers, walking with several other men, made a remark 
 
 ihat is often heard on these auspicious occasions. \ 
 
 " Happy is the bride that the sun shines on." 
 
 " Exactly. I just said so to my wife. And what a 
 
102 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 pretty bride. Really beautiful, quite ethereal — that's 
 what my wife said," 
 
 " What I don't understand," said a tall young man, " is 
 how a common fellow like that could get such a girl," 
 
 " Well, my dear Everett," said the old buster philo- 
 sophically, " between you and me and the post, girls marry 
 anybody nowadays because they treat marriage so lightly. 
 If they don't like it, they kick over the traces. Divorce 
 is made so easy nowadays." 
 
 «Is it?" 
 
 " Yet," said another man, " they're agitating to change 
 the law and make it easier." 
 
 " Oh, I hope that'll never be done," said the old buster, 
 as they turned the comer and came in sight of the awn- 
 ing. " If you strike at the institution of marriage itself, 
 well, it's all up." 
 
 " Still," said young Mr. Everett, " it beats me how 
 her people can have let her go to a common fellow like 
 that." 
 
 " Ssh, Here we are," 
 
 It Was all over now. The happy pair had gone away. 
 They were alone in a reserved compartment of the boat 
 express. London had dropped behind them ; glaring chalk, 
 yellow cornfields, the pleasant Kentish landscape flashed 
 past the windows; and the train gathering speed rocked 
 and swayed a little. 
 
 " You darling girl." 
 
 Roddy caressed her with ardour, made her sit on his 
 knee, pulling her about, and all the time exulting. " You 
 are mine now — my very own — till death us do part. My 
 property. I may beat you with a stick no bigger than 
 my little finger." And he began to take such liberties 
 with his property that she was scared, and gave a little 
 cry. 
 
 " Oh, please let me go." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 103 
 
 . le, all flushed, and seeming to her of a sudden changed 
 ar( ugly, laughed and released her. "All right;'' and 
 he )rought out a cigarette, lit it, and puffed at it rapidly. 
 " 11 right, my pretty one, we'll be a real husband and 
 mil by to-morrow morning." 
 
 Lnd even then she did not know what he meant. Neither 
 hcf mother, her aunt, nor her sister had enlightened her. 
 A ' er all, no one had explained to her any of the mysteries 
 of God's holy ordinance into which she had entered so 
 trjstfully. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 FOR the next month or two they were " dashing about 
 and showing themselves," a& he called it. 
 
 After Paris he let Trouville see them ; and after 
 that in quick succession Homburg, Baden, the Italian lakes 
 and Venice had peeps of them. Pope the maid, as well 
 as her mistress, felt the immense change of this life of 
 prompt or sudden action after the feeble, procrastinating 
 air of Mrs. Gilmour's establishment, in which all plans 
 and schemes, even when they seemed red-hot, soon faded 
 and cooled to mere subjects for future discussion. Pope 
 was always packing and unpacking. 
 
 In October she opened the huge boxes on a round of 
 country house visits, and Roddy for the first time found 
 himself in really good society. That kind old fellow. 
 Uncle Derek, had used all his social influence on their be- 
 half, writing to the chieftains of his vast clan and deli- 
 cately intimating that he would accept in payment of 
 services he had been able to render any kindness and atten- 
 tion offered to his young connections Mr. and Mrs. 
 Vaughan. " Quite big pots " received them hospitably, as 
 Roddy freely owned when acknowledging the courtesy 
 of his uncle by marriage. 
 
 One mansion to which it might naturally have been 
 expected that the bridegroom would lead his bride was still 
 closed to them. He had duly apprised his own great 
 uncle, Sir Roderick, of his change of condition, sending 
 with an affectionate letter several newspaper cuttings 
 that gave a fine account of the wedding itself; but to the 
 letter Sir Roderick made no reply, although he returned 
 all the printed matter after scrawling thereon in his^ 
 crabbed old hand two words only : " Very interesting,^* 
 
 104 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 105 
 
 " Nev€r mind," said Roddy, with scarcely shaken op- 
 timism. " He'll hear about us before long. Then he'll 
 come round all right." 
 
 Before the end of November they were established at 
 that hotel in Piccadilly which Roddy had always rever- 
 enced as a very temple of fashion, prosperity, and suc- 
 cess. They were here only pro tern., of course. Already 
 he was busy at his work, with many irons in the fire, and 
 during leisure moments looking out for a suitable private 
 residence. 
 
 " That," he said joviallj'^, " is something for you to do, 
 young lady." 
 
 She was ready to do anything he told her. She had 
 given herself without reservations, and every hour of the 
 day some mental readjustment was necessary to enable 
 her to keep in sympathy with him. If he thought differ- 
 ently from people she had known hitherto, she also must 
 think differently. 
 
 " We are fashionable folk," he said gaily. " I heard 
 some one make the remark, as I was following you through 
 the lounge, ' There's that pretty Mrs. Vaughan.' Of 
 course, any ass could say that, but it means you are 
 somehody-^^ He urged her to be photographed as often 
 as possible, was delighted when reproductions appeared 
 in illustrated newspapers, and promised to have her por- 
 trait painted by one of the tip-top men in time for next 
 year's Academy. " Mrs. Roddy Vaughan is going to be a 
 celebrity before I've done with her." 
 
 He congratulated himself on having secured a conspic- 
 uous table in the dining-room, and explained to her ex- 
 actly why he was so pleased about it. " People see us 
 here. They can't avoid it. Strangers, too, ask for this 
 table and the answer Carlos gives them is, ' Oh, no, per- 
 manently reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan.' Well, by 
 that means we are impressing ourselves. See.'* Like Pears' 
 soap. It has to be done all the time nowadays, if you 
 
106 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE . 
 
 mean to get on. Can't hide one's light under a 
 bushel." 
 
 Sitting, then, at the special table, gorgeous every night 
 in his white waistcoat, with jewelled buttons, large pearl 
 studs, and formidably stiff shirt front, he thoroughly en- 
 joyed himself. He liked it all — the sight of the men's 
 shining faces and the women's bare shoulders ; the mingled 
 perfume of powder and warm food; the sound of knives 
 and forks heard through the music of the band; the un- 
 analyzed general sensation of being crowded, hurried, and 
 over-charged. 
 
 He nodded at all his acquaintance and gave an unflag- 
 ging scrutiny to other passers-by, whispering names to 
 Claire and keeping her well-informed. 
 
 " There goes the Chilian minister. . . . That's the Duke 
 of Danesbrough. Second time he has dined here this 
 week. . . . You see, they all come here. They will have 
 the best ; and, say, what you may, this is the best. . . . 
 By Jove, there's Evie St. Evremonde — ^with another big 
 party. You know — acts the heroine in The Girl from 
 Timbuctoo.^' 
 
 Opposite to him at the round table, with the china 
 basket of fruit and the half-emptied bottle of champagne 
 as the only material things separating them, sat his beauti- 
 ful, distinguished, obedient wife; and when he was tired of 
 looking at other people it was always a pleasure to look 
 at her. She was really a tip-topper — so ran his contented 
 thoughts: No two ways about it. She had risen to the 
 occasion, moreover, in such an admirable style; taking 
 on the composure and dignity proper to a married woman ; 
 as it were, bulking large if not solid to fit the wider space 
 in the universe that he had elbowed and pushed out for 
 her. It seemed to him that she carried things off as 
 easily as if she had been his wife for ten years. 
 
 And, indeed, Claire had grown older in a most sur- 
 prising manner. It was not that her pretty complexion 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 107 
 
 lad altered, or that if you had put her in a weighing 
 lachine you would have found her really heavier, but all 
 hat was childish or immature in her aspect had gone 
 itterly; if the birdlike tones of youth still sound ed in 
 ler voice, they were within a narrower compass and held 
 trictly under control; she greeted Roddy's whispered 
 okes with a grave and tolerant smile, and even when he 
 limself felt that he was at his funniest, never startled the 
 estaurant by one of those bursts of rippling laughter 
 7hich middle-aged gentlemen used to listen for at her 
 aother's stately dinner-parties. 
 
 Beyond these obvious and natural modifications there 
 vas a subtle, inexplicable change in her that only Aunt 
 .\gnes had observed; and even she was not sure about it. 
 ..\unt Agnes, seeing her so incredibly older, graver, and 
 more self-possessed than she had been such a little while 
 ago, had a disturbing, fanciful notion that Claire was 
 prematurely old, like a person who has passed through 
 some tremendous and abnormal experience — railway acci- 
 dent, shipwreck, siege or revolution — and of whom one 
 says, " She is all right now, completely recovered, but I 
 don't suppose she will ever be really quite the same 
 again." 
 
 At last Claire found a house near Pont Street that 
 Roddy thought would do. It was solidly built, in imita- 
 tion of the early Georgian style of architecture; not as 
 big a house as he wanted, but nevertheless it would serve 
 their purpose until they moved into something better. 
 
 Claire was delighted by the prospect of having a home 
 at last. Her spirits rose at the mere thought of escaping 
 from this life led in public to the sound of a string band ; 
 and Roddy, seeing her elation, understood its cause and 
 praised her for feeling so pleased. 
 
 " You are tired of pro tern, arrangements," he said 
 cheerily. " You want your own house. Mind you, it will 
 be your very own, and everything in it, too." He said 
 
108 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 this again and again, explaining that the home is the 
 wife's province ; she reigns there as queen ; and the hus- 
 band's status within the four walls of home is only that 
 of subject, perpetual visitor, or steward and purse- 
 bearer. 
 
 Claire then became very busy in regard to No. 9 Sedg- 
 moor Street, the new province of which she was to be 
 queen. She told her subject exactly how she proposed 
 to decorate and furnish the house. In her mind's eye 
 she could see it finished and habitable, rather like Aunt 
 Agnes's house as to its simplicity and avoidance of stereo- 
 typed ornament, but with many characteristics that would 
 be individual to herself. To carry out her whole scheme 
 might prove rather expensive, and thinking of the cost 
 with conscientious scruples she had a brilliantly happy 
 idea. Why not spend the money that had come to her 
 in cheques as wedding presents? " 
 
 " Do please, please let me do it, Roddy." 
 
 He had taken all those cheques from her — ^not only the 
 big ones of Sir Kenelm and her brother John, and the lesser 
 ones of her mother, Aunt Agnes, the Joyces, but also the 
 many comparatively small ones of old friends — so that he 
 might put the total amount on deposit at the bank; ad- 
 vising her to buy herself jewellery later on. But, as she 
 now urged, she would far rather spend the money in mak- 
 ing the house just what she wanted. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," he said laughing, " we have blown all 
 that long ago." 
 
 She did not understand at first ; and he explained, with 
 slight irritability in his tone, that you cannot dash about 
 the world as they had done for nothing, and that he had 
 been obliged to transfer the deposit to current account 
 before their honeymoon was over. 
 
 After a long and thoughtful pause she asked him to say 
 how much she would be justified in spending altogether. 
 *^ Perhaps, Roddy, I ought to give up some of my fancies. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 109 
 
 Yon know, the black and white pavement in the hall, and 
 the other things I told you about." 
 
 " Well," he said cheerfully. " I don't see why we need 
 stint ourselves. We have our solid income of three thou- 
 sand five hundred, and all / make into the bargain. Pretty 
 jseful, eh? No, you go straight ahead, Claire. Get good 
 value for your outlay, thafs the great thing. Don't go 
 ind buy a lot of Wardour Street rubbish, of course. But 
 70U won't do that. You're learned about furniture, aren't 
 70U? " 
 
 " I really have studied it, Roddy. Aunt Agnes and I 
 iised to spend days at the South Kensington Museum." 
 
 " Right. Then you go straight ahead." 
 
 Claire worked hard now, and in a businesslike manner, 
 getting estimates for the black and white paving and the 
 3ther things, and haunting sale-rooms and the shops of 
 second-hand dealers. Roddy laughed gaily at her labours 
 and anxieties. 
 
 Then one evening at dinner, before the estimates were 
 ready to be submitted to him for approval, he told her 
 that he had lifted the whole burden off her shoulders. He 
 had called in Nappensols, the well-known firm of decora- 
 tors, to do the whole thing. 
 
 For a little while she could say nothing; she was so 
 surprised, so unutterably disappointed. Presently she 
 asked in what manner did Messrs. Nappensol propose to 
 deal with the house. 
 
 " My dear girl, they're at the top of the tree. They 
 make you pay for it, but you get the best taste in Europe.'^ 
 
 " But how are they going to do it ? " 
 
 " I gave them carte hlajiche" And he stopped eating, 
 stared at her, and spoke irritably. " Well, what's 
 the matter.?^ I try to please you, and you looTc sulky 
 about it." 
 
 " Oh, Roddy, I wish, I zdsh you had left it to me." 
 
 Then he spoke more irritably still. " My dear girl, I 
 
110 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 couldn't afford to go on fiddling about it till doomsday. I 
 have my work to do in the world.'' 
 
 She stretched her hand across the table and touched his 
 coat sleeve, whispering apprehensively, ^" Roddy, don't 
 talk so loud. People can hear what you are saying." 
 
 " I don't care a damn if they can." But he said this in 
 a lower tone, with concentrated energy. Then he pushed 
 his plate away. " You have spoilt my dinner ! " and he 
 got up, and stalked out of the restaurant. 
 
 She could scarcely believe that he had done a thing so 
 ungallant as to leave her like this, alone at the table, in 
 the middle of the public room. But he had done it. She 
 sat there, letting the waiters bring her an ice and biscuits, 
 feeling that the assiduous Mr. Carlos knew what had hap- 
 pened, believing that guests at other tables looked at her 
 with awakened curiosity and malicious interest. She 
 stayed there, in order to make them think that everything 
 was all right. The blood had rushed to her face; but 
 she was now pale again, and very calm outwardly. 
 
 She had flushed from indignation and astonishment. 
 People don't do rude things like that. One cannot permit 
 oneself to be so treated without putting on record some 
 expression of one's resentment. She was a married woman, 
 not a child. 
 
 And then slowly there fell upon her the sense of being 
 abandoned. All protection and care had been withdrawn 
 from her ; she was alone, surrounded by this noisy, inimical 
 crowd ; as utterly lost and helpless as a little girl of three 
 or four who finds herself left on the platform of a great 
 railway station. 
 
 Literally she possessed only him ; she had given up 
 everything in exchange for him. And now he had spoken 
 roughly to her, was quarrelling with her. What could she 
 do if he failed her? It would not be as in the old days 
 when Nurse Mitchell disparaged her, when Cyril or Emily 
 nagged at her, when her mother did not seem to want 
 her. If Roddy failed her, the whole world tumbled to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 111 
 
 pieces. She felt that the quarrel must be ended at all 
 costs, now, without another minute's dangerous delay. 
 She went upstairs determined to finish it, anyhow. 
 
 But he had gone out. Pope said that he came for his 
 overcoat and crush hat, and seemed angry because a white 
 muffler had not been laid there ready for him. 
 
 Claire waited for him in the sitting-room among his 
 things : those signs and tokens of personal possession that 
 had obliterated the vapid elegances which greeted them 
 on their first arrival in the room. He had made it his, 
 as he did with everything that he touched. The gold and 
 enamel of the writing-table was almost entirely hidden by 
 his correspondence files, letter trays, and handy books of 
 reference ; his despatch box was on the floor by his table ; 
 over the back of an armchair hung the gorgeous smoking- 
 jacket or dressing-gown that he put on late at night when 
 he smoked a pipe ; the Chelsea shepherdesses on the mantel 
 shelf appeared to be dancing round a monument formed 
 by his unopened cigarette boxes ; and a faint but ineradica- 
 ble odour of stale tobacco clung to the muslin and brocade 
 of the window curtains. There was nothing of Claire in 
 the room, except herself. 
 
 She had to wait a long time; it was late when he re- 
 turned. 
 
 "Well? Sulking still?'* 
 
 " Roddy, I don't sulk," and she spoke quite as a child 
 now, with a tremor in her reproachful voice. " Why are 
 you so unkind to me ? " 
 
 " Unkind! Isn't it all the other way round? " And he 
 burst into eloquent self-vindication. " You wounded me 
 to the quick, Claire. Teaching me manners ! Why don't 
 you say you're ashamed of me at once? It amounts to 
 that." 
 
 "Roddy! How can you say such things?" She had 
 come quite close to him, her hands against his breast, her 
 eyes full of tears. 
 
 But he went on vigorously, showing not anger now but 
 
112 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 lacerated pride. ^ I know you're superior and all that. 
 Very likely I Juwe no taste, and am poorly educated — or 
 cultivated, as you'd put it — compared with people who 
 have been idle all their lives, and never been forced to earn 
 their daily bread. The chances of improving myself have 
 been devilish few, but I've never missed one of them if I 
 could help it. I dare say some of your high and mighty 
 friends think me a bounder. But one expects loyalty from 
 one's wife," 
 
 " I give it you, Roddy. I am loyal. And how can you 
 belittle yourself? Of course no one ever thought anything 
 of the kind." 
 
 He was genuinely suffering in his injured self-esteem. 
 Remorse filled her at discovering that she had uncon- 
 sciously hurt him far more than he had hurt her ; and she 
 was horror-stricken as he echoed the dreadful idea that 
 had whispered in all her own thoughts of him during the 
 last few hours. 
 
 They made it up, with many kisses. In a minute he 
 was gay again. He bore no malice. He had forgotten 
 all about it next morning, and he told her that he would 
 try to take her to Monte Carlo for New Year's day. 
 
 So in due course Claire said that she was very muxih 
 pleased with the ready-made house, and betrayed no sign 
 of regret that the house of her dreams had vanished for 
 ever. 
 
 The work of Messrs. Nappensol might well have been 
 worse. They usfed parquetry instead of black and white 
 pavement for the hall, hanging above it a lantern so 
 splendid that nobody would ask to what period it be- 
 longed or whose art had served for its model ; they pro- 
 vided a green watered silk boudoir for the lady and an 
 oak parlour for the gentleman, and were lavish in their 
 lighting arrangements throughout the reception rooms — 
 in a word, they made the house exactly like a dozen other 
 houses that they were doing just then, either for the 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 113 
 
 ne ly married or the newly, rich. In March Mr. and Mrs. 
 Yi ghan were established, with all their friends praising 
 th house. " What real taste you have shown. Claire ! " 
 SI let them say it. 
 
 le had declared that he expected loyalty, and of a 
 tr th he got it. She astonished people by her knowl- 
 e6. e of his enterprises. At a dinner-party given in their 
 he j our by the Drysdales she talked so learnedly about the 
 N 1 rth Sea Domestic Fisheries and other recently launched 
 CO ipanies that the wives of two stout City men listened 
 to fier with admiration and envy. Mrs. Dry s dale, sitting 
 beide her on a sofa after dinner, applauded her, squeezed 
 hci hand, and said how delightful it was to see her so 
 hf >py. "You deserved it, Claire. But it is a great 
 pize. I saw him look at you during dinner almost ex- 
 actly as my dear Frank looks at me sometimes. There is 
 no mistaking that look." 
 
 ^ She loyally wished to enter into and understand all 
 tin scheming and effort that made up the greater part of 
 his life. In this joint affair of marriage she wanted to be 
 useful, and not merely an ornamental partner. She was 
 always thinking how she might help him, and with this 
 er d in view she shrunk from no toil or weariness. 
 
 One evening when they had dined at home and were 
 sitting in the green boudoir, he found on her desk a sheet 
 ol notepaper covered with typewritten sentences, or rather 
 with one sentence repeated again and again : " / mil 
 
 awahe Willie as we call Delia, I will awake Willie " 
 
 a id so on, from the top to the bottom of the page. 
 
 " Claire! What in the name of reason is this? " 
 
 She explained that it was a three-finger exercise for the 
 1 7pewriter. She was learning to typewrite, and to do 
 sliorthand, too, in order to be useful to him now and then 
 a ter office hours. 
 
 "Well," he said, laughing, "I'll put you to the tesH: 
 E DW. Get out your things." 
 
 From its hiding-place she shyly brought a light folding 
 
114 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 apparatus, and sat down with her stenographer's note- 
 book open on her knees. " You know, I wanted it to be 
 a surprise for you." And she looked up at him, her face 
 animated and intent, her eyes shining. 
 
 " Mr. Roderick Vaughan presents his comphments to the 
 Governor of the Bank of England and begs to request 
 that '* 
 
 " Not quite so fast, Roddy." 
 
 He stood with his watch in his hand dictating to her. 
 But she was too slow. He smiled at her, and told her to 
 try to take down what he said upon the machine direct. 
 She obeyed him, sitting in front of her typewriter and 
 clicking with nervous vigour. 
 
 " There," and, breathless from excitement and anxiety, 
 she handed him the paper. " Remember, Roddy, I don't 
 profess to be ready. I have only had four weeks* 
 practice." 
 
 He looked at her attempt. " Upon my word, not bad — > 
 but frankly, not good enough. I couldn't afford to send 
 out a letter done like that." 
 
 She pleaded for time. Her instructors said she was 
 making good progress. It would be so useful for him to 
 have a typist on the premises to give aid when he wanted 
 things done in a hurry, and it would be such a pleasure 
 to her. 
 
 But he said no. " No, later on, I'll have a lady secre- 
 tary. Honestly, I should not like the idea of my wife 
 typing. Infra dig.^^ 
 
 « Oh, no." 
 
 " Yes, I place my wife on a pedestal, and I don't want 
 her ever to come down from it. Besides, you have more 
 than enough to do to run the house properly. That'll 
 take you all your time." 
 
 And then and there he reeled off half dozen points of 
 domestic management at No. 9 that seemed to him sus- 
 ceptible of improvement. 
 
 " Yes, it's personal attention — the mistress's eye, as 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 115 
 
 m^ aunt always says — that makes the wheels run smooth, 
 wji ther in a hotel or a private house. Especially, don't 
 foi ^et about Barrett's dirty gloves and ice daily for the 
 bi ter dishes. That's something to keep you occupied and 
 al in your own department, old girl." 
 
 Claire humbly promised to give prompt attention to all 
 t\ A se matters. 
 
 le had said that it was her house, and at first she 
 to( k pleasure in its management; but little by little he 
 sj< ilt it for her, extracting the joy out of it, leaving only 
 th( worry and distress. Nothing was her own really ; noth- 
 ing' that she herself devised or ordered was allowed to 
 reriain unchanged. All of the house that was not Nap- 
 pe isol was Roddy, 
 
 [t was he who dressed the footman, the chauffeur, and 
 t}(! groom in liveries of a quietness so splendid that it 
 seemed more ostentatious than red plush and white silk. 
 He liked to get the motor-car and the pony-cart at the 
 front door together; with the footman standing by, Pope 
 cconing down the steps to carry her mistress's wraps, and 
 the butler visible on the threshold. The close grouping of 
 sc much magnificence cheered him ; but then the sometime 
 sergeant-major asserted himself, and he held an inspec- 
 tion of all present. Then it was that he sternly opened 
 the chauffeur's tool-case, found dust in the pony's hogged 
 mane, and pointed terribly with his cane at the groom's 
 scaled white gloves. If only he could have refrained from 
 s] leaking to the servants so severely. He used to tell her 
 t(> reprove them; but then he could not wait for her to do 
 it, and sent an insulting message to be carried by one 
 to another, or worse still, robbed them of all sense of 
 c )mfort and security by descending into the basement 
 aid there exploding. 
 
 That was how he lost her Mrs. White, a really good 
 a id honest cook. One of Claire's greatest difficulties with 
 r 'gard to their evening meals lay in the precarious nature 
 o: the daily fish supply. They were queer consignments 
 
116 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 of fish that his wonderful North Sea Company sent to 
 them — twenty soles one day, two whiting the next, and 
 then perhaps for days monsters of the deep that no one 
 had ever seen before. Mrs. White, frightened one morn- 
 ing by the arrival of such sea-serpents, and not in the 
 least knowing how to tackle them, summoned Claire to the 
 kitchen. And Roddy went instead. 
 
 He had given her the smartest possible pony and the 
 daintiest of carts, assuring her that it was not only good 
 for her health, but absolutely " the correct thing " to 
 be seen driving every morning in Hyde Park. He said 
 she could leave the cart in charge of Barrett, her groom, 
 and walk about with friends. The more she showed her- 
 self, and the cart too, the better pleased he would be. 
 But then he fancied that she was not giving the pony 
 sufficient exercise; so he took to driving himself to the 
 city on fine mornings, rattling along the Embankment in 
 grand style, with the pony stepping out as though the 
 devil was behind it. Titularly the cart remained Claire's 
 very own ; only it was not often available for her use. But 
 she had the car, of course — when Roddy did not want 
 that too. 
 
 They themselves were giving dinner-parties now, feasting 
 the people who had feasted them, " beginning to pay cut- 
 let for cutlet,'* as Roddy said; but after a little while 
 Claire was no longer allowed to choose the dishes for these 
 repasts. He said that her notion of a menu was hopelessly 
 on the light side, all fal-lals; not so much as a saddle of 
 mutton from start to finish. One night he vowed that 
 she had made him positively ashamed. It wasn't a dinner 
 at all. And after that painful experience he gradually 
 insisted on having a Lord Mayor's banquet on a slightly 
 smaller scale; getting aid from a famous caterer, and 
 filling the hall and stairs with ponderous hired men in 
 white waistcoats; so that it was all very like a dinner- 
 party at Mrs. Gilmour's, or the Pirbrights', or anywhere 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 117 
 
 els in that old world of convention, habit, and routine 
 whi h Claire once thought she had done with for ever. 
 
 he was not even allowed to invite her friends, not her 
 rei friends. Roddy made a great fuss about the shabbi- 
 ne and odd, absent-minded manners of Evan Giles, the 
 wr er, and said that it was not good enough to ask such 
 a ;are-crow to meet people of importance, like the Earl 
 of Cirkstead, the Dowager Countess of Pevensea and Sir 
 El< nezer Pine. When Claire gently protested that dis- 
 tir^^iiished literary men are not judged by commonplace 
 sti idards, and that nobody minds what clothes they wear, 
 he >aid it was all rubbish. 
 
 Besides, Giles was never really distinguished. He was 
 on /second-class at the best, and now he's simply a back 
 nuiiber"; and he added that he had put himself to the 
 trouble of finding out the true status of Giles. " No, 
 if you must have literary men, why don't you ask Mr. 
 Rudyard Kipling or Mr. Thomas Hardy, the recognized 
 heads of the profession? I bet you'll see them in a decent 
 coat and a properly got-up shirt." 
 
 Sometimes the half -hour immediately after the termina- 
 ti(n of a dinner-party was difficult to get through. As. 
 if all the food and wine had suddenly disagreed with him, 
 he inveighed against the guests, the house servants, the 
 hi]-ed waiters, everything. Nothing had been wrong 
 re illy; but, as she knew or guessed, his annoyance was 
 caused by some failure in a business effort of his during 
 the evening. He had hoped for something from one of 
 th e guests, had failed to obtain it, and was disappointed. 
 
 " Dullest, stupidest crew we have ever had here. I won- 
 de r why we bothered to collect such a gang I " And he 
 di 1 not spare her family, if any member of it had been 
 pi esent. 
 
 Claire sat with compressed lips, gripping the arms of 
 h( r chair just as she used to sit in a dentist's chair years 
 a^' t), determined not to cry out if the pain inflicted almost 
 
118 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 killed her. It was curiously painful to hear her mother 
 called '^ the old woman," Cyril " the cub," and Emily " the 
 full-blown siren.'' 
 
 Yet a few minutes ago he had been amiable, gay, debon- 
 air. She could hear his genial laughter down below till 
 the doors closed on the last guest. Whatever he felt, he 
 could be pleasant to other people, could hide his irritation. 
 When he came upstairs again she looked swiftly at his 
 face to see what she herself had to expect. 
 
 Why was he so irritable with her, so prompt to take 
 umbrage, so dangerously quick to misunderstand the sim- 
 plest and most innocent words? 
 
 " Oh, damn it, I can't argue with you, Claire." 
 
 " But I'm not arguing, Roddy. I only asked you to^ 
 explain why -" 
 
 " I might explain all night without your seeing the 
 point ; " and he had a gesture of weariness and discomfort. 
 " Damn it all, I'm tired." 
 
 Once her eyes flashed, and she spoke to him in a tone 
 that he had never heard before. 
 
 " Be good enough not to swear at me,*Roddy. I don't 
 like it." 
 
 " Whsit? High and mighty again? On the high horse 
 again ? " And he scowled at her. 
 
 She was submissive in a moment. At all costs, no 
 quarrel. But quarrels were becoming more difficult to 
 avoid. 
 
 Yet still all cited the successful marriage, the idyllically 
 happy couple. Mrs. Gilmour, grown effusive and affec- 
 tionate now that her youngest child was so completely 
 settled, had not a doubt that every one of her fervent 
 prayers had been granted. It was only for extra satis- 
 faction that she sought from Claire explicit assurances 
 of her bliss. Quite unnecessary, these repeated assur- 
 ances to her mother, Emily Joyce, and the rest — the dear 
 girl's contented state was so obvious. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 119 
 
 - fo one was more pleased than old Derek Harpington, 
 be: luse he felt that he deserved credit for his handling 
 of nitial difficulties. The sight of the joyous couple was 
 gi c teful to his kindly old eyes. No matter the trouble you 
 tal e if success crowns your toil. He held forth about it, 
 be mingly, to Mrs. Gilmour and Mrs. Joyce. 
 
 * The danger of a love match, in my experience, is that 
 it 5 hould prove a flash in the pan. No danger here, how- 
 eve r. There is not only the ardent affection, and so forth, 
 th:7 suit each other." 
 
 And he went on to tell of another couple who did not 
 su- : each other. It was a case that was giving him a lot 
 of thought and worry ; for he had been asked by relatives 
 to Intervene and see what he could do. " The Granville 
 Budleighs — their names are no secret." This, too, had 
 be2n a love match. Indeed, the young man's family were 
 much against it, refusing to recognize the bride, thinking 
 her eccentric; but now all were good friends. Only the 
 two led a cat-and-dog life together — seeming to get on 
 each other's nerves — going for each other in a most em- 
 barrassing way before strangers. 
 
 " Claire knows them. Stayed at the Pevenseas with 
 them, and I have talked to her about them. I think I must 
 get Claire's help. Perhaps she might be willing to have one 
 or both to stay with her. She might influence the lady, 
 and Roddy could say a word in season to the gentleman. 
 The comfort of their married life might be an object- 
 lesson to them." 
 
 He wound up by saying to Emily : " They even surpass 
 yc u and Leonard. For," he added playfully, " I fancy I 
 h( ve heard you call poor Leonard over the coals rather 
 si arply." 
 
 Emily laughed. " Yes, it's all right so far with Claire 
 ai d Roddy, But I sometimes ask myself how long it will 
 lajt." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 *'^ TT TELL," he said, with a laugh, "we have fairly 
 
 ^y^ outrun him." 
 ^ ^ '' What do you mean, Roddy? " 
 
 " The gentleman in blue. The constable, my dear. 
 We've outrun him so completely that he is left behind out 
 of sight." 
 
 They were alone in the oak parlour, and all the evening 
 he had been at his richly-carved oak table, carrying on 
 a sort of audit of their affairs, with bank books, trades- 
 men's books, and accounts of every description spread out 
 before him. 
 
 She went and stood by him, looking down over his 
 shoulder at those red-covered books that were at once her 
 care and torment. 
 
 " Do you think we are spending too much money ? " 
 she asked disconsolately. 
 
 Roddy whistled and shrugged his big shoulders. " That's 
 a rum question for the mistress of a house to ask. I 
 should have thought I might legitimately put the question 
 to you. Don't you trouble to know how we stand from 
 week to week, and month to month .^ " 
 
 She knew nothing really about the general state of their 
 financial position. How could she know.? He had refused 
 to have a marriage settlement, carrying everything before 
 him both with the family and the family's solicitors, pre- 
 tending that he was acting handsomely, assuming the 
 grandest and most magnanimous airs. So, as planned by 
 himself, Claire's income was paid direct into a joint ac- 
 count at the bank. In theory she could draw on this ac- 
 count, and indeed had been given a cheque book for the 
 purpose ; but in practice she found it better not to use the 
 
 120 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 121 
 
 •heque book — at any rate without asking his permission 
 irst. 
 
 From this account of theirs he borrowed large sums for 
 )usiness needs, such as the purchase of shares to quahfy 
 lira for the directorate of the fish company, and he paid 
 )ack the sums when and how he could ; he was always pay- 
 ng money in and drawing it out, so that the totals on 
 )oth sides of the pass book seemed immense, and no one 
 ess skilled than a chartered accountant could make head 
 )r tail of it. She changed her investments whenever he 
 idvised her to do so ; she did whatever he told her to da, 
 iigning anything that he put before her. 
 
 Now, to-night, he was terrible in regard to these house- 
 lold expenses, making her go through the smallest items 
 with him, and when she succeeded in defending herself 
 ibout pennies, suddenly attacking her with the vast array 
 of pounds. 
 
 " No, Roddy, not (me week, two weeks. Don't you 
 remember you said it wasn't convenient to give me" the 
 cheque that Saturday, and everything was to stand over 
 for the fortnight?" 
 
 Roddy tossed away the tradesmen's books fretfully, got 
 up and moved to the hearth-rug. She sat down again and 
 watched. liis gloomy, frowning face. 
 
 " Well, the thing tells its own story, doesn't it ? You 
 can't get away from plain figures." 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Claire, in great distress. " I do try, 
 Roddy, I have tried so hard." 
 
 " Oh, I expect it's all bad management." 
 
 " It's unkind to say that." 
 
 " I'm not blaming you. You were never taught any- 
 thing. Before long I'll engage a regular house- 
 keeper." 
 
 "Then what will there be left for me to do? If you 
 
 take away the management of *the house, why " Her 
 
 voice broke, and her lips trembled pitepusly. " Roddy, I 
 
122 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 should be shut out of everything. You won't let me help 
 you in your work." 
 
 " Nonsense. You're always talking of helping me in 
 petti-fogging ways; but can't you see that the greatest 
 help you are capable of giving me — and that would be real 
 help — is to support my position in the world's eye? 
 Nothing is so valuable to me as to have the right sort of 
 people round me. Use your charms and fascinations to 
 make the big-wigs fond of you, and then for the sake of 
 pretty little Claire they'll take an interest in Master 
 Roddy." 
 
 And he laughed. In a moment the gloom had gone 
 and he was jolly and gay. He brought out a large cigar, 
 bit the end off, and began to fill the room with smoke 
 clouds. 
 
 But Claire could not change her mood so rapidly. She 
 had been too deeply stirred to be able to forget the serious- 
 ness of the questions he had raised. 
 
 "If we are living beyond our means, Roddy, let us move 
 into a smaller house — and have fewer servants." 
 
 " Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all ; " and he spoke in a 
 dignified, lofty style. " I don't choose that my wife 
 should live in a hole-and-corner way. You may be con- 
 tented to take a back seat, but I wouldn't be, by any 
 manner of means." Then, as he walked about the room 
 puffing at his cigar, he told her not to worry her head 
 about it any more. He had not intended to imply that 
 they were living beyond their means. Indeed, that was a 
 silly expression, inapplicable to their case, because the 
 means at their disposal would always be increasing. It 
 was only what they called in the city a tightness that re- 
 quired tiding over. " Pro tern, we are hard up, and that's 
 a fact, but it doesn't amount to anything." He paused 
 in his walk and stood before her chair, looking down at 
 her smilingly. " The quickest way out would be for the 
 family to come to the rescue. I suggest to you, my ac- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 123 
 
 ive little helpmate, that you should go round to Mrs. 
 Jilmour to-morrow morning, explain to her exactly 
 low " 
 
 " Oh, Roddy, don't make me do that." The distress of 
 Z!laire was greater than before; she looked up at him im- 
 Dloringly. " No, not that. Don't force me to ask 
 nother." 
 
 "Why not? She'd rise to the occasion gladly, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 " Oh, please not." 
 
 " Well, I think you wrong her. But you feel reluctance 
 in asking her ? " 
 
 " Roddy, I couldn't." 
 
 ^* All right," and he strolled away again. " Not an- 
 other word. That's enough for me. If you feel you'd 
 rather not do it, I won't ask you to." 
 
 " Thank you, Roddy." 
 
 She was grateful to him for his leniency in allowing her 
 to escape from an ordeal that her natural reticence, pride, 
 and delicacy of sentiment would have rendered extra- 
 ordinarily painful. 
 
 He had laid stress on the advantages that one can de- 
 rive from being surrounded by useful friends, and perhaps 
 he was already discontented with the lessening warmth 
 that shone in the faces of some of those important person- 
 ages under whose roofs they had stayed last autumn. 
 These great folk dined once at least at No. 9 Sedgmoor 
 Street, but few of them dined there again ; and, what was 
 worse, some of them gave parties — very large parties, 
 indeed, if one might believe what the newspapers said — 
 to which they omitted to invite the Vaughans. Perhaps 
 they thought that they had already done enough for 
 Derek Harpington's proteges, or they may have been a 
 little scared by the financial magnates assembled at 
 Roddy's generously laden board, or possibly young male 
 relatives bothered them with echoes of that never properly 
 
124 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Answered question, " Who the devil is Roddy Vaughan ? " 
 Be all this as it may, there certainly came into the mind 
 of Uncle Derek a iiotion that Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan 
 needed another push behind to keep them moving up the 
 social ladder, and with this aim in view the good-natured 
 old fellow gave a dinner-party in their honour at 
 Hurlingham. 
 
 It was a glorious June day. In the fading daylight, 
 all mellow, warm, and beautiful, their highly varnished car 
 carried them under the trees and along the drive to the 
 club-house, where Roddy sprang out with sprightly ease 
 before the footman could get round to open the door, and 
 gracefully and lovingly assisted Claire to descend from 
 her well-cushioned seat. He was almost overwhelmingly 
 magnificent in his morning-coat of a just perceptible blue, 
 his primrose coloured waistcoat, and lavender grey trou- 
 sers. The primrose tint repeated itself in the upper part 
 of his patent leather boots; that shade of blue on his 
 coat, like the bloom on hot-house grapes, had tempted him 
 i;o wear a white gardenia in the button-hole ; his virginally 
 new silk hat flashed in the slanting rays of the sun when 
 he took it oif and showed its glittering clean lining. And 
 he himself was radiant, his quick eye correctly estimating 
 the weight and value of the company that had been invited 
 to meet him. They were real tip-toppers. The size of 
 the elderly ladies' pearls and the queer, old-fashioned gar- 
 ments of three large white-haired men told one at a glance 
 what they were without waiting to hear their grand names. 
 Roddy's smiles and bows were frank and easy; and as 
 he chatted amiably the undercurrent of his thoughts, had 
 he troubled to find words for them, would have run : " Well, 
 this is it. Master Roddy has got there at last. What 
 a lark life is ! There's nothing you can't have if you make 
 up your mind that you mean to have it. Fancy me — me, 
 Roddy Vaughan — ^how-de-doing to these nobs, with that 
 pretty creature over there as his wife, with his car, chauf- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 125 
 
 eur, and footman round the corner waiting to take him 
 ome to his perfectly appointed, fashionably situated 
 ^ondon residence ! " 
 
 Beyond Derek's more exalted guests the party included 
 Ar. and Mrs. Granville Budleigh, that unhappy couple 
 iho could not hit it off together, and a handsome but 
 ery meretricious Mrs. Kemptown. The other ladies 
 ooked askant at her arched eyebrows or red lips, and said 
 onong themselves — allowing Claire to share in this con- 
 idence — that Mr. Harpington ou^t not to have invited 
 ler. 
 
 Roddy sat next to her at dinner, paid her great at- 
 ;ention, and got on exceedingly well with her. Indeed, 
 encouraged by a too facile success, and beamed upon by 
 Derek, who loved to see people enjoying themselves, he 
 jecame boisterous in the mirth that he provoked for and 
 ihared with Mrs. Kemptown. She herself laughed so 
 .ihrilly and heartily towards the end of the repast that 
 others fell silent. 
 
 "What's the jest.?" asked one of the white-haired 
 nobles politely. " Mayn't we be allowed into it ? If it's 
 as good as it seems, it's hard luck to shut us all out of 
 it." 
 
 " Certainly not," screamed Mrs. Kemptown, almost 
 suffocating from laughter. And then, recovering a little, 
 she called to Claire merrily across the table. " Mrs. 
 Vaughan, you really ought to keep your husband in order.'^ 
 Roddy negligently brushed up his moustache with his 
 napkin, and although his eyes twinkled gaily he forced 
 the muscles of his mouth to serious rigidity. He knew 
 that it is bad form to seem too much amused by one's own 
 cleverness or wit. 
 
 There was a display of fireworks in the gardens after 
 dinner, and instead of remaining with the rest of Mr. 
 Harpington's party, Roddy and Mrs. Kemptown sauntered 
 away through the crowd and were seen no more. They had 
 
126 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 not returned when the party broke up. All the world was 
 going home, and still they were lost. Uncle Derek stood 
 with Claire in the fast-emptying hall until she persuaded 
 him to accept a lift in somebody's car and not trouble 
 any more about her. After that she stood there quite 
 alone. The hall was empty now; lights had been turned 
 out in the rooms behind her; and the club servants were 
 shutting up windows and locking doors. Then at last 
 the wanderers came through the darkness across the gravel 
 and in at the front door. 
 
 " Good gracious," said Mrs. Kemptown, with a shrill 
 affectation of alarm, "has everybody gone? But how 
 dreadful! And we have kept you waiting. I do hope you 
 don't mind." 
 
 Whatever indignation Claire felt, she showed none- 
 whatever. She was calm, quite unruffled, and icily polite 
 to Mrs. Kemptown, who soon began to laugh again. 
 
 " This husband of yours is really too beguiling for 
 words. But he is not to be trusted. He lured me into 
 confiding myself to him as a guide round the polo ground, 
 and he has positively walked me off my feet." 
 
 They drove her home, Roddy refusing to let down one 
 of the front seats, and preferring to sit between the two 
 ladies. And he and Mrs. Kemptown were very merry and 
 bright, keeping things up till they parted. 
 
 " Top-hole evening," he declared, when they had dropped 
 her at her door, a nasty, suspicious-looking door in a by- 
 street near Knightsbridge barracks. " And didn't the 
 old boy do us well, Claire? And isn't that a jolly sort of 
 woman ? We ought to cultivate her. . . . Well, don't you 
 agree ? " 
 
 " No," said Claire quietly, " I think she is a most ob- 
 jectionable sort of woman, and I never want to see her 
 again." 
 
 Roddy laughed and snapped his fingers good-humoured- 
 ly. " Well done. There spoke the true British matron. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 127 
 
 suppose Lady Merstham and the others set you against 
 ler. I could see they were all down on her. But you 
 lustn't believe everything you hear — especially about any- 
 »ne as good-looking as Mrs. K." 
 
 A few nights after this, quite late, when Claire was 
 •egretfully closing the book that throughout the evening 
 lad held her entranced in all his intervals of silence, he 
 poke to her of the dinner-party that they, like prompt 
 ind honest debt-payers, were to give in honour of Uncle 
 Derek. Claire had completed the list of invitations, but 
 low Roddy added another name to it. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Claire. We mustn't be too dull 
 md humdrum this time. We'll have that jolly Mrs. Kemp- 
 :own to liven us up." 
 
 Perhaps instinctively Claire had known that this pro- 
 posal was coming, and had steadily fortified her deter- 
 mination to contest it. At any rate, she stood firm now, 
 and spoke in a tone of quiet finality. 
 
 " No, we can't ask her, Roddy." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I don't care to have her here. She is not a 
 proper person for me to associate with — and I won't pre- 
 tend to other people that I don't know it." 
 
 " Oh, hoity-toity, what ? " He was angry ; but he tried 
 to laugh, and he told her that she ought not to be so quick 
 to sit in judgment. Mrs. Kemptown, whatever people 
 said or thought, was probably more sinned against than 
 sinning. 
 
 Nevertheless Claire stood firm. She could not now 
 afford to quail before his anger. This was something that 
 she would not allow. If it was in any way her home, she 
 must maintain her right to decide, at least with regard 
 to those of her own sex, what people should enter it and 
 what people should be excluded from it. 
 
 But then he told her in explicit words that she was 
 wrong. 
 
128 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Damn it all, I'm master in my own house ; and the 
 sooner you understand that the better." 
 
 She winced, and drew back and stood looking at 
 him. 
 
 ^' If that is true, Roddy, and it is altogether your 
 house, then I can't live in it if the master of the house 
 insults me. You must choose. I — I'll go — and I dare 
 say it won't be difficult to persuade Mrs. Kemptown to 
 take my place./ She'll be a better manager than I have 
 been — you'll understand each other better — she won't 
 mind when you swear at her. She's used to swearing, no 
 doubt." 
 
 " Rubbish. Bosh. Don't talk such rot." Claire's as- 
 pect as well as her words had surprised him; but then 
 his anger blazed up again. " No, this is beyond a joke. 
 I don't know what's come to you, to-night." He was 
 walking about the room, and suddenly he paused before 
 her, put his hands in his pockets, and had an ugly snigger. 
 ^' I thought that you, at least, were above all such non- 
 sense. You usen't to be so squeamish," 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, if Mrs. Kemptown is a bit emancipated and 
 ready to cock a snook at conventions, wasn't that your 
 idea, too.'* Not only for married women, but for " 
 
 " Stop, please." 
 
 But he went on. 
 
 " Stop," she said again. *' Don't say something you'll 
 regret." 
 
 But still he went on ; telling her in effect that it ill be- 
 came her to judge the peccadilloes of others harshly, since 
 her own conduct had been so little circumspect. " You 
 were willing enough to throw your cap over the mill, my 
 dear, when you came to me so gaily, and with such a 
 deuced little temptation." 
 
 " As long as you live, Roddy, I'll never forgive you 
 for saying that." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 129 
 
 • le went out of the room, beneath the gorgeous lantern, 
 an up the stairs. He hurried after her, calling to her. 
 
 Claire, old girl, I'm sorry. You're quite right. I 
 ou itn't to have said that. But you nettled me. I don't 
 cai two pence whether Mrs. K. comes or not." 
 
 laire had reached the door of her bedroom, and she 
 we 1 J into the room and locked the door behind her. 
 
 \ [essrs. Nappensol had spared no pains in making the 
 ro( n worthy of their flatteringly trustful client and the 
 co: : panion with whom he was to share its use. 
 
 'rom an upholsterer's point of view the best bedroom 
 is :ne of the most important rooms in a house, and when 
 it is being prepared for a newly wedded couple, poetic 
 sei iment as well as trade custom calls for the most fas- 
 tidious care. The vast bed, so low that it looked even 
 broader than it was, had rich brown woodwork with mould- 
 ing; 5 and medallions of dull gold; above the head of it there 
 wa.^ a canopy or opening tent of silk curtain, with an enor- 
 mcus electric lamp in the apex to shine down upon one 
 liks a midnight sun; the velvet pile carpet was so thick 
 that no footfall could sound on it, and double windows 
 prevented disturbance by the faintest murmur of traffic 
 if one wished to lie late of a morning. The material of 
 th i window curtains was purple silk, spotted with golden 
 bet.^s, and the same silk, but of a darker tint, filled highly 
 ornate panels on the walls. And in all places throughout 
 th* room where Nappensols had not put the chocolate 
 wcodwork, the silk, or the gold, they had put looking- 
 glasses ; so that as Claire moved restlessly here and there 
 shi met advancing towards her, or saw passing by in 
 s^^ ift procession, troops of the white-faced young women 
 wl o were the unsentient reflections of her agitated and un- 
 happy self. 
 
 Pale, but with a small patch of feverish colour coming 
 ar d going in her cheeks, dry-eyed, and feeling that tears 
 
130 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 would never again bring exhaustion or relief, she stared 
 at the many-headed misery that surrounded her, that 
 mimicked and mocked her; seeming all of them mutely to 
 ask her why she had locked them up in this carpeted, cur- 
 tained prison, and how she proposed ever to get them safely 
 out again. 
 
 There was no way out. That was what Evan Giles, the 
 thinker, had told her. At least, no way out that she would 
 ever find. 
 
 Presently she sat down on a brown and gold chair, 
 bowed her head to avoid the accusing company in the mir- 
 rors, and herself began to think clearly and for the first 
 time of the utter and intolerable fiasco that she made of 
 her life. 
 
 She thought in bitter shame of all that she had done as 
 an unmarried girl — the going away with him, the unpar- 
 donable imbecility of putting herself in his power, and her 
 unquestioning acceptance of the equivocal position when 
 he delayed the marriage. Instinct should have saved her 
 from so compromising herself, even if intelligence failed. 
 But that he should revive the sting of such memories t No 
 one with a grain of chivalry in his nature could have re- 
 minded her. Yet, if devoid of chivalry, what is a man? 
 With a dreadful lucidity of mental vision she saw and 
 thought about the life-companion that she had chosen for 
 herself. 
 
 From the very beginning he had tricked her and fooled 
 her. It was not only in the small things that compose 
 the surface of life they were utterly unsuited to each other. 
 She liked calm and meditation; he liked noise and the 
 gaiety that stifles thought. She loved reading, and he 
 never opened a book — except " Who's Who " or the 
 " Telephone Directory.'' He had pretended to be fond of 
 music, wrapt in apparent ecstacy while she played Chopin 
 to him; whereas he only cared really for the music of a 
 gramophone or a rag-time band. But beneath the sur- 
 
 / 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 131 
 
 fa: .' lay those deep-flowing hostilities of feeling that could 
 nc 3r mingle and run smoothly in a united tide. 
 
 • )ften when he insulted her, he did not even know that 
 he bad done it. She was old in worldly wisdom now — 
 be 1 h because it was impossible to live with him and not 
 ea; the fruit of the tree of evil knowledge, and because 
 of information imparted in those country houses under 
 th: strange law which governs commonplace people, and 
 ma ies them tell everything to a married woman, however 
 ycung. She knew, then, perfectly well, that he treated 
 her as a mistress rather than a wife; liking her to look 
 sn irt and draw other men's eyes, suggesting an alcoholic 
 pi:k-me-up if she was sad, telling her to buy herself a 
 nev^ hat if she seemed worried. 
 
 !5he thought of his minor faults — his familiarity with 
 inferiors, his subservience to rank or wealth. He bullied 
 servants one minute and cringed to any insolently rich 
 Jew the next minute. He " made pals " with waiters over 
 a protracted and expensive meal, and then astounded them 
 bj his meanness when the time came to give them their 
 tijDS. He could be splendid and profuse in the gratification 
 of his own desires, and yet not be able to spend a penny 
 to alleviate the distress of others. He was bound by no 
 traditions of what a gentleman can do and cannot do. 
 
 That he took her money as a right, without permission 
 ai d without thanks, was nothing; indeed in the fine gen- 
 erosity of her nature she would never have noticed or 
 wondered; but that he should dole the money out to her 
 a^^ain with a hand so niggardly that it did not supply 
 her immediate needs was a meanness so fantastically vul- 
 gar that even now, when she had grown accustomed to 
 SI ffering by it, it seemed to her almost incredible. 
 
 And she remembered their interminable honeymoon — 
 h' »w she had been shaken to her very soul by the physical 
 SI rrender, the terrible joyless revelation of all that is 
 ajiimal and unexpected in the mystery of our existence; 
 
132 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 then the broken, the shattered state of mind which fol- 
 lowed her new comprehension that she must make the far 
 more tremendous spiritual surrender to him. He was 
 lord of her mind as well as her body, and she had des- 
 perately striven to obliterate the thinking, dreaming crea- 
 ture that she used to be. But all this, of course, he could 
 not understand. He saw no struggle, he took every sub- 
 mission as his right; and all the time, while they trailed 
 their amours half across Europe through the rooms of 
 a hundred hotels, he allowed her nerves no respite or 
 peace. Her virginal innocence was a song that had been 
 sung; something that had been very pleasant to him, 
 like yesterday's dinner, or the bottle of champagne at 
 lunch on the cross-chanjiel steamer, but now over and 
 done with; and wanting something else, he sought with a 
 cruel persistence to awaken and stimulate the sensual 
 cravings that he believed infallibly to exist in all women, 
 no matter what their names or social status. As if teach- 
 ing her to drink or take drugs, he enticed her to snatch 
 pleasure from what she knew to be the basest sort of 
 degradation. Only love could justify it; and, as she 
 thought now, there was no love. There had never been 
 any real love. 
 
 Nevertheless she belonged to him. Once again there 
 was movement in the mirrors ; her white face haunted her 
 on every side. She thought with sick longing of the free- 
 dom she had blindly forfeited, of the home that had 
 seemed so easy to leave, of the white wall and books and 
 reading-lamp in the room that was truly hers. 
 
 She had locked her door here, but she had no right to 
 keep it locked. Soon she must open it. She must not 
 wait till he came across the corridor and beat on its 
 panels, or rattled its handle noisily, and forced her to 
 obey " In the name of the Law." She must open the 
 door; she must consent to a reconciliation after this their 
 first real quarrel. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 133 
 
 'hey made it up; and Roddy quoted poetry. 
 ' For we fell out, my wife and I, and kissed again with 
 tea s ' . . . Who wrote that, Claire? I saw it in The 
 Ri eree last Sunday, and the lines struck me. Very good, 
 ar I'tthey?" 
 
 1 lut before the reconciliation he had asserted himself. 
 H<' said the one thing he could not stand was high-and- 
 mi i htiness. He had had too much of it in the past, and 
 he lUuded to the ancient Yorkshire baronet and the cen- 
 ter pt with which her relations had treated his own 
 mc her. " I warn you, Claire, high-and-mightiness rubs 
 me the wrong way. It rouses all the antagonism in 
 mc . , . 
 
 As to Mrs. K., how can you be jealous of such a 
 ri\Hl as that? There's nothing you could say against 
 he: that I Wouldn't say myself. She's just an old painted 
 ta-fc. There! Does that satisfy you? . . . 
 
 '■ No, my little wee darling Claire, you know I put you 
 in a class all by yourself. If I ever even look at anybody 
 else, it's sheer fun and frolicsomeness. Nothing more. 
 When I hold you in my arms like this, I wouldn't change 
 places with King Solomon — ^wha had a thousand wives 
 to choose from, didn't he? " 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THEIR life went on as before; and Claire passed 
 through queer mental phases, with an emotional 
 instability that was quite new to her. 
 
 There were hours when a transient thought of sadness 
 brought tears to her eyes, and other hours in the same 
 day when the most trifling jokes seized upon her sense 
 of humour and amused her inordinately. One day the 
 smallest effort seemed impossible to her; the next day she 
 was restless, overflowing with nervous energy, pining for 
 free movement and swift change of scene. 
 
 Sometimes she felt a sudden return of tenderness towards 
 her husband and an inexplicable leniency for his failings. 
 Whatever poor Roddy's faults, it was wrong of her to 
 recognize them, it was wicked of her to magnify them. 
 At any rate he was brave and laborious. He was fond 
 of her. So far as he was capable of affection for any 
 living creature not himself, he felt affection for her. She 
 tried to think of all the things to his credit after her 
 terrible survey of the other side of the account. As praise- 
 worthy qualities should be considered that prompt for- 
 getfulness of snubs and rebuffs, that noisy good-nature 
 which lasted as long as it cost him nothing or there was 
 anything to be gained by it, that jovial joy in life which 
 made every holiday seem a bank holiday. 
 
 She preferred unexpected fantastic requests that he 
 could not possibly comply with. Might they go abroad, 
 now, without waiting for the end of the London season? 
 At least would he take her to that Hampshire farmhouse^ 
 for a week's rest? It would do them both good. 
 
 As he explained, he would be unable to leave his work 
 until the middle of August ; but to gratify her whims he 
 
 134 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 135 
 
 gav her two or three Sundays, on which they went for 
 SOI ' enormous walks over the Surrey Downs. 
 
 I I the car he complained rather gloomily that he was 
 f oi eiting a day's golf. Then, however, when they had 
 ab; idoned the car and were fairly in the open, his spirits 
 ros t rapidly. He whistled and sang, picked bits of white 
 hei her for luck, and with his walking-stick pretended to 
 shc( t at all the birds they flushed, whether pheasants or 
 tor 1 tits. 
 
 ^' Missed him, by Jove, Claire. I'm out of practice. 
 Go: him. Right and left that time." 
 
 And Claire, tramping along by his side, drinking in the 
 air the sunlight, the wide map-like view, tried to recover 
 thc.e old feelings of gay comradeship that once had de- 
 liglited her. 
 
 '• Grand idea of yours, Claire, this day out in the wilds. 
 It's freshening me up wonderfully." 
 
 They sat on a mossy bank between heath and meadow 
 to cat the luncheon that they had brought with them 
 in wallets slung over their shoulders, and he talked to 
 her of bivouacs in South Africa, the fascination of war, 
 the glamour of a soldier's life. 
 
 '' Now then, fall in." He stood up, and stretched him- 
 sell . " Lord, how soft I'm getting ! Look here ; " and 
 he showed her that perspiration had soaked right through 
 the lining and stained the pearl-grey felt of his Homburg 
 hai. "Ready? Then quick — march. Left, right; left, 
 rig it. Swing your arms and step out Claire." 
 
 She walked resolutely, carrying her own wallet, never 
 asking him to slacken his pace in consideration for her 
 lesser stride, refusing the support of his arm when they 
 cliiibed steep places; but on the last of these excursions 
 she was almost dead-beat by the time that they came down 
 the slopes above the town of Guildford. She could hardly 
 fine, strength to speak while she sat in the hotel coffee- 
 roc m sipping a cup of tea and watching Roddy devour a 
 
136 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 triple portion of grilled ham and poached eggs. Her 
 stiffened knees made it a great effort to pull herself up 
 into the car for the homeward journey. In the evening 
 she had a sort of heart attack, and the doctor summoned 
 hastily by Pope told her that she must not exhaust herself 
 in this way. 
 
 Roddy was attending a club dinner ! so he heard nothing 
 of the fainting fit. He did not appear to notice that 
 Claire refrained from suggesting any further Sunday 
 rambles. He had said that he enjoyed them; but he pos- 
 sibly thought that after all they were rather foolish. 
 
 Perhaps because of the reaction after that excessive 
 fatigue, perhaps for other reasons, the nervous restless- 
 ness as well as the strange variability of mood left her, 
 and she became stoically calm in regard to all matters 
 most intimately related to herself. If she had made a 
 mistake the less she thought about it the better. When 
 you refuse to admit failure you are no worse off than 
 those who have met nothing except success. But by a 
 curious chance at this period, while she was endeavouring 
 to build up something comfortable if not solid from the 
 ruin of her girlish hopes, she was forced to consider the 
 circumstances of two other unfortunate unions. 
 
 As well as Uncle Derek, that well-known figure of polite 
 society, the bustling and energetic Lady Paramont, had 
 urged her to speak a word of timely advice or even of 
 reproof to Mrs. Granville Budleigh. These young people 
 were getting on worse than ever; life with them was an^ 
 almost continuous squabble; and, as they could not keep 
 their differences to themselves, but often prosecuted them 
 in public, Granville's family dreaded the ridicule and scan- 
 dal that such outrageous behaviour tended inevitably to 
 evoke. 
 
 " I begin to think it is her fault now, not his,'' said 
 Lady Paramont. " She makes him wretched by the light- 
 ness of her conduct. I don't mean for a moment that 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 137 
 
 t! ere's anything wrong. But knowing Granville's jealous 
 t nperament, she ought not to indulge in anything ap- 
 j caching coquetry. Instead of which she keeps Gran- 
 '\i le on thorns until he bursts out and they both make a 
 s me. Derek Harpington says you were at the Peven- 
 s is' last year when they made a quite disgraceful scene, 
 1 ' 11 me, now, which did you think was to blame ? " 
 
 Claire evaded Lady Paramont's question, but she was 
 o liged to confess that the scene at the Pevenseas' was 
 d j/astating for its spectators. 
 
 " Very well, then," said Lady Paramont, with the de- 
 c ive amiably implacable tone for which she has long been 
 ii nous ; " and they made absolute idiots of themselves 
 tl i other night at Mrs. Chaloner's evening-party. Really 
 it cannot be permitted to continue. Why on earth can't 
 tl ?y behave like sensible people? They possess everything 
 iri the world to make them happy. She has now no cause 
 tc complain of his relations. I am sure the Ashburys and 
 all of us — Granville Budleigh is my cousin, you know — > 
 w«? have all done an immense deal for her. Then why? '* 
 A id Lady Paramont fixed Claire with her searchingly 
 acute eye. " I ask you why does she do it? For I hon- 
 estly believe she is the one who is to blame. And I want 
 ycu, my dear Mrs. Vaughan, to put it to her, and very; 
 st ^aightly too, that things cannot go on as they are." 
 
 " Oh, Lady Paramont, I couldn't possibly." 
 
 " Why not? She likes you, she admires you. She has 
 said so. Derek Harpington believes you would exercise 
 great influence. Have a heart-to-heart talk with her." 
 
 And Lady Paramont tacitly refused to leave No. 9 
 Scdgmoor Street until Claire had promised that, " should' 
 th 3 opportunity occur," she would invite Mrs. Budleigh'si 
 CO ifidence. 
 
 Eaid Budleigh herself offered the opportunity by com- 
 in ^ to see Claire. 
 
 ^uite apart from that interest which she felt in the 
 
138 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 destinies of all other people, Claire had been drawn towards 
 this young woman at the very beginning of their acquaint- 
 ance. Enid had dark red hair and large blue eyes; and 
 about her there was something of the slumbering volcano 
 that suggested fire and force even in the midst of surface 
 tranquillity. If you had never seen her flash out at 
 Granville, you would still have known that the volcanic 
 reservoir of fire was there. Reflections of it glowed in 
 her large eyes whenever she spoke of the things that occu- 
 pied her during the eccentric stage of her career which 
 had made Granville's family at first so shy of her. 
 
 She spoke now, and very enthusiastically, of those past 
 days ; adding, with a sigh of regret, " Yes, I gave up all 
 that for Jack. Of course, he did not tell me that he was 
 the most irritating man alive." 
 
 Then, diffidently, Claire insinuated a word or two in 
 favour of Jack. 
 
 " Till you live with a man," said Enid, " you never know 
 what he is like." 
 
 This truism struck Claire with such force that she be- 
 came silent for a few moments. Then she went on to hint 
 that perhaps her friend was a little hard on Jack. 
 
 In reply Enid Budleigh said some very strange things. 
 
 " If Jack ever played the fool I should chuck him. He 
 knows that." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Budleigh, you speak as if it would be 
 possible for you to leave him and to make him let you 
 go. It isn't, is it.^" 
 
 Mrs. Budleigh smiled enigmatically. " I might give 
 him no choice." 
 
 " Do you mean you would not shrink from going 
 through the divorce court?" 
 
 Mrs. Budleigh leaned back her head, and laughed as if 
 much amused. "Don't you worry about us, Mrs. Vaughan 
 — ^but it's awfully kind of you. Jack and I are real pals, 
 though we sometimes chip each other." And looking at 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 139 
 
 lire with a whimsical expression, she said : " I suppose 
 1 have heard people talking about us. I know they do 
 
 k — and it's all the fault of Jack's stupid relations. His 
 
 ations had much better leave us alone. It's the greatest 
 n 5take to interfere with people.'* 
 
 That was the case of Enid and Granville : baffling, enig- 
 n iic, and not to be taken too seriously. 
 
 The other case concerned Claire much more nearly, 
 sii ce it related to the domestic affairs of Barrett the 
 g 3om and Thompson the chauffeur. One day, while the 
 c iir stood waiting outside the house, these two, egged on 
 b . the other servants, had an altercation which would 
 h I ve ended in a fight but for the timely arrival of a police- 
 n;in, who took everybody's name and address and prom- 
 ised to call upon Mr. Vaughan in the evening. 
 
 Pope and the others were only too eager to explain fhe 
 cause of *' the unpleasantness " and to congratulate Claire 
 0.1 its having come to a head. Till now, as they explained, 
 their tongues had been tied; but now at last they could 
 s])8ak. The chauffeur some time ago had gone to lodge 
 with Barrett and his wife — always a doubtful, risky ar- 
 rangement — and of late the preference of the landlady 
 for the lodger had been the talk of the whole mews. They 
 carried on anyhow. And naturally one wondered why 
 Barrett put up with It and when it was going to be- 
 st opped. 
 
 Claire was shocked and distressed. On paying visits to 
 tlie mews with sugar for the pony she had seen Mrs. Bar- 
 r(tt, a clean, nice-looking young woman; had noticed, too, 
 the tidy aspect of the sitting-room with its white curtains 
 a id geranium plants and well-swept hearth ; had even 
 c.iught a glimpse of the chauffeur seated at table enjoying 
 t]:e comfortable mid-day meal provided by Mrs. Barrett. 
 I was upsetting to learn of guilty secrets beneath this 
 f < ir exterior. 
 
 Moreover, she was attached to the injured husband for 
 
140 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 sentimental reasons. Barrett belonged to her past; he 
 had been helper at Mrs. Gilmour's stables. 
 
 " What is to be done.? " she asked Roddy, after he had 
 investigated the matter. 
 
 " Well," said Roddy, " we can't let them go on living 
 in open sin. It isn't respectable. No, one of them has 
 to go; and as Thompson is much the most useful of the 
 two, it must be Barrett." 
 
 «0h, Roddy!" 
 
 " A good chauffeur is a rare bird nowadays. Whereas 
 you've only to whistle to find half-a-dozen smarter-looking 
 grooms than Barrett. If you are thinking of the 
 pony " 
 
 But Claire was not thinking of the pony; she was 
 thinking of the man. It seemed to her more than unkind, 
 really wrong, to dismiss the innocent Barrett and retain 
 the guilty Thompson. 
 
 " Oh, that's all right," said Roddy. " Barrett's a sen- 
 sible chap. When I gave him notice he said he quite 
 understood." 
 
 Next day Claire had an interview with Barrett, told 
 him how sorry she felt for him, and talked about his 
 future. He was young, as she reminded him; when the 
 law had set him free he might marry again ; and, getting 
 a better wife, be quite happy in the end. But Barrett sur- 
 prised her by replying that he would have nothing to 
 do with the law. 
 
 " You're very kind to think of it, ma'am," said Barrett, 
 with his well-remembered husky voice and grateful smile. 
 ^' But I shan't go and make a worse fool of meself than 
 what she's made of me a'ready. She's took her choice. 
 Well, so be it. No law for me." 
 
 " But, Barrett, if you don't get a divorce, you can 
 never m.arry." 
 
 " I know that, ma'am, and I shan't practice any de- 
 ception. If I should meet a girl that I took to, if she 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 141 
 
 t lok to me, I should just tell her the facts, precisely how 
 
 m situated." And Barrett cleared his throat. " If she 
 
 asn't for it without her marriage lin^s, well, she could 
 
 ave it alone. You'll excuse me speaking so open." 
 
 " Oh, yes." Claire had flushed sUghtly, but she drove 
 
 . vsLj all false delicacy. She was interested in Barrett, and 
 
 . le wanted to help him. " But suppose you did that, 
 
 .: arrett, and you had children, they — they would be ille- 
 
 ^; timate." 
 
 " Well, they wouldn't be the only ones. They must take 
 i leir chance of it." 
 
 " Really, Barrett, I think you ought to get a divorce." 
 " And how d'you suppose I'm to get it, ma'am .^^ They 
 r:en't given away — far from it." Having cleared his 
 iliroat again, he spoke loudly and with strong feeling. 
 '• It's very kind, but you don't understand, ma'am. Di- 
 vorce is for the upper classes, not for our sort. Suppose 
 1 put meself in a lawyer's clutches over it, why, he'd take 
 t^ery bob out of me what I could earn for ten years, and 
 then he wouldn't do it. Laugh at me, too, if I asked him 
 ^ here all my money had gone. Who is it gets divorces? 
 If you read the papers you'll see — people as can afford it. 
 I don't say if Jessie had bin got hold of by some rich 
 gentleman like Mr. Vaughan or Mr. Cyril, and there was 
 the prospect of damages, but what the lawyers would do 
 i: for me in such circumstances as that. But how much 
 camage is Thompson going to pay.'* ' Take it out of me 
 v'ith your fists,' would be his answer. And so I would 
 too," said Barrett, with a lurid glow, " on'y that would 
 le punishing Jessie as much as him. . . . Thank you, 
 iia'am, all the same." 
 
 " I must think aibout it, Barrett. I don't like letting 
 3 ou go with nothing done to put things straight for you.'* 
 And thinking about it, she asked Roddy how much a 
 ( ivorce for Barrett would really cost. 
 
 " Fifty pounds. A hundred. Even more, I dare say." 
 
142 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Not more than that ! " And she asked Roddy if they 
 could not pay this amount for Barrett themselves. 
 
 " What ? " said Roddy, almost shouting. " Chuck away 
 a hundred pounds? Do you suppose hundreds grow on 
 every bush like berries or flutter down at my feet like 
 leaves as I go to the City? But you're joking, of course? '' 
 
 " No, I'm not joking, Roddy. It seems so dreadful to 
 let the whole thing slide." And she told him the things 
 that Barrett had said. 
 
 " And there's a good deal of truth in that," said Roddy. 
 ^* Yes, that's the poor man's grievance against the law. 
 Devilish hard luck, it seems. I quite agree. But we can't 
 help it. It's not our fault. They'll amend the law, no 
 
 doubt, one of these days. Meantime " And Roddy 
 
 yawned, and presently began to talk of something 
 else. 
 
 For a day or two Claire worried herself greatly about 
 this poignant drama of humble life ; it filled her mind with 
 painful thoughts. She must do something to remove diffi- 
 culties from Barrett's future career, to prevent little inno- 
 cent children from being born with the stigma of illegiti- 
 macy. It would be easy to raise a hundred pounds by 
 the sale of a few trinkets ; and she had determined to brave 
 Roddy's displeasure and seek advice from Messrs. Collie, 
 her family's solicitors, when she found that Barrett had 
 cut the ground from under everybody's feet by sailing 
 for Canada. She received this intelligence from Mrs. Bar- 
 rett, at the mews, as she approached her pony's stall with 
 a lump of sugar in her hand. 
 
 The pony had gone too — not to Canada but to Roe- 
 hampton. Mr. Vaughan had been round with the gentle- 
 man, and they had made a lot of fun together over the 
 sale of the pony, " chaffing like." 
 
 " But Mr. Vaughan told Thompson he got the price 
 he asked from the beginning." 
 
 Mrs. Barrett, giving all this information, was neat and 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 143 
 
 c] ;an-looking as ever, quite unruffled in manner by con- 
 s ousness of the recent unpleasant events. Through an 
 c en doorway Claire had a glimpse of Thompson just sit- 
 t ! ig down to his carefully prepared repast ; the lodger, 
 i 1 e cuckoo in the nest, the unabashed and triumphant pos- 
 s ssor of all that did not belong to him. - 
 
 Claire went away feeling helpless and disgusted. 
 
 Lassitude fell upon her. The season was now over; 
 il ere were no more parties or entertainments; she often 
 escaped even the trouble of ordering dinner, for Roddy 
 ^ nerally dined at his club. Invitations to country houses 
 1 id not so far arrived, no plans for holidays had been 
 nade; although Roddy had talked of Italy, Greece, and 
 1] eland. But Claire did not remind him. All desire for 
 I movement, travel, adventure had faded. She wanted quiet ; 
 she wanted peace. 
 
 She would become so much absorbed in a book as to 
 forget time, herself, the whole world of reality; this fic- 
 tion was all that mattered; the joy or grief of these 
 imagined personages alone concerned her. Then in a mo- 
 laent the illusion was gone ; she sent the book back to the 
 library without troubling to finish it. The external world 
 in its turn captivated and held her attention; so that 
 merely to sit looking out of the window was sufficient 
 io keep her interested, entranced. Sedgmoor Street was 
 ihe universe in little. Each passer-by was mankind. 
 Within each house lay the mystery and wonder of the 
 (ntire planet. 
 
 August had nearly gone, and already the evenings were 
 
 (Josing in, when Roddy announced that he could now leave 
 
 London. It was at dusk, and he came noisily into the big 
 
 Irawing-room and talked so volubly that he almost took 
 
 lier breath away. 
 
 " What are you moping in the dark for ? Blind man's 
 loliday, eh? '' And he turned on a blaze of electric light. 
 ^ Now, old girl, you've got to pull up your socks, and get 
 
lU FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 a move on. I have plotted great deeds. I am going to do 
 an American campaign." 
 
 " American campaign.'* '' she echoed feebly. ' 
 Then^ with exuberant satisfaction, he told her how he 
 had decided that they should spend the autumn in the 
 United States; he had long been wanting to open out 
 business relations witK big men over there; he intended 
 to impress himself on New York. 
 
 " Roddy, I can't go with you. You must go alone." 
 " Rubbish. Of course you must come. I mant you. I 
 couldn't do it without you." And he rattled on, explain- 
 ing that his elegant partner was an essential part of the 
 scheme. They were to go out there as ultra-fashionable 
 people, two English bloods travelling for pleasure, and 
 only after they had made their society success would he 
 attempt operations in the financial world. She must at 
 once write to all the American friends they had met over 
 here; she must bustle about and get introductions from 
 big-wigs. Also she had better buy some really slap-up 
 frocks — ready-made of course, as there was no time now 
 for measuring and trying on. " Buy some real eye- 
 openers, Claire. Hang the expense. Buy dresses that 
 people can't get away from. I want us to be talked about 
 and written about from the word Go. I want us to 
 fairly knock the Yanks, between us." 
 
 "Roddy, I can't. I — I am going to have a baby." 
 " Oh, damn," said Roddy, and he sat down and stared 
 at her. All the expansive gaiety passed from his face; 
 he looked gloomy and disappointed, like a child who hears 
 that his little treat must be given up. " Well, I'm blowed. 
 When is it to be?" 
 
 " The end of January, I think." 
 
 His face lit up again. " January ! Why, bless me, that's 
 five months. My dear old girl, you don't need to lie in 
 the straw from now till then. You^ll be all right. The 
 -voyage will do you good." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 145 
 
 No, I couldn't stand the fatigue. Besides, I should 
 be 10 use to you. I — I couldn't look nice. I— I couldn't 
 W( r the sort of dresses you thought of." 
 
 Well, upon my word, this is a let-down^ — at the very 
 m i n^it I was counting on you. Why didn't you tell me 
 be [ >re. 
 
 ' I don't know. I wasn't sure — so I waited — and 
 
 th 1 " She sat looking at him, watching his gloomy 
 
 fa : 3. " Roddy, didn't you want us to have any chil- 
 dr:a?'^ 
 
 ' ' Of course I did. I should be something less than a 
 m< 1 if I didn't. You funny old thing, what odd remarks 
 yen make sometimes." He got up, laughed, and shrugged 
 hi; shoulders. 
 
 '' Yet you aren't glad, Roddy. You are sorry." 
 
 '' Nonsense. I'm delighted. And proud as a peacock, 
 too — proud as several peacocks." He walked about the 
 rocm, talking of the marvellous piece of news, and as he 
 ta ked recovering his good humour. Gradually the notion 
 of fatherhood began to please him so much that he forgot 
 th3 annoyance caused by the frustration af a well-devised 
 scheme. He, Roddy Vaughan, was about to put into the 
 we rid a little creature fashioned in his own image ; he had 
 felt a little down on his luck lately, but now he thrilled 
 wl:h that sensation of unexpectedly increased importance 
 wl ich was always so grateful to him. And he remem- 
 bered opportunely the conversation of a shrewd old man 
 called Fergusson on a Castle Line steamer years ago, 
 T-iis old chap had said one night in the smoking-room that 
 ycu never really make a woman your own till you hav^ 
 hf d a child by her. Claire was going to be his now, 
 ^' rith a vengeance." 
 
 His affectionate protestations were quite genuine, there- 
 fo 'e, when presently he sat upon the sofa beside his wife, 
 sn oothed her hair, kissed and patted her cheeks. 
 
 " You little sly-boots. This up your sleeve, and never 
 
146 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tell me! What next? Which is it to be — boy or girl? 
 Let it be a boy if it's all the same to you. What a lark ! 
 Roddy Number Two, what? You dear Claire, you have 
 made me more proud and happy than you guess." 
 
 At dinner he made not a single complaint about the 
 food. Indeed he vowed that the poulet en casserole was 
 excellent and urged her to have some more of it, adding 
 meaningly that henceforth she needed as much nourish- 
 ment as she could get. 
 
 After dinner he spoke with magnanimous gentleness 
 about the abandoned American trip. " Certainly I shan't 
 go by myself. Do you think I should desert you at such 
 a time, Claire? No, I renounce the whole plan. Wash- 
 out ! Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll have a fort- 
 night together at Hastings, and then I'll go to Scotland 
 and get some shooting." 
 
 And he went on with sl description of that uncle and 
 aunt of his who kept the Bolingbroke Hotel at Hastings. 
 
 ''' We may as well give them a turn. They'll take it as 
 a compliment my bringing you to see them. Strictly 
 speaking, I suppose I ought to have asked them to our 
 wedding ; but they would have been fish out of water, and, 
 of course, I don't pretend they are — well, yow know." 
 
 Now, however, one could do them a civility and prevent 
 their feeling hurt. 
 
 So together they went to stay with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Girdlestone at the Hastings hotel; and Claire sat upon 
 the pier while Roddy played golf at Rye and read her book 
 in their sitting-room while he enlivened the evening in the 
 parlour behind the bar. Mrs. Girdlestone used to come 
 into the sitting-room, apologize for neglecting Claire, and 
 beg her to ask for anything she wanted. " You see how 
 busy we are, don't you? And will make allowances if 
 I don't give you the attention I could wish? " Mr. Girdle- 
 stone, who breathed stertoroiisly, came to their table at 
 (dinner, inquired after their appetites, and whispered ami- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 147 
 
 ab^ ' to Claire: "You've got a rare rammucky spark in 
 M ' iter Roddy, and I hope you don't trust him further 
 th i 1 you can see him." 
 
 ' You get on, you old grampus," said Roddy merrily, 
 " { id don't try to take my character away. Funny thing 
 I (: dn't turn out wicked with you for an example when I 
 wai a boy." 
 
 ^.nd it was not till the visit was over and they were 
 dr:^ ing to the railway station in the hotel omnibus that 
 Cla re discovered it had been a real visit and they had been 
 ho tl guests otherwise than in the usual acceptation of 
 th( term, with nothing to pay. 
 
 ' They did us all right, didn't they? " said Roddy. " A 
 f 01 :night free gratis! That's a bit of economy for once.'' 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE servants were taking their holidays, and Claire 
 had the ornate Nappensol house almost to herself. 
 One might say that she had not only the house, 
 but Sedgmoor Street and the whole neighbourhood also; 
 for all the world was away. Hans Place seemed fast 
 asleep; Cadogan Square was mournful and silent as a 
 large red-brick cemetery ; troops of little boys with sticks 
 searched the emptiness of Sloane Street for fallen chest- 
 nuts ; and the church had the aspect of a place of business 
 altogether closed until trade should be resumed again when 
 weddings next came into season. 
 
 For the good of her health Claire used to take long 
 solitary walks, beyond the river sometimes, to the windy 
 expanses of Battersea Park. She had no sense of loneli- 
 ness now. The whole external pageant of existence had 
 become rich with new meanings for her ; even at this dead 
 time of year, with shrivelled leaves scurrying along the 
 pavements to meet her, and the first cold breath of winter 
 chilling her face, she could see and feel the marvellous 
 message or promise of life in all things — life that is ever 
 renewing itself, the life of the future, that cannot be 
 obliterated by the death of each passing hour. 
 
 As she stood watching the seagulls make their white 
 circles above the bridge, or children that played and ran 
 beside the embankment wall, or beyond all else, infants 
 carried in women's arms, deep wells of tenderness and love 
 seemed to gush forth in her almost frozen heart. Ineffable 
 thoughts filled her mind. Nature is not blindly cruel, 
 but inscrutably kind : when we suffer most we are learning 
 the measure of a nobler joy. 
 
 At such moments she had an immense longing to speak 
 
 148 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 149 
 
 of 1 le secret that was mysteriously changing all the world 
 fo her. Against reason, in defiance of memory, she felt 
 an elemental yearning for her mother's counsel and sym- 
 pa ly. She wanted to put her arms round Mrs. Gil- 
 mc r's neck, and whisper about what was going to happen 
 ne : January ; to say in effect, " Mother, you put the 
 to h of life into my hand, and I am giving it into the 
 ha : Is that shall carry it on when you and I have ceased 
 to ( e." 
 
 i ut, as she knew, or, as she thought she knew, Mrs. Gil- 
 mciT was still on the continent with Emily and Leonard 
 Jo yce, enjoying one of those extended tours that had been 
 taJ ed about so often, and always postponed until Claire 
 he jelf was " out of the way." 
 
 ■he could scarcely believe the evidence of her eyes, there- 
 foi •?, when she saw Mrs. Gilmour just ahead of her, 
 turiing the corner of Hague Street, and pacing slowly 
 anrl reflectively towards home. Dusk had fallen, and in 
 the half light Claire, for a moment, thought that she 
 mij^t really be mistaken, and that this meditative, dignified 
 fig ire was only a servant attired in some of Mrs. Gilmour's 
 cast-off garments. But the stately figure paused, seemed 
 to look up and down the street vaguely, as if its mind 
 had wandered, and it did not quite know where it was or 
 what it proposed to do next. Then, with a little start, 
 as of returning consciousness, it passed up the steps and 
 rang the door bell. It was Mrs. Gilmour and nobody else. 
 
 ''Mother! What a surprise!" 
 
 Olaire had pursued as rapidly as she dared, and stood 
 wiih her mother on the steps, while a new young footman 
 wa:ched them from the open door, wondering who the 
 mi sis's pretty lady friend might be. 
 
 ' ' My dear Claire, it is you who surprise me," said Mrs. 
 Gi mour graciously. " You drop upon me out of the 
 clc ads, quite unexpectedly. But I'm very glad to see you, 
 de;T." 
 
150 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire's heart overflowed to the warmness of this wel- 
 come. It was more especially pleasant to her because, 
 during the last half-year, Mrs. Gilmour's manner had 
 grown cold and reserved; as if, after the first ardour 
 of satisfaction in the happy marriage, something had 
 occurred to make her look upon Claire with far less pride 
 and affectionate interest. 
 
 She followed her mother meekly through the well-re- 
 membered rooms, and sat by a cheerful wood fire in the 
 morning-room, while Mrs. Gilmour ambled to and fro, 
 talking, divesting herself of her cloak and hat, and hand- 
 ing them to the maid who had come to fetch them. 
 
 " What is it, Yates ? Oh, yes, you want my scarf too. 
 Unpin it for me, please." 
 
 The house was just the same, and yet to Claire's ej^es 
 so incredibly altered. She understood that the change lay 
 in herself, and not in these familiar objects. She thought 
 of the shy, childish Claire that used to wander aimlessly 
 through this and the other rooms, and it seemed to her 
 that a hundred years had passed since then ; that she, the 
 woman who had tasted bitter fruit, the disillusioned wife, 
 the hopefully expectant mother, should be unrecognizable 
 by those who had known the girl. The solemnly respectful 
 greeting of her old friend Belton, when he came to receive 
 certain confidential orders from his mistress, did not dis- 
 sipate this fancy. 
 
 " Tea," said Mrs. Gilmour gaily. " I was talking to 
 Belton about tea. The fact is — Emily would blow me 
 ^p and pretend it was insufficient, although at my age I 
 think I ought to be the best judge — but when I am 
 alone like this, I do not have a regular dinner. It is a 
 relief to the servants, and, whatever anybody may say, 
 it suits me better. I have my tea a little later, and I add 
 to it what I like, and what I have always considered ex- 
 tremely sustaining. You would not guess what I have 
 ordered for myself to-day ; " and she looked at Claire 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 151 
 
 wit 1 an air of modest triumph, as if enjoying the sense 
 of her resourcefulness and fertility of invention, " A 
 co; pie of boiled eggs ! " 
 
 ' I think I might have guessed," said Claire, smiling, 
 "ij you Tiad given me time, mother." 
 
 • Only on this occasion, I have told Belton iour eggs 
 in ead of two, and you must join me. Claire, I insist. 
 "W( will go into the dining-room and have our meal com- 
 for cably. I think tea, when you can sit down to it quietly, 
 is o much4)referable to the usual sketchy arrangement 
 — 'ou know what I mean, people carrying about their 
 tei-cups, and, * Won't you have a slice of this cake?' 
 Oi . * Do try the ratafias.' Emily and I have a particular 
 name for it. But you remember, of course. ^ If possible,' 
 Eiiiily always says, * do let us have a schoolroom tea.' So 
 ncu, being quite alone here, I indulge in the practice every 
 evening." 
 
 ** But, mother, I want to know why you are here at all. 
 I thought you weren't coming back from Italy till the 
 middle of November." 
 
 " I did not go to Italy, Claire." 
 
 " Oh, why? Emily said it was all settled." 
 
 " I gave it up," said Mrs. Gilmour, walking about with 
 her hands clasped behind her back. " I had to let Emily 
 ar d Leonard go without me. The expense was too great — 
 coming on top of everything else. I could not afford it. 
 I was completely cleared out of funds." 
 
 " Really, mother ? But what was it made you short of 
 money like that? " 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour paused in her walk, and looked at Claire 
 fi::edly and with a somewhat severe eye. 
 
 " I wonder that you ask me, Claire " ; and she moved 
 away again. " Suffice it to say that I had met heavy 
 a] id unexpected claims. I prefer not to think of it. 
 P ease do not reopen the matter." 
 
 She went on talking; but Claire was conscious of a 
 
152 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 change in her manner. All the warmth and friendliness 
 had gone ; the coldness, noticed so many times of late, had 
 returned again. 
 
 " Mother, I can't understand " 
 
 " Never mind, my dear. Come and let us have our eggs. 
 You are ready for us, Belton? '' 
 
 In the dining-room, when Belton left them alone, and 
 when Mrs. Gilmour was well on with her second egg^ Claire 
 asked more questions. Want of money in this house was 
 something so odd and unnatural that it really required a 
 full explanation. 
 
 " Mother dear, I hate to think of your losing your holi- 
 day, and for such a reason. Do tell me. Have investments 
 gone wrong — or is it Cyril? " 
 
 " Cyril," said Mrs. Gilmour, bridling, " had to be extri- 
 cated — no matter what the cost." , 
 
 "Extricated?" 
 
 "You know the story, don't you? Didn't Emily tell 
 you?" 
 
 " Emily tells me nothing about you all. And she 
 scarcely ever comes to see me." 
 
 " Well, it need be no secret from you. Happily it is 
 over and done with." 
 
 And Mrs. Gilmour plaintively related the circumstances 
 of Cyril's entanglement with an actress. Madly in love 
 with this young person, he had foolishly and very wrongly 
 proposed marriage; then, when he had been persuaded to 
 withdraw his rash proposal, 4hey were threatened with an 
 action for breach of promise, and finally Mrs. Gilmour 
 had settled it out of court. The affair had been terribly 
 expensive; but anything was better than a scandal, and 
 having one's name in the papers. 
 
 "Or such an unfortunate marriage," said Claire, com- 
 fortingly. " It was something that Cyril consented to give 
 her up." 
 
 " He did," said Mrs. Gilmour. " But, between you 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 153 
 
 ar 1 me, Claire, I fear it was only because he had fallen, 
 ii love with somebody else. The stage has become an 
 ah ;olute infatuation with him. Goodness knows how it 
 wi I end." And she sighed. 
 
 ' That was the first thing that crippled me," she con- 
 ti ued presently. " Then there are those leasehold houses 
 — ;imply a morass in to which money has to be poured* 
 Aid the unfairness of it! The leases are running out, 
 an 1 in a few years the ground landlord will attempt to 
 tale them away from me altogether. I say to Mr. Collie, 
 ^ r o you mean to allow a considerable portion of my in- 
 cone to be confiscated without making an effort to prevent 
 it ^ ' And he just shrugs his shoulders, and says we are 
 pc merles s and it is the law of the land. Claire, never talk 
 to me about solicitors. Believe me, the more respectable 
 thiy are, the more incompetent. It has always been the 
 sa ne story with Collies — even in your father's time. But 
 he 30uld keep them up to the mark. Now, however, that 
 I liive no one to lean on " 
 
 Agitated by this doleful thought, she put down her 
 egg-spoon, rose to her feet, and began to wander round 
 tht dining-table. 
 
 ' Claire, you don't understand what it is to be thrown 
 on your own resources unaided. You, who have a husband 
 stiil living to manage business matters for you, to guard 
 your interests and protect you from imposture! When 
 you are left alone, an old woman in my position, you will 
 find that the whole world seems to regard you as fair 
 
 gaiie, to extort Oh, and that reminds me. But I 
 
 int mded not to touch on it." She picked up her tea-cup, 
 took a sip or two standing, and over the brim of the cup 
 stared at Claire severely. Then she restored the cup to 
 its saucer with an air of decision. " Yes, I will speak 
 f ra ikly. Claire, you really must not send Roddy to me 
 age in." 
 
 ' Mother," cried Claire, aghast, " what do you mean.'^ " 
 
15* FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " I mean that if you outrun the constable, as Roddy 
 terms it, you must catch him up without further assistance 
 from me.'^ 
 
 " Mother, I never " But then Claire became silent, 
 
 and hung her head. She had been about to protest against 
 this accusation, and declare her entire innocence. No, 
 that would not do: she could not disavow what her hus- 
 band had done in their joint names. If necessary, she 
 must bear the shame of it for both. In a moment she 
 understood everything, remembering very clearly how, 
 when she had begged that no appeal for money might be 
 made to her mother, he seemed to sympathize with her 
 reluctance, and had said that if she did not care to make 
 such an appeal, she must not do it. But he had done it 
 himself. While she had been feeling a glow of gratitude 
 towards him for his kindness, he was remorselessly achiev- 
 ing the end in view. Each word, as Mrs. Gilmour went 
 on talking, added to her confusion and distress. 
 
 " It is all very nice to have fine and extravagant decora- 
 tions in one's house, but then I say one should not call 
 
 upon other people to pay for them. If Messrs. . 
 
 What is their name? dun for their money, that should 
 
 have been provided for beforehand. It is all very well for 
 Roddy to gratify your fancies and wish to house you 
 like a queen, as he says ; but, then, is it fair to hold a 
 pistol to my head and make me pay the bill? I was 
 not consulted beforehand — no, not invited to choose so 
 much as a single wall-paper. I do think, Claire, when 
 launching out with these odd-named people, Napper — 
 Napping — whatever it is — I do think you might have 
 asked me for my sanction — in the circumstances." 
 
 " I am sorry, mother." 
 
 " Well, of that first time, I say no more. One does not 
 have to furnish a house every year — as he puts it. But 
 the second time, Claire, within only a few months ! No, 
 that is too much. So I put it to you> frankly, Claire; 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 155 
 
 you lave not the right to continue such an extravagant 
 moc of life — astonishing everybody, and making even 
 Em ! J a little envious — unless your means justify it, or, 
 at 1 ist, until Roddy comes into his fortune. I cannot 
 go 1 ' saving the situation,' as he terms it. I have 
 don \ all I could, and it is not fair to ask me to do 
 mor " 
 
 " '. Mother, I am so sorry — so very sorry." 
 
 " ' Then we will say no more. Claire ! You have left 
 hoth your eggs untouched ! Will you not have some mar- 
 mali.le? It was sent to me by Uncle Derek. It is the 
 mar lalade they have at one of his clubs. I forget which 
 club— he belongs to so many — ^but he says it is the best 
 mar nalade in England." 
 
 C lire took her leave without trying the marmalade, and 
 without confiding to her mother the secret that just now 
 had seemed so great and so important. It seemed of very 
 littlr consequence now. She went back to Sedgmoor Street 
 feeliag weary, lonely, and ashamed. 
 
 Before going to bed she wrote a long letter to Roddy, 
 in Scotland; reproaching him for what he had done, tell- 
 ing him how bitterly she regretted his having done it with- 
 out iier knowledge, and imploring him never to do it again. 
 She acquainted him, too, with the cruel consequence of 
 his acts — Mrs. Gilmour's loss of a summer holiday. 
 
 At night ''she could not sleep because of her thoughts 
 aboi t this disaster. Poor mother, deprived of the pleasant 
 continental tour with Emily; alone when all London was 
 awa/; having eggs for tea instead of a table dlwte dinner, 
 with no one to stimulate conversation except Belton or 
 Yat-s. 
 
 B it Roddy, in his reply from Scotland a few days 
 later, treated the episode very lightly. 
 
 He affected to believe it had been arranged between 
 then that he was to ask the favour, since she felt shy about 
 aski ig. " I took it on myself, in order to spare your sus- 
 
156 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ceptibiHties, although they appeared to me quite out of 
 place." 
 
 " Of course,'' he added, " it all rubbish for the old lady 
 to pretend she is hard up. I wish I had half her com- 
 plaint." And he concluded his letter by saying that he 
 was homeward bound now, and that he proposed to take 
 Yorkshire on the way, for the purpose of looking in upon 
 the baronet, his great uncle. She was to send him imme- 
 diately her best photograph, so that he might show to the 
 head of the house a portrait of his new niece. ** I hope 
 to make it up with him once for all," said Roddy, with 
 characteristic hopefulness. " It is time we buried the 
 hatchet." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HE had returned from the North, and was engrossed 
 by his City labours again. He had not visited 
 Yorkshire, and he looked glum when Sir Rod- 
 eric ^ was mentioned. Evidently the old man had refused 
 the ( hance fof an affectionate meeting, and the hatchet 
 rem i ned above ground. Roddy spoke of being out of 
 luck and up against adverse conditions; but when Claire 
 ask((l sympathetic questions, he told her to mind her 
 own business. 
 
 " [[{ there is anything calculated to put a man off his 
 gSLiTi and knock the courage out of him, it is incessant 
 advice from a woman — and an ailing woman ^t that. It 
 would take me a month to explain the difficulties of my 
 position, and the large interests involved — and you 
 woujln't understand even after that." 
 
 Then, one evening in November, when he came into the 
 hou.^e, it was as though half a dozen other angry, shouting 
 men had entered it with him. He bellowed at the scared 
 servmts; he filled the hall and staircase with noise. 
 Claire, upstairs in the drawing-room, sat trembling as 
 the aoise ascended, drew nearer, and burst upon her. 
 
 " Look at this. Just read it. See what the old devil 
 has done to bowl me out and ruin me." 
 
 H was the news in the evening papers that had driven 
 him to frenzy. He brought with him several newspapers, 
 all crimipled and torn, and thrust one of them into Claire's 
 shal ing hands. 
 
 *' Read it. See for yourself." 
 
 A nd Claire, with wildly anxious eyes, read the announce- 
 menb of the marriage of an ancient Yorkshire baronet — 
 " M ay and December. . . . Sir Roderick, who has never 
 
 157 
 
168 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 been married before, is eighty-three, while the bride as yet 
 has numbered only twenty summers. ... A romantic 
 interest attaches to the union in the fact that Miss Banks 
 Was born upon the estate. Her father acts as steward or 
 bailiff to the home farms," and so on. 
 
 Claire's first sensation was one of immense relief, her 
 impulse to say, " Is that all.? " But a glance at Roddy's 
 face kept her heart still beating fast. There must be a 
 solid cause for such furious emotion. 
 
 " Roddy, of course it — it's a blow to your hopes — per- 
 haps. But will it necessarily mean " 
 
 " It will mean that I am in the soup," he bellowed. And 
 he went raving and roaring out of the room. 
 
 At dinner he was calmer; but he inveighed against the 
 elderly bridegroom in such outrageous terms that Claire 
 told the servants to leave them alone and they would wait 
 on themselves. 
 
 " Roddy, don't — please don't say these things. What 
 good can it do ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can't be mealy-mouthed about it. Curse the 
 lascivious old brute. Curse the whole dirty crew of them." 
 
 " Roddy, don't — oh, don't be so violent. You — you are 
 upsetting me — you are making me ill." 
 
 " Fancy being able to get a clergyman to countenance 
 and abet him in such beastliness. It is beastliness at his 
 age. Why, it isn't a marriage at all. What is marriage 
 for but the begetting of offspring? and what's the chance 
 of offspring, I ask you, with a worn-out, dried-up old 
 stick of eighty-three? In love with her be blowed. It's 
 just senile lustfulness — gone dotty after a pig-tail and a 
 petticoat ; and instead of getting him a nurse or a keeper 
 to make him behave himself, they ring the bells and march 
 him off to church and give him a blessing. I'd like to be 
 behind that parson — his cloth v^ouldn't save him till I'd 
 kicked him round the churchyard and up the village street. 
 Disgrace to the Church! Not marriage — profanation.'* 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 159 
 
 An I Roddy spluttered and fumed, at the end of his tirade. 
 
 i ter dinner, in the oak parlour, he sat down at his 
 des i and brought out masses of papers. He was quiet 
 nov The rage had burnt itself out, and he seemed to 
 be prey to acute anxiety. 
 
 ' [ must think what I can do," he murmured. " I must 
 try o think how the situation is to be saved." 
 
 C aire was watching him intently, and she understood 
 tha; he was more than anxious, he was afraid. For the 
 firs time she could see fear in his eyes and hear it in his 
 voic. And this fear communicated itself to her, shook 
 her so that she leaned against the big desk for support. 
 She stood there, white and trembling. 
 
 '' Roddy, tell me everything. I'm your wife. Don't 
 kee]) things back from me." 
 
 '* There's nothing to keep back. Why are you looking 
 at ne like that.'^ Come here. Sit down, and listen." 
 
 lie had said that it would take months to explain the 
 stale of affairs, but now, in two minutes, he was able to 
 give her a notion of his financial position. He had been 
 trading on his expectations from Sir Roderick, putting 
 them forward as much more solid than they were, bolster- 
 ing up his credit with stories of future opulence. Now, 
 obv ously, since the old brute had taken a wife, he had 
 somebody nearer than a great-nephew to whom he could 
 bequeathvhis wealth. To-morrow, when the published news 
 had gone round, Roddy would have all his creditors upon 
 him 
 
 '' Your creditors ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Roddy, stroking his moustache ; " unless I 
 can persuade them that it will make no difference to me 
 in tie end." 
 
 " Do you owe a lot of money? " 
 
 *' Well, yes, added up it mounts — all round." 
 
 ^* The tradesmen are paid. We owe nothing for this 
 home.'* 
 
160 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Except for everything that's in it." 
 
 *' How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, Nappensol. They've had nothing but driblets 
 — a hundred at a time to keep them quiet; and their ac- 
 count is a matter of thousands.'' 
 
 " But my mother ! What she gave you the first time 
 was to go to Nappensols." 
 
 " It didn't go to them. It went to keep the pot boiling." 
 
 " Roddy ! Why, why, that wasn't honest. It was get- 
 ting money under false pretences. Suppose she finds 
 out.? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm not bothering about her, I don't care if she 
 finds out or not. I'm thinking of others." 
 
 And again she saw the vacillation of his eyes, the nerv- 
 ous movement of his lips, the expression of a person 
 perplexed and alarmed, as he begins to recognize the 
 extent of the danger with which he is threatened. And 
 again, too, fear seized her. 
 
 " Roddy," she said desperately, " tell me the truth. 
 I've a right to know." 
 
 " I have told you. Can't you see, that if people begin 
 dunning me for immediate payment — a whisper against 
 my credit wiU ruin me in half my business.?^ " 
 
 " Yes, but whatever we owe we can pay. We must pay, 
 of course — no matter what sacrifice we make. Only there's 
 more than that in your mind. What is it? Trust me." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and was going to get up, 
 but she clung to his arm. 
 
 " Roddy, you are frightening me — and I can't stand it. 
 What have you done that puts you in such horrible diffi- 
 culty.? Tell me. You are my husband — and I mustn't 
 blame you, whatever it is. I must only try to 
 help you." 
 
 Then he explained how his principal embarrassment 
 arose from the fact of his having allowed a few people 
 to suppose that old Sir Roderick's money was settled on 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 161 
 
 hir , and not merely an expectation. This marriage might 
 set them asking awkward questijons. 
 
 ' Understand, Claire. I have said nothing in black and 
 w]i te ; " and he pulled at his moustache nervously. " No, 
 I'v i not put my foot in it to that extent. There is noth- 
 in: in black and white. But I certainly have conveyed the 
 in )ression by word of mouth. So there you are.'* 
 • Could they prosecute you ? " 
 
 ' No, of course not. That's so like a woman. Worm 
 oi every thing ; then miss the point. What rubbish! The 
 Zfla' can't touch me — not such a fool, my dear, as to get 
 pii ched that way. No, I'm absolutely safe. Only, as I've 
 tol J you a dozen times already, it's awkward for my credit. 
 My whole life is built on credit. Knock that from under 
 me, and down I go. There, that's more than enough. I 
 mjst think now." 
 
 But she would not release his arm or let him get up 
 from his chair. 
 
 "' Roddy," she wailed ; and, sinking to the floor, she laid 
 her face upon his knee and sobbed convulsively. 
 
 He was not honest. She had always known by instinct, 
 in f allibly , that at heart he was a swindler and a cheat ; and 
 yet the confirmation of her knowledge, coming from his 
 ovm lips, seemed too bitter to support. Nevertheless, she 
 was sorry for him. Pity and kindness irresistibly moved 
 her. Elemental womanhood softened every thought, so 
 that her tears soon became a mere explosion of nervous 
 force, a relief after strain rather than a sign of revolt 
 oi disgust. Good or bad, he was her husband, and in 
 sore trouble and affliction. 
 
 " Claire," he was saying, " get up. Don't make a the- 
 ai rical ass of yourself. Stop that row. The servants will 
 hear you and wonder what's wrong." 
 
 As if they had not heard himself, and been wondering 
 fcr the last three hours. But the astounding irony of 
 tl is caution was not noted either by him or her. 
 
162 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Yes, Roddy, I will — I will." She had got up, and 
 was drying her eyes. " Now I'll be quiet and sensible ; " 
 and sitting in the chair by his side, she took his hand 
 and held it with both her hands. He could feel her 
 fingers tightening and relaxing their grip spasmodically, 
 a pulsation that she could not control while she talked 
 to him eagerly. 
 
 " If you're safe, and we're not going to be disgraced, I 
 don't mind. You must pay them to the last farthing and 
 then, for heaven's sake, Roddy, let us start our lives on a 
 new plan." 
 
 And she implored him to cease his frantic hunt for 
 wealth, and be satisfied with competence; to leave this 
 expensive house and live modestly without show; to get 
 rid of all pretence, and pay their way like honest citizens. 
 
 " Impossible," he said. " I must keep up appearances.'* 
 
 ^* Oh, why, Roddy ? That has been your fatal error. 
 
 There's no need And, Roddy, I feel it, I know it, we 
 
 don't keep up appearances really. We don't deceive peo- 
 ple. They see through it, and laugh at us. They mti^t 
 do. Roddy, don't disregard what I'm saying. It's true 
 — it's wise. When you force me to invite people here — 
 you know, people that are not in our world, the big-wigs, 
 as you call them — ^well, they are only surprised." 
 
 " Are they.? They never showed it." 
 
 ** Not to us. But from their point of view it is almost 
 an impertinence. They tell each other we might have 
 waited for them to ask us. And, Roddy, however hateful 
 it sounds, they must set us down as snobbish, thick-skinned, 
 common. And we oughtn't to do it, we needn't do it. 
 Educated people shouldn't behave like that. We should 
 be above it — you and I, Roddy." 
 
 He sat listening gloomily, and bit his lip and frowned, 
 
 "Well, if we were living in a little house out of the 
 beaten track — living for ourselves, Roddy — there'd be no 
 temptation. We couldn^t do it. Let's live for ourselves* 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 163 
 
 Le 's try, anyhow. Take me out of it, Roddy, for my 
 St e. If not for yours. Save me from these humiliations 
 ar . fears and torments," 
 ' Oh, pile it on." 
 
 ' Roddy, don't be angry. I can't help it. Perhaps this 
 — rhat has happened — is our chance, a blessing if we make 
 it ne. Do what I say. Begin again — we may be happier 
 th( n. We aren't going to be happy this way — your way. 
 R: ddy, I swear I'll try my hardest. And let me help you. 
 I : an help you if you'll only trust me. Don't shut me out 
 of the work that is your life. Give me a share in it. 
 D n't believe the nonsense about women being useless to 
 advise, or incapable of understanding. I can help you, 
 Rcddy. I can keep you straight , if you'll trust me and 
 d(» what I ask." 
 
 ^ No," he said doggedly. " We can't. It would be to 
 o"^vn myself beaten. No, it's not as bad as all that. Let 
 me think. Stop chattering and let me think." 
 
 She released his hand, and he went over to the desk 
 and sat there staring at his papers. 
 
 " Oh, no, old girl, you've gone off at a tangent. There 
 are more ways of killing a dog — I've till to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Funny thing if I can't manage to see daylight with- 
 out turning pale. Don't say anything more. I want to 
 think." Then, after a silence, he spoke with a change of 
 tcne, more briskly, more in his usual style. " Look here. 
 You hit the right nail on the head when you said we 
 should have to make sacriiSces. Well, I've figured it out. 
 -A pill to swallow, but it won't choke us. Five or six thou- 
 sand judiciously laid out will see me through the 
 wood." 
 
 Then he told her that he must get off a large number 
 of letters, so that they would reach their destinations by 
 the morning's post, and nullify the damaging effect of 
 t lat May and December announcement. When people 
 f incy you have lost all your money, the trick is to show 
 
164f FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 them that you still have money. It is not necessary to 
 show them a lot of money. A few sovereigns on top of 
 a sack of brickbats will often look like treasure. He 
 would settle several urgent claims in full, and would send 
 checques on account to everybody else. He had calculated 
 the amounts. Nappensols' mouth could be closed with 
 fifteen hundred pounds; other mouths might be fed more 
 sparingly. He would also tell everybody in conversation 
 that the baronet's marriage made no difference to his ulti- 
 mate circumstances. 
 
 " Perhaps that's literally true, Glaire ; " and for the 
 first time he laughed, but rather ruefully. " I don't know 
 that it does make any difference." 
 
 And he went on to say that the money required for his 
 soothing operations must, of course, be provided by the 
 sale of stock. " I borrow it, Claire, from our capital, but 
 I reinstate it as soon as I can. We do the whole thing 
 without outside assistance. Even if your mother wasn't 
 pretending that I had milked her dry, I should leave her 
 out of it. I don't want gossip." 
 
 He got up, stretched himself, and spoke firmly and 
 confidently. 
 
 " Now, Claire, you talk enough of helping me. This is 
 the time. Where's that typewriter of yours ? " 
 
 " In the other room. You know I haven't used it since 
 you- 
 
 " Well, you've got to use it now, if you're to be any 
 good to me. Fetch it." 
 
 His spirits had risen again, and when the butler came 
 presently to answer the bell, he gave his orders with 
 ahnost jovial easiness of manner. He wanted the usual 
 tray of bottles and glasses, and the fire was to be made 
 up. Then he took off his coat and threw it over the back 
 of a chair. 
 
 When the man returned with the tray, his master was 
 seated at the big desk in his shirt sleeves, while the mistress 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 166 
 
 saL at a small table near him, assiduously dusting the 
 ke \ i of her long discarded typewriter. 
 
 • Shove on plenty of coals," said Mr. Vaughan, over his 
 sh« ) Uder. " Now don't let me be disturbed. You can all 
 go o bed. ... Ready, Claire.? " 
 
 ' One moment." 
 
 ' Buck up. Be nippy. Don't fall asleep. . . . First 
 letier is to the bank. By selling the stuff through the 
 bark I lose my half commission, but I must let that 
 go. You'll have to write a line to those fossils in 
 Giiiy's Inn, Collies, to advise them of what you're doing, 
 or we shall have them on the fidget. Now. Begin. 
 * I> 3ar Sir, be good enough to sell for me securities as 
 unoer.' " 
 
 He dictated, and she struggled desperately to type the 
 words as quickly as he spoke them. 
 
 '' Oh, God, how slow you are ! " he said, during the sec- 
 ond letter. And he came and stood looking down at her, 
 making her slower and more blundering than before. 
 " I^ook here, never mind the mistakes. Fire ahead and 
 get it down anyhow. You can do fair copies afterwards, 
 an 1 I'll give you notes to type from presently." 
 
 Then the dictation went on again. She had exhausted 
 hei'self utterly in that passionate appeal to him to re- 
 nounce his empty splendours and begin life again on sim- 
 pler, cleaner lines. It had seemed to her while she poured 
 ou : her long-suppressed thoughts that a tremendous crisis 
 had come, that fate was offering them an opportunity 
 which, if they availed themselves of it, might allow them 
 to wipe out all the wretched, sordid past. She had felt 
 th.it her confidence in him would be revived, that even 
 lo^e for him would be evoked, if only she could persuade 
 hin to take the offered chance. But now she had ceased 
 to think of these better things. She thought only of the 
 ta k that lay before her. It appalled her as an almost 
 f a] itastically impossible ordeal, the sort of overwhelm- 
 
166 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ing labour that we are set to perform in troubled dreams ; 
 but she meant to do it or die in the attempt. 
 
 That was a hysterical idea, she told herself, as with 
 unpractised fingers stumbling on the treacherous keys, 
 with hot eyes staring at them, she plodded on. Her head 
 ached, her back ached, her heart beat tumultuously at 
 every slip she made. 
 
 "Getting on all right.?'* 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Stick to it,'* 
 
 This was hours later. He had done dictating and gone 
 back to his desk. After writing many cheques, he began 
 to supply her with manuscript jottings which she was 
 to convert into formal business-like letters. She was work- 
 ing exactly as people work in dreams now; but the work 
 seemed easier, the atmosphere of the dream less heavy 
 and distressing. 
 
 Suddenly Roddy gave a shout that brought her 
 out of the dream with such a shock that she nearly 
 fainted. 
 
 *' Stamps! Have we enough stamps? If we can't stamp 
 the letters I'm done." 
 
 Claire knocked off work to join in the stamp hunt, going 
 upstairs to the brown and gold bedroom to look for stamps 
 there. Enough stamps were found. Roddy gave a sigh 
 of relief ; Claire sat down to her work again ; and the long 
 hours of the night passed. 
 
 Roddy had done his part and was waiting for her to 
 finish all the fair copies. He piled up the fire and made 
 it blaze again. He walked about the room, drank and 
 smoked. 
 
 " Have a little whisky ^nd soda. It'll buck you up." 
 
 " No, thank you, Roddy." 
 
 "Biscuits?" 
 
 " No, I won't stop." 
 
 "Bravo! You've a rare pluck, Claire. I always told 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 167 
 
 yo J so, didn't I? We shall do it on our heads. It's only 
 foi o'clock.'^ 
 
 " le would not stop. She was like a soldier on a forced 
 ma 1 zh ; knowing that he must go on marching, that he must 
 brr; k blood-vessels in the brain sooner than cease moving, 
 thf he dare not fall out, though every six foot length of 
 dit ^ by the roadside tempts him to roll into it and die 
 coi fortably. 
 
 ? oddy had put on his coat long ago. Fetching an over- 
 co^ , from somewhere, he wrapped it about him, lay upon a 
 sof : , and slept. He woke refreshed. 
 
 *• Nearly through, Claire?" 
 
 *' Only a little longer, Roddy." 
 
 ! [e had another drink, lit another cigar, and strolling 
 aboat the room, talked quite gaily. His sanguine tempera- 
 me t had recovered its natural elasticity. 
 
 " The news was a smack in the face, I admit ; but Roddy 
 Vaughan, isn't to be bowled over as easily as all that. I 
 wai inclined at first to make a mountain out of a mole- 
 hill. And I was wrong to let you take it so seriously, old 
 girl. I wish you'd have a drop of whisky and soda." 
 
 (riaire shook her head, but did not answer. The click- 
 click-click never ceased. The bell tinkled at regular in- 
 tervals. 
 
 " I'd like to justify myself in your ey^s — I mean, about 
 all my debts and engagements. Things you said to me 
 to-night have touched me, Claire. I will take you more 
 int> my confidence. For the future I'll show you a de- 
 tailed statement of my earnings. It would astonish you, 
 the sums I often touch. No one can say I don't pull my 
 weight in the boat. As to this paltry six thousand, I'll 
 pu ; it back ten times over in two years. I'm playing a 
 big game, a winning game, too — in the long run, a cer- 
 tai ity." And he snapped his fingers and laughed, quite 
 jo 'ously this time. "Rather a lark, all this, reaUy! 
 Li: e would be too flat if one didn't have ups and downs. 
 
168 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 I like a bit of a fight. Don't you? The excitement of 
 it. I think I flourish on excitement." 
 
 Certainly she did not seem to be flourishing on it, if 
 one might judge by the dark circles round her eyes, the 
 deadly pallor of her cheeks, the piteous contraction of 
 her lips, and the rapidity with which she drew her breath ; 
 but Roddy observed nothing amiss. She could hardly see 
 the keyboard; she could hardly believe what, in fact, was 
 true, that she was accurately copying sentences from 
 which all meaning had gone. Only will-power drove the 
 mechanism of brain and body, and kept her seated at her 
 nearly-finished task. 
 
 " I have done, Roddy." 
 
 Then Roddy got to work again, signing, folding, stamp- 
 ing. He felt pleased with the achievement; he whistled 
 as he walked briskly along Sedgmoor Street to put all his 
 reassuring letters in the pillar-box at the corner. 
 
 It was dawn. At what seemed a fabulous height, Claire 
 could see the outline of windows on the second landing, 
 grey and ghostly above the yellow glow of the electric 
 light, as she crawled upstairs, dead-beat, holding to the 
 balusters. When she reached her room she fell across the 
 bed, groaning. 
 
 Thirty hours afterwards she gave birth, prematurely, to 
 a girl child. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 DURING the day, the night, the morning of the 
 next day, while anxiety filled the house, Roddy 
 was truly terrific. 
 
 1] /erybody wished him a thousand miles away, he was 
 so cud, so fervent, so overwhelming; but nothing would 
 mal: i him absent himself even for half an hour's fresh air 
 anc exercise. He felt like a general on a field of battle, 
 the ;aptain of a storm-tossed ship with the rocks on each 
 sidt. or anyone else of whom duty imperatively required 
 tha : he should remain where he was, in the thick of it. He 
 issued orders, advice, even threats. If only one life could 
 be ^.ived, it must be the mother's. However, he wished the 
 two lives to be saved, and saw no reason why they should 
 not be, if the progress of modern science meant anything 
 at all. If chloroform was indicated, it probably would be 
 wise not to delay. Or any other anaesthetic, no matter 
 whet it cost. Money was no object. But if the famous 
 specialist made a mess of the case, he would jolly well 
 hear about it. 
 
 '' She overtired herself yesterday evening, doctor. Could 
 tha: have anything to do with it? " 
 
 lEour after hour one heard his voice as he talked on the 
 tele phone. He had cancelled all appointments, and he told 
 evei ybody the reason, fully. Perhaps this seclusion suited 
 his book in one way. Sometimes it is easier to answer 
 troublesome questions on the telephone than if you are in 
 the same room with the inquirer ; you have only your voice 
 to 1 lanage and don't have to bother about the expression 
 of 3 our face. 
 
 "That you, Vincent? Sorry I couldn't meet you as 
 arrmged; but my poor wife. . . . Yes, now. Taken 
 
 169 
 
170 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 with her pains unexpectedly, two months or more before 
 the time, . . . Oh, yes, I saw the news. No news to 
 me, of course. We are all very pleased about it. Fact 
 is, the old fellow wanted a companion, someone to look 
 after him. Very lonely up there by himself in that huge 
 barrack of a house. Yes, a charming girl. The wife and 
 I would have been at the wedding, but for this upset. . . . 
 Yes, I've secured the best obstetric surgeon in Europe. 
 . . . Oh, no, doesn't made a bit of difference to me. 
 Enough there to provide for half a dozen wives without 
 cutting into my share. . . . Hullo, hullo! You got 
 that cheque I sent you? That's all right. . . . Yes, I 
 repeat, not the slightest difference to my expectations. 
 . . . Oh, I'm praying that it may be over soon. The 
 suspense is too awful." 
 
 So he went on, keeping the wires busy, calling for 
 number after number ; soothing the doubtful, craving sym- 
 pathy from the kind. You could hear him right down 
 in the basement, where the butler, listening, remarked dryly 
 to other auditors : " You would think he was having the 
 baby himself, wouldn't you? " 
 
 Yet beneath all this business activity and as the foun- 
 dation of all the voluble, noisy statement of his cares and 
 fears, there was true emotional anxiety. The thought 
 struck cold upon him, making his hand shake as he re- 
 plenished his glass of whisky and soda, taking all the snap 
 and virtue out of the generously apportioned mixture: 
 *' Suppose I was to lose her, after all ! My little Claire — 
 my own dear girl. What on earth should I do without 
 her?" 
 
 When not telephoning, or having meals, or drinking 
 between meals, he walked about the hall and lower rooms 
 rather in the style of his mother-in-law under stress of too 
 rapid meditations. Great as he had known his love to be, 
 he was surprised by the strength of it now. He asked 
 himself if ever a man had so adored a wife, and then 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 171 
 
 ma 2 lanimously replied to the question by telling himself 
 ths she deserved adoration. She was such a tip-topper ; 
 a b i of allright, as he had once paid her the compliment 
 of . ying; a beautifully minted gold piece that would ring 
 tru on whatever substance one pitched it down. He 
 woi lered if he had really done enough for her ; he re- 
 prc : ched himself for occasional harshness ; he promised 
 hin. ; elf to be extraordinarily gentle in his handling of her 
 for ' ver more. She was such a delicate, sensitive organi- 
 zat '■ »n that a hard word to her might be worse than a blow 
 to Mother sort of woman. His tenderness was always in- 
 cre i>ing. He had the pretty but sincere notion that he 
 woi d be willing to give half his fortune — ^her fortune — 
 the • fortune — what remained of it — if he could save her 
 fro J I grief or pain. 
 
 '^'hen he clenched his teeth fiercely, as though biting at 
 the lateful thought that for the moment he was powerless 
 to f-ssist her in the smallest degree. Unconscious of all his 
 good intentions, she was lying upstairs in agony. 
 
 i^Jthough begged not to go upstairs himself, he could 
 not keep away; and once, as he stood on the threshold of 
 his dressing-room to listen, he heard her give a heart- 
 rending cry. That scarcely recognizable voice of anguish 
 con ing to him from the other side of the closed door af- 
 flic ed him with a physical discomfort so great that he 
 almost staggered; and while his imagination recoiled from 
 a V sion of the familiar resting-place now changed into a 
 darkened torture-chamber, he felt that he must burst in 
 upc n it, do something heroically definite to save her. One 
 could not stand here supine, like a fatalistic oriental 
 sul an outside the seraglio lattice, while janitors were do- 
 ing to death one's innocent, faithful handmaiden. The 
 nuise, however, appeared in the corridor and told him to 
 go downstairs, and not to worry himself or her. He went 
 do\ Ti, wiping the perspiration from the back of his bull 
 necc. 
 
172 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 He used the telephone no more; he ordered Fisher to 
 answer all calls, and he walked up and down the oak 
 parlour, or sat with bowed head at the big desk, murmur- 
 ing aloud. " My poor little, dear little Claire." By this 
 morning, the morning of the second day, the annoyance 
 caused by Sir Roderick's marriage had entirely vanished 
 from his mind ; everything had gone except Claire ; noth- 
 ing else, not the fish company, the glazed brick company, 
 or the soon-to-be-floated rubber company, was of the least 
 weight or substance in the further progress of life. The 
 future had resolved itself to this: Was it to be Claire or 
 no Claire? 
 
 Compared with the hard, stalwart, cursing Roddy of 
 two days ago, he was limp, nerveless, a large, red-faced, 
 unshaven jelly. When his sufferings were at last relieved 
 and they told him that things had ended happily, his eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 The tears fell upon his moustache presently when he 
 stood by the bed and looked at her. She seemed quite 
 bloodless; her pretty face was as if modelled in white 
 wax; and her dark hair, not tumbling loose, but neatly 
 braided, was like a crown upon her forehead. As he said 
 afterwards, the sight of her finished him. When she spoke 
 it was in a whisper, and the voice seemed to come from 
 remote distances, from another world, from dark, mys- 
 terious spaces on the far side of the grave into which she 
 had wandered and then been mercifully restored to him. 
 
 " A girl, Roddy." 
 
 " Yes, dear. Better luck next time." 
 
 And she whispered again, the words seeming to reach 
 him without apparent movement of her lips, just as a 
 flutter of her breath. 
 
 " Are you angry v/ith me, Roddy, because it isn't a 
 boy?" 
 
 " Angry, my darling? Why, how can you ask me such 
 a question? " 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 173 
 
 I at she had fainted. So he could not continue his 
 prtt estations. 
 
 \ Weakness, nothing to fret about ; of course she must 
 be :ept very quiet. He took a bath, shaved, put on a 
 bk* suit, went down to luncheon; and found that he had 
 a ] odigious appetite, after all that he had gone through. 
 Ne er had a pint bottle of champagne been more griev- 
 ou y needed or more thoroughly enjoyed. With the 
 ho: invigourating food and the cheering, stimulating wine, 
 he ' asted a fine ecstasy of satisfaction in the happy turn 
 of vents. He was like the captain who has stuck by his 
 shi : ' and boldly ridden out the storm. 
 
 'fter a cigar he telephoned the glad tidings to all the 
 wo Id; the family, business connections, and friends at the 
 club. 
 
 By dinner-time he was a peacefully proud and con^ 
 teried parent. In the expansiveness of his joy he was 
 gvindj to talk, and there being nobody else available he 
 talked to the butler. 
 
 ' This is all very colossal, if you think of it, Fisher." 
 
 ' I beg pardon, sir." 
 
 "' I mean, Mrs. Vaughan presenting me with a daughter. 
 It's a new generation, Fisher — marks an epoch in a hus- 
 ba id's life. You're a married man, aren't you, Fisher.^ " 
 
 ' Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 ' Got any children ? " 
 
 ■' Two, sir — boy and girl, sir." 
 
 '' Ah. My word, Fisher, it's an awful business, child- 
 biith. It never came home to me till now. Make's one 
 feci one oughtn't to have let a fellow creature in for such 
 a Mai; regularly touches one on the raw, doesn't it.f^ But 
 of course, it's the decree of nature. Didn't you feel badly 
 upset when Mrs. Fisher had to face it.? " 
 
 '' Very much indeed, sir. Extremely anxious." 
 
 •' But I suppose the second time it was easier? " 
 
 '' Oh, very much so, sir." 
 
174 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 "Why?^' 
 
 " Well, I couldn't really say, sir, except that I knew it 
 wasn't the first time." 
 
 " Just so," said Roddy. 
 
 In the oak parlour, alone with his coffee, liqueur brandy, 
 and cigar, he felt reconciled to nature's laws. It would be 
 impious to set oneself in revolt against them; if they 
 ordain suffering, then suffering is unavoidable. He was 
 himself again, only a little bigger. As things dropped 
 once more into their due proportions, he saw that all this 
 anguish he had caused held its proper and legitimate 
 place in the unfolding drama of his personal history. The 
 resilient, steel-strong egoism that is the very mainspring 
 of such natures as his enabled him now, while he stood 
 lording it with his back to the fire, to feel a glory and 
 an ease, as of success, achievement, triumphant culmina- 
 tion, even in the memory of that delicate helpmate, that 
 docile slave, being torn to pieces to give him pleasure and 
 perpetuate his race. 
 
 Roddy Vaughan was all right; not to be bowled over 
 by slight scares about business, want of sleep, or acute 
 anxiety. He felt an immense confidence — mingling with 
 the warmth of the fire behind him, and the after-glow of 
 the rich meal and strong drink inside him — that he would 
 soon do wonders financially. He was eager to be back in 
 the struggle for dubious adventures and illicit rewards. 
 He would fight now like a giant refreshed. He meant to 
 knock spots off the universe. 
 
 Meanwhile time was beginning to hang heavily. He 
 thought of himself as slapping friends on the back, play- 
 ing a game of snooker pool at the club, sitting in, the stalls 
 "of a music-hall; and with this last thought he experienced 
 almost an hallucination. It was as if he really heard the 
 clash of a noisy band, smelt the lower strata of a cloud 
 of tobacco smoke, and saw the movements of girls' legs in 
 flesh-coloured stockings. He pulled himself together. 
 
 i 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 175 
 
 K »t to be considered for a moment as possible. It would 
 b distinctly bad form to go out on this very first evening. 
 
 He sat down and dozed. Then before the evening was 
 o^ er he sent for Pope. 
 
 " How's Mrs. Vaughan getting on.? " 
 
 " Nicely now, sir, the nurse says." 
 
 " Come right in. Pope. And shut the door behind you,'*, 
 s i ^d Roddy, smiling at her. " Don't stand over there, as 
 if you were afraid I wanted to eat you." 
 
 Pope looked rather nice in her black dress, with the 
 little fold of soft collar round her neck; a well-built young 
 ^(»man, not quite as young as she used to be, but with 
 plump cheeks, good eyes, and reddish brown hair. Her 
 n inner, however, was constrained and the expression of 
 iher face grave, severe ; her lips compressed themselves 
 hsrdly, instead of softening in a responsive smile. 
 
 "Well, Pope, wonderful events, eh? Here am I a 
 bachelor again," and he laughed. " An enforced bachelor 
 for the next few months, whatl" And he observed her 
 ■waist, her shoes, and her ankles — not very slender. Pope's 
 a okles, but still ankles. " All on my lonesome ; so I 
 t lought I'd like a little chat with you. Pope. Oh, hang 
 ii, I can't go on Poping you like this. Too absurd. And 
 after such ages I don't know your christian name. I'll 
 b?t it's a pretty one. Well.? " 
 
 " I was christened Emma, sir," said Pope, after a 
 slight pause. 
 
 " Emma! Emmie for short. Well now, you jolly old, 
 f mny old Emmie, I've neglected you, I know I have. But 
 life rushes on, and one never gets a minute. I hope you 
 don't feel rusty about it." 
 
 "About what, sir.? " 
 
 " Well, you know how grateful I was to you, and I 
 promised you a handsome honorarium for valuable serv- 
 i- es rendered. And I haven't given it to you, have I? 
 I dare say you've often wondered." 
 
176 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " I never once thought of it, sir," said Pope se- 
 verely. 
 
 "Oh, my! How stiff and stand-offish we are! Don't 
 frown, Emmie. It spoils your fascination ; " and he 
 laughed. " Emmie, you and I were fellow-conspirators in 
 those days, eh.^* Real friends — and I want us to remain 
 so." 
 
 As if in proof of his wish he had taken her by the arm 
 with excessive friendliness. 
 
 " Let me go, please, sir." / 
 
 " Rubbish. Don't edge away like that. What's the 
 matter with you.'^ Don't pretend you've turned against 
 me, when we were such pals at first. You know you took 
 to me from the very beginning." 
 
 " P'raps I was deceived by appearances. P'raps I 
 wasn't the only one that was mistaken." 
 
 " There^s a slap in the face ! " said Roddy, with the 
 utmost good humour. " You saucy little Emmie. But I 
 don't mind. I like a girl with plenty of spirit. But I'll 
 have a kiss to begin with, anyhow." He had clasped her 
 ^aist now, and Pope, very rigid and determined, was 
 fending him off. He wooed her softly although ardently, 
 his face getting red and his eyes glowing; then, as Pope 
 successfully struggled, his tone and phrase became alike 
 wrathful. " Emmie, why shouldn't you take pity on my 
 loneliness — show yourself a pal? Don't play the innocent. 
 Damn it, you know your way about. Ah ! " 
 
 By a combined push and wriggle Pope had released her- 
 self from his embrace ; and she fled to the wall, and stood 
 there more rigid than ever, both hands behind her back, 
 and one of them fumbling for the button of the electric 
 bell. Roddy, very red in the face and a little short of 
 breath, stood glaring at her. 
 
 " I think you're out of your senses," he said mutter- 
 ingly. 
 
 " No, sir, I think it's you who's forgot what's due to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 177 
 
 irt and to somebody else in this house5"said Pope pre- 
 cis ly. 
 
 Then Fisher, the butler, came in. 
 
 ' What the hell do you want? " shouted Roddy. 
 
 ' You rang, sir." 
 
 ' I did nothing of the sort." 
 
 ' It was / who rang, sir. I thought you said you needed 
 sci-ie soda water," and Pope glided from the room. 
 
 rhe convalescence of Claire was slow, and she had a 
 setback when Pope gave notice. She liked Pope; she and 
 Pope had been together for so long; it seemed cruel and 
 hcr.rtless of Pope to leave her at such a time. But Pope, 
 although expressing deep regard for her mistress, was 
 qii te determined to go. She had made up her mind, and 
 sh( could not change it. 
 
 What did Claire more good than anything else was the 
 aiiuval on the scene of Aunt Agnes. Characteristically, 
 Miss Graham appeared just in the place and just at the 
 time that she was sorely wanted. She had been all round 
 the world personally escorting two girl friends; she had 
 ^done adventurous deeds, listened to reckless opinions in 
 many lands ; but she seated herself by Claire's bed with 
 a quiet, reposeful air that suggested she would never 
 move again. She soothed, she encouraged, she under- 
 stood. She said things about the beauty of the baby 
 that only she could have said — the very things that Claire 
 had been longing to hear. And, what was so wonderful, 
 this emancipated old maid knew incredibly more about 
 babies and their management than Mrs. Gilmour, who had 
 been the mother of six. 
 
 Eventually Aunt Agnes took Claire, the baby, and the 
 niirse away with her to Bournemouth. Roddy made diffi- 
 culties about this removal when told it was necessary for 
 Claire's complete restoration to health; saying that he 
 saiv no reason why Claire should not get well where she 
 
178 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 was, that it was rather hard on him to lose her company 
 now that she could come downstairs, and after all the costs 
 already incurred, rail fares, hotel bills, and so forth were 
 rather a tall order. 
 
 " Oh, but all that," said Miss Graham gently, " will be 
 my affair." 
 
 " Well, that's certainly very kind of you," said Roddy ; 
 ^' and I suppose I must waive my objections." 
 
 " Yes, I thought you would," said Aunt Agnes, with 
 much sweetness of tone, and a glitter in her eye. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ** ^J T| r HY didn't you call her Claire? " 
 
 y \l Emily Joyce and others asked this question. 
 Claire said in reply that Roddy had wished 
 to 1 epeat the name, but she had thought it would be a pity. 
 Sh^ did not tell them that she had a superstitious feeling 
 th(. ; Claire was an unlucky name, and that properly she 
 oui^ht to have called her darling Hope, Joy, Comfort, or 
 SOI ething that would symbolize the immensity of solace 
 and bliss that had come into her own heart. 
 
 I'he name was truly of no moment. Claire had at last 
 foi id the living thing that really loved her, that needed 
 hei always, that would never play her false. 
 ;• "' But if not Claire, why Gladys ? '' asked Emily. 
 ** Cf ladys has always struck me as such a particularly 
 coinmonplace name. And we never had one in the family 
 beiore." 
 
 Claire would not confess that Roddy had been unable 
 to explain his sentimental fancy for the name of Gladys 
 except by relating how it had once belonged to a mare who 
 brought him luck at Hurst Park, literally romping home 
 as a twenty- to-one chance. 
 
 Something of the glory and delight that motherhood 
 had brought her shed a reflected radiance upon Roddy. 
 Moreover, she was grateful to him for his display of solici- 
 tude at the time of trial; for the nurse had told her of his 
 qu :te upsetting anxiety, and he himself again and again 
 na -rated the agonies that he had undergone. 
 
 Henceforth, then, Claire's universe revolved round the 
 child's cot, and time was only measured by the child's 
 gr )wth. The sun shone when Gladys looked well and ate 
 
 179 
 
180 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 her dinner with appetite ; and all the town was dark and 
 the sun seemed to have gone out like a candle on such days 
 as Gladys looked pale, or nurse thought she had one of 
 her bad headaches. It was a terrible year when the spring 
 brought nettle-rash and the winter whooping cough. 
 Gladys was undoubtedly delicate ; but the delicacy would, 
 of course, pass away with time. 
 
 Shadowlike and unreal when compared with these events 
 of the nursery, the occurrences of outside life seemed to 
 her now of little importance. Plainly affairs were not go- 
 ing well with Roddy. His new adventures did not prosper, 
 his biggest coups were made only in talk. He was not 
 treated any more seriously now than in the past by those 
 large financiers whose favour he courted so assiduously. 
 Often the taste of failure was in his mouth, and disap- 
 pointment had an increasingly bad effect upon his temper. 
 But Claire did not mind occasional violence now, and it 
 seemed as if mere rudeness had lost the power of wound- 
 ing her. He might swear as often as he liked, provided 
 that his raised voice did not wake Gladys. She used to 
 hurry upstairs to make sure that the child was sleeping 
 comfortably, and come down again with soothing words 
 and a gentle smile. 
 
 " Yes, it is hard luck, Roddy, and I quite understand 
 how angry you feel about it. But you mustn't be down- 
 hearted." 
 
 Gladys was eighteen months old when once more the 
 papers contained disastrous news of their titled relative. 
 Lady Vaughan had provided an heir to the baronetcy. 
 "A blossom on a grand old tree. . . . There is rejoic- 
 ing throughout the West Riding. . . . Our readers will 
 remember the romance of Sir Roderick's marriage ; " and 
 so on. 
 
 If Roddy spoke severely of the aged bridegroom, what 
 he now said about the young wife and her infant son was 
 far worse. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 181 
 
 Of course it's not his child. How the devil could it 
 b( . . ." 
 
 Igain his credit was assailed, and this time it was the 
 cr L mbling and disintegration of his whole legend. Some- 
 thi ig like a collapse ensued. What Roddy himself ad- 
 my ted to be heavy sacrifices were necessary in order to 
 gel clear of embarrassment. They withdrew from their 
 spl .ndid Nappensol surroundings, which now at last were 
 really paid for, and moved into a bandbox in Mayfair, 
 " oaly a few doors from Park Lane," as the agents de- 
 sc/ibed it, where there was but space for a very small 
 es iblishment. 
 
 lloddy had luck in selling the lease of the Sedgmoor 
 Stieet house to a north country manufacturer, and he 
 nearly sold all the furniture with it. 
 
 Sitting on a table in the hall, with his hat on the back 
 of liis head, he made sporting offers to this Mr. Davidson. 
 
 • There you are. Just as it stands. Chance of a life- 
 time.'' 
 
 •" If Tbo't it lock, stock, and barrel," said Mr. David- 
 son, " I'd save Mrs. D. a mighty lot o' trouble and my- 
 self a mighty lot o' time. An' I'm not saying that time 
 isn't money." 
 
 ' Of course it is. Don't I know that, by Jove.? " 
 
 ' But, all the same, ye're asking a precious high figure." 
 
 ' Damned sight less than its cost," said Roddy jovially. 
 He enjoyed this traflScking, and presently called Claire to 
 his aid. 
 
 ' The wife knows more about it than I do. She's an 
 ex])ert in furniture. Claire, what did you give for these 
 Qi:een Anne chairs.? Fifty pounds a piece, wasn't it.? 
 ShDw Mr. Davidson the marquetry and enamel on those 
 Nappensol cabinets." 
 
 Dlaire helped him as well as she could; and if she had 
 no known before, she must have seen now what a liar and 
 a 1 umbug he was when engaged in a business deal. 
 
182 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " I'll just have to think about it," said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 And in the end he thought he would take the house 
 empty. Roddy was chagrined, and told Claire she had 
 queered his pitch by humming and hawing about the price 
 of the chairs. 
 
 The fashionable address of Mayfair consoled him for 
 the reduction of establishment, and especially the close- 
 ness to Park Lane — the proper abode of financial mag- 
 nates — pleased him. One day he would jump over the few 
 doors that separated him from the place where he felt 
 he ought to be. This was merely pro tew.. 
 
 Here, in their new abode, they might with propriety 
 have soon put on mourning clothes, for Sir Roderick did 
 not live long enough to dandle the baby boy on his gouty 
 knees ; but Roddy refused to wear even so much as a band 
 round his hat. He had exhausted all his maledictions, and 
 he allowed the death and funeral to pass almost without 
 comment. The legend was already buried. 
 
 Claire for a little while had thought that rudeness was 
 bereft of its sting, but she found that he could make her 
 suffer through the child. He wounded her cruelly when 
 he spoke of Gladys making an infernal row on the stairs, 
 or rang the bell for the nurse and abruptly ordered her 
 darling out of the room. He made her tremble, too, when 
 he talked of the child's education, the schools she ought to 
 go to, the physical training and general hardening that 
 she would probably require. 
 
 He was not unkind to the child, but so inconsiderate. 
 He seemed proud of her in her rich and pretty frocks ; and 
 as soon as she had learnt to walk, he would take her 
 sometimes for a stroll with him in Hyde Park. 
 
 It pleased him to see kind-hearted ladies admiring the 
 little figure that toddled after him in the white satin bon- 
 net and the white velvet pelisse. When she fell and lay 
 sprawling and crying, he clasped her to his bosom; and 
 then jumped her up and down in the air till all the breath 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 183 
 
 wa^ out of her body, so that she couldn't go on crying. 
 H( acted the father on these occasions with a great af- 
 fec ition of unconsciousness, but feeling all the time sure 
 th.i ; people were saying: " There goes Mr. Vaughan, the 
 hus )and of that pretty woman, with their little daughter." 
 Or f by chance they were not aware who he really was, 
 th( u : " What a distinguished-looking man, and what a 
 bcK itifuUy dressed child ! " 
 
 ' ' When I go with daddy," Gladys told her mother, " he 
 mal es me tire myself. I don't love daddy any more." 
 
 1 ut Claire told her she must always love daddy, be- 
 cau^ he was daddy. 
 
 t!ometimes he would play boisterously with her indoors, 
 and the child showed spirit and tenacity at the playful 
 tasks he set her. He dodged her with a ball round and 
 roi: id the room, defying her to get the ball, completely ex- 
 hausting her in the fruitless chase. And the mother suf- 
 fer 3d torments while she watched. 
 
 '• Don't — don't be rough with her, Roddy. She's siich 
 a httle thing." 
 
 '* Yes," said Roddy good-naturedly, " but she's like 
 you, a good plucked 'un. There, little lady, there's your 
 ball. By Jove, how hot she's got. Bedtime, eh? Yes, 
 pack her off, Claire. I want to write some letters." 
 
 (xladys was well on in her fourth year when England 
 declared war against Germany. She had been ailing, and 
 they were all at the seaside; but in spite of the difficulty 
 of travelling Roddy at once took them back to London. 
 Claire thought she understood the reason of his haste. He 
 intended to go to the war. He was a soldier; he had 
 alvays talked of the fascination of campaigning; natu- 
 ral y he would go. 
 
 j^ut he merely went into the city and cursed the German 
 En peror. He vowed that the devil himself must have let 
 loo ie this infernal Bedlam, because he had a personal 
 
184 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 grudge against Roddy Vaughan, The closing of the 
 North Sea was the death-knell of that moribund fish com- 
 pany ; all trade was at a standstill, and so no more glazed 
 bricks would be wanted; and as to rubber, it would be 
 allowed to rot on its tree. Did any one ever have such bad 
 luck? 
 
 Those terrible first months dragged by. Everybody 
 had gone now — even the single man-servant who had re- 
 placed Fisher and his footman. Their friend Colonel Pir- 
 bright had gone in state as a general ; Cyril had obtained 
 a commission in the Guards ; Granville Budleigh's address 
 had changed to Salisbury Plain; dear old Uncle Derek, 
 after volunteering and being refused for active service, had 
 enrolled himself as a special constable, and elderly Mr. 
 Drysdale was driving an ambulance car. Even Leonard 
 Joyce had been keen to go, until Emily put her foot 
 down. 
 
 Yet still Roddy was dining at crowded restaurants, at- 
 tending music-halls, where there was standing-room only, 
 supping at the club, and being fined for playing cards 
 after prohibited hours. With nothing happening in the 
 City he had leisure, and he spent some of it in visiting 
 Granville Budleigh at the camp near Salisbury. Mrs. 
 Budleigh had been down there, staying at an hotel, and 
 Roddy brought back a dreadful report of the squabbles 
 of these two, of the lady's carrying-on with subalterns and 
 of Granville's furious jealousy. 
 
 Then at last, in the spring, he announced that he was 
 going. 
 
 " Claire,'* he said solemnly, " you mustn't try to pre- 
 vent me. I feel I've got to do it." 
 
 Wanting to help the great cause In the most effective 
 way possible, he proposed to enter the Ordnance depart- 
 ment. He wished to use his brains; any ass could get 
 killed. 
 
 " Besides, I'm not as young as I used to be. Do you 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 185 
 
 i er realize, Claire, that I'm over forty? I dare say I 
 (i )n't look it; but there it is — Amio Domini — and you 
 r n't get away from it." 
 
 Knowing him as well as she did by now, she was able to 
 V »mprehend both his delay and his present attitude. It 
 ^ is not that he feared death. He was brave enough, but 
 li ? could not act quite as a gentleman should. He was 
 ii ways slow to see things as gentlemen see them at once. 
 
 " Everything is done by influence," he told her, when 
 e: plaining how she was to help him to secure the sort of 
 jnb that he required. She did all that he directed; going 
 c I a wild-goose chase to crave assistance from friends at 
 ilie War Office, wives of Members of Parliament, every- 
 l )dy judged by Roddy as capable of puUing a string. 
 
 Time passed, and then Roddy received an official inti- 
 iration that he had been posted as second lieutenant to a 
 ]<3serve cavalry regiment. He was more than taken aback 
 by this intelligence, and he expressed himself gloomily. 
 The authorities had muddled his case, as they muddled 
 everything. They would lose the war. 
 
 However, he soon put a good face on it, dressed himself 
 in khaki, slapped his boots with a swagger cane, and went 
 to Colchester for the very brief period of training allowed 
 to such seasoned warriors. The time passed swiftly for 
 ('laire and Gladys, and then he was with them again, on a 
 final five days' leave before proceeding to France. Strict 
 economy was now to be the watchword, since every penny 
 saved during his absence would be a penny gained for 
 future use. With lightning rapidity he dismantled the 
 Hay fair house, stored all the furniture, and bundled 
 ( laire, Gladys, and a maid into lodgings near the Edgware 
 lload. 
 
 A marvellous improvement had been wrought in his air 
 iiid aspect by the change to ur^form. He was gay and 
 ( ebonair, a real professional soldier, with his South Afri- 
 can ribbons decorating his manly breast. Claire's heart 
 
186 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 warmed to him, and the dismissed maid-servants admired 
 him prodigiously. He swaggered through these last days, 
 combining the wind-up of business with a terrific final jolli- 
 fication, in all of which Claire had to share. Let us eat, 
 drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die. The dinners, 
 theatres, supper parties, piled high upon the labours of 
 packing and moving, almost killed her. 
 
 She went with him to the railway station to see him oflF, 
 and there were kisses and tears at parting. Once again 
 she was swept through and through by irrational emotion, 
 and she felt and behaved as the other wives who clung and 
 blubbered all along the platform. Something quite ele- 
 mental ruled out thought ; good or bad, he was her man. 
 
 Roddy, too, was entirely governed by primitive in- 
 stincts, hugging and kissing, patting her on the back, and 
 telling her to be brave. He leaned out of the carriage 
 window to squeeze her hand again, and his last words were 
 conventional but excellent. 
 
 " Dearest girl, if anything happens to me, think kindly 
 of me. Remember, I loved you." 
 
 He continued to wave his hand; the moving train ear- 
 ned him away in a mist of tears. 
 
 He was gone, and that night Claire slept like the dead. 
 
CHAPTER XVn 
 
 [T was a wonderful respite. Not for six long years had 
 she tasted such comfort and such ease. Alone with 
 her little girl, mistress of herself, unchallenged in 
 1 er actions, unfettered in her thoughts, she was perfectly, 
 ( easelessly happy. 
 
 She loyally fought against repeated recognitions of the 
 ])lain fact, although every day, in every hour of the day, 
 ■ he was sub-consciously aware of the fundamental cause of 
 iier contentment. It was due solely to his absence. This 
 \7SiS what life might still be, running on in smooth and 
 simple joy, if there were no Roddy to spoil it. 
 
 The humble lodgings by the Edgware Road were as 
 splendid as any home that she would ever sigh for; the 
 landlady took an affectionate interest in her well-being 
 and was very kind to Gladys. The only care or trouble 
 in Claire's existence was a defective hot-water system that 
 made it difficult to get her daughter's evening bath at the 
 right temperature and at the right time. 
 
 " It's been the same annoyance for fifteen years, if 
 you'll believe me, ma'am," said the landlady ; " and the 
 same promises every time I pay the quarter's rent. ' The 
 matter shall receive immediate attention,' and then noth- 
 ing done. If you'd step down into the kitchen I'd show 
 you where in my opinion the mischief begins. The range 
 itself, ma'am ! The iron at the back so thin that you could 
 pierce it with a meat skewer, while the bubbling and 
 squeaking of the water in those worn-out pipes is enough 
 to scare one for fear of an explosion. As I tell them, it's 
 no question of repairs. A brand-new set-out is wanted. 
 But now with the war on people's hands, I suppose we 
 must just grin and bear it." 
 
 187 
 
188 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire reproached herself for not remembering always 
 the agony of the world, for being happy while others 
 wept. But in spite of casualty lists and widows' weeds, 
 London was a gay and merry place in this second summer 
 of the war. The war itself was still being treated in the 
 good-humoured English way, much as any bazaar or 
 charity fete had been dealt with by kind and well-to-do 
 folk in previous years. It was the biggest bazaar, of 
 course, that had ever been organized, and in order to make 
 it a real success everybody must help. One saw the evi- 
 dence of helpfulness in all directions. 
 
 All through the winter large committees of influential 
 ladies had been sending out comforts, such as neck scarves 
 and cigarettes, to the original troops ; and now the wives 
 of officers of the new battalions were comforting fresh ar- 
 rivals with weekly supplies of chicken galantine and potted 
 tongue. All the windows of shops like Fortnum and 
 Mason's, and sometimes the pavement outside the shops, 
 were stacked with useful contrivances, knick-knacks, dain- 
 ties, for our army overseas. Embarrassed by the richness 
 of the choice, kind friends hesitated as to what to select ; 
 for the dear men in the trenches might not say, and no 
 one at home had yet guessed, that the only true comforts 
 one could send would be a few more machine guns and 
 high-explosive shells. 
 
 No, it was all very difficult to understand, and one might 
 be pardoned if one sometimes forgot to be sad. A con- 
 tagion of hope permeated the sunlit air. Charming ladies 
 busily shopping in Sloane Street were nearly all of them 
 optimists, and smiled as they told each other that Ger- 
 many would collapse before the summer was over. 
 
 " Shouldn't be a bit surprised. My husband said so 
 from the first. They'll go on just as long as they can, 
 and then utterly collapse." 
 
 " Now I oughtn't to tell you this ; so please don't let 
 it go any further. But Ethel Muir's brother is A.D.C. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 189 
 
 to ne of the big generals, and in a letter he said, ^ Always 
 be )repared now for the very best news.' Ethel is posi- 
 ti^ he meant Peace. Of course, in his position he'd see it 
 CO ing earlier than others, and he wanted to relieve their 
 mil ds, though he didn't dare say more. The military rules 
 ar ' so strict, even when you're on the staff." 
 
 • Exactly. Well, I'm oflf to Hague House — you know, 
 Mr 5. Gilmour's. I work there every Tuesday." 
 
 • What work?" 
 
 • We're sending them thick woollen socks." 
 
 • But, my dear! Surely they can't want thick socks 
 in i his warm weather .? " 
 
 'No, I never thought of that. But I suppose Mrs. 
 Gilrnour and Emily Joyce know. Perhaps the socks are 
 f o r next winter — if it lasts so long." 
 
 The fact was that Mrs. Gilmour, after entertaining 
 fojr wounded officers somewhere out of sight on an upper 
 floor, had seen that her true line of helpfulness lay in 
 knitting. It was a quiet mechanical exercise, to which 
 she had always been addicted because one could practise 
 it without altogether stopping conversation. She there- 
 fore set to work, knitting herself and making others knit 
 also. 
 
 She spoke of her achievements with just pride, as she 
 sat enthroned as queen or guiding spirit of all the ladies 
 assembled at a knitting party. " Seventy-eight thousand 
 to the beginning of May ! Only I omitted to enter in my 
 liitle book whether pairs or single socks." And letting her 
 ntedles repose themselves, she regarded the company medi- 
 tativel3\ *^ Since May there has been no mistake. It is 
 all pairs. . . . Ah, here is Claire. Come in, dear, and 
 find a place. Your needles are in the same drawer. Glad 
 tc see you, Claire. Many hands make light work." 
 
 Claire enjoyed these quiet, restful hours spent with 
 p easant companions in the dear old morning-room. The 
 w ndows stood open, with the lace curtains gently stirring 
 
190 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 as the warm, bright air streamed in ; a distant murmur of 
 traffic developed now and then to a roar and rattle as 
 cars or lorries passed the house; and a desultory jhatter 
 of the half-dozen friendly amiable women rose and fell 
 above the faint click of the needles. Claire took little part 
 in the conversation, but sat listening, dreaming, feeling 
 absolutely at peace. Once or twice she brought Gladys 
 with her, and the child sat close by her side, behaving most 
 beautifully, watching her mother's hands with grave, at- 
 tentive eyes, never seeming bored, and only when encour- 
 aged launching the isolated statements of solid fact that 
 all children produce with facility. As for instance : 
 
 " My daddy is in France fighting the Germans." 
 
 " Is he, dear? '* said one of the kind, encouraging visi- 
 tors. " Very nice and proper of him. Aren't you very 
 proud of him.? " 
 
 " I live alone with my mummy not very far from the 
 Marble Arch. Not too far for mummy and me to walk 
 there." 
 
 " And you like walking with mummy, Vm sure." 
 
 " Once we lived in a grand big house like Granny's 
 house. Then we lived in not so big a house. And now we 
 live in a quite, quite small little house." 
 
 All these remarks appeared to Claire marvellously full 
 of wisdom and talent, and when Gladys was praised for 
 being so bright and clever, she thrilled and blushed with 
 happiness. It was so sweet to see her darling's success, 
 and to know that she was appreciated at her proper value. 
 
 There was always a schoolroom tea for the afternoon 
 knitting party. Belton, now the sole man-servant, threw 
 open the doors, solemnly announced that the repast was 
 ready, and Mrs. Gilmour, rendered brisk and sprightly by 
 Belton's good news, led them almost at a canter to the 
 dining-room. Presiding at the top of the table she looked 
 at little Gladys perched high upon cushions, and held her 
 head on one side while she studied family resemblances. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 191 
 
 She reminds me of you, Claire, and yet there is more 
 of \ngela in her general aspect. She has poor Angela's 
 fr ilness, I fear." 
 
 Oh, no, Mother, she's very well now, growing stronger 
 ev py day." 
 
 • I hope so, indeed. You were too young to remember 
 Alicia's red cloak, I suppose? When the winter comes 
 TO nd, do get her a little Red Riding-Hood cloak. They 
 an so bright and cheerful, especially if there happens to 
 be mow on the ground." 
 
 ]vlrs. Gilmour presided over the tea-pots, but nearly all 
 th: pouring out of tea was done by Belton and Emily 
 Jcyce. Emily, as a rule, arrived just in time for tea, 
 g€f erally rather warm, looking like a large overblown 
 pe(»ny; and she nearly always was further bursting with 
 fa tastic incredible tidings. She herself called these tales 
 *' smres." 
 
 '' This is the latest scare brought home by Leonard. I 
 give it to you for what it's worth. You know that Leon- 
 ard is helping the Government as legal adviser to one of 
 th3 recruiting committees? Yes. Well, the last scare 
 is -" 
 
 Once she brought them a report that the Guards had 
 mutinied and refused to go into battle. It seemed that 
 th3y loathed the khaki uniforms and resented being made 
 to wear them. They wanted to be given back their red 
 tunics and their bear-skins, the things they had worn when 
 th}y charged at Waterloo and everywhere else; and they 
 svfore they would not charge again in any oth^r costume. 
 
 " I don't know that I blame them," and Emily laughed. 
 " )f course it's a breach of discipline, but it shows their 
 spirit." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour, however, suddenly took umbrage at this 
 sc ire. The Guards would never commit a breach of dis- 
 ci )line. Since Cyril had joined the Guards she would not 
 ht ar one word against them. 
 
192 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " And you do not think, Emily, how damaging, how 
 really wrong it is to spread such canards. You just blurt 
 it out without considering how it would put heart into the 
 enemy if they believed the Guards could ever fail. You do 
 not consider how we are surrounded by spies " — and Mrs. 
 Gilmour looked severely at her guests—" any one of whom 
 would be too ready to convey such intelligence." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Gilmour," said one of the guests, smiling, 
 " you surely don't suspect any of us of being 
 spies.'* " 
 
 " Of course not. But one cannot be too careful," and 
 Mrs. Gilmour turned a glassy stare upon Belton. 
 
 It was curious, but she seemed to suffer little uneasiness 
 on Cyril's account, although she showed great maternal 
 pride in his so far successful career as a soldier. Perhaps 
 she felt that in some respects he v/as safer out there than 
 over here, and that on the whole Germans were less dan- 
 gerous than actresses. " The war," she said significantly, 
 " has removed him from undesirable influences. It has 
 given him another point of view, and has steadied him. 
 All the dear boy ever needed was steadying, ^^ 
 
 She carried his letters about with her in her pocket — 
 or rather she intended so to carry them, but generally mis- 
 laid them. When they were found and restored to her, she 
 would seize the opportunity of reading them aloud; and 
 Claire, listening to one of these recitals, was astounded by 
 Cyril's new tone and manner. There could be no doubt 
 that his mental attitude was greatly changed. He wrote 
 with almost pompous sobriety, speaking only of lofty 
 things; seeming to have become very religious, and ask- 
 ing that certain pious volumes together with a few modern 
 poems might be despatched to him forthwith. 
 
 Round the comer in Hans Place Aunt Agnes mocked at 
 her sister's knitting, at Cyril's conversion, and at many 
 other developments of the day. 
 
 *' We are so stupid, Claire," she said sweetly — ^' as a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 193 
 
 ii ; ion, I mean. So incurably stupid, that I wonder if any 
 le- on, however terrible, would be sufficient to knock a 
 li le common sense into us. You don't expect the war to 
 ei I quickly, do you, Claire? How can it end quickly un- 
 le 5 the Germans beat us ? And I'm not sure that it 
 w aldn't be the best thing to happen to us." 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Agnes ! How can you — even in joke.? " 
 
 ' I'm not joking," said Miss Graham very gently. 
 ^' ] t's what we deserve. . . . How do you get on with 
 yo ir nursing, dear.'^ " 
 
 '' Quite all right. Aunt Agnes. But they don't seem 
 tc want me a great deal as yet." 
 
 '' They mill want you, dear. They'll want everybody 
 be ore they have done." 
 
 Miss Graham was giving bed and board to relays of nice 
 gills while they underwent training as nurses. She had 
 sent Claire to do a preliminary course with two of the 
 girls, and had introduced her to Lady Pevensea's grand 
 hoase in Arlington Street, now turned into a Red Cross 
 hospital. Claire used to go there as often as employment 
 could be found for her, and was well content to perform 
 the humble tasks of housemaid or charwoman until such 
 days as she might be required for higher duties. With all 
 her time her own, she had enough for much beyond the 
 care of Gladys. 
 
 Not the least of the pleasures given by her unwonted 
 freedom was the renewal of easy intercourse with Aunt 
 A^es. It seemed to her sometimes, when she had run in 
 uj)on her aunt as she used to do y^ars ago, and they sat 
 talking together in the room with the latticed bookcases, 
 tl at but for the ever-present sense of motherhood she 
 would feel as young now as then. Miss Graham never 
 reminded her of intervening cares or worries by the slight- 
 est; allusion to her husband. Not once did she make any 
 pc lite inquiries concerning the absent warrior, and when 
 ai ter some time Claire noticed this very marked remiss- 
 
194 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ness and purposely spoke of him, Miss Graham got rid of 
 the subject with the fewest possible words. 
 
 " Oh, you think he is somewhere by the coast ? Etaples ? 
 Very likely. But what were we talking about just now? '^ 
 
 Did Aunt Agnes suspect that Claire was getting on very 
 comfortably without her Roddy? Had she long since 
 guessed at hidden distress? From Claire's lips there had 
 fallen no whispered hint of any cause for complaint; no 
 failure of loyalty had ever betrayed her into helping Aunt 
 Agnes to understand the situation. But Aunt Agnes 
 knew; and Claire was painfully sure that she knew after 
 a characteristic little generalizing speech that she made 
 when they were alone one September evening. 
 
 She had praised Claire's good looks, saying it was a joy 
 to see her with a little colour in her cheeks, a more healthy 
 and robust appearance altogether. " What magic medi- 
 cine have you beeil taking, dear? " she asked, smiling 
 archly and yet tenderly. 
 
 Then she burst out, in her usual quiet tone but with 
 strong feeling. " Wliat brutes and beasts men are, nearly 
 all of them. And what humbugs we are, every one of us, to 
 sliirk the truth and not say it boldly. Humbug — it comes 
 into everything English: our politics, our literature, our 
 homes, our churches, even our obituary advertisements. 
 ^* Dearly beloved husband ! " " Deeply mourned ! '* 
 *^ Never to be forgotten!" I met that Mrs. Kennedy 
 this morning making a long mouth and telling me her 
 agony of mind because her husband has gone to the front 
 — and as pleased as Punch, really and truly. I hadn't 
 patience to answer her. Of course she hateg him, and with 
 good cause, too, probably. 
 
 "Why should we pretend? It's too hollow. As I go 
 about I rejoice in the sight of the happy, happy wives. 
 For one who is sorry, nine are glad. Look at the women 
 you see in the streets. Look at their radiant, smiling 
 faces. The tyrants are gone. And the young girls, too, 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 195 
 
 tl y are quickly emancipating themselves. The stupid 
 fr hers are no longer here curbing and stifling them. This 
 w r, Claire, is the woman's chance, and, whatever they say, 
 tl y are going to take it. They are breaking the bonds, 
 ail pray that they'll never go back to prison.'^ 
 
 VVhether Aunt Agnes might prove right or wrong in 
 til s general forecast, there was certainly among Claire's 
 a<' luaintance a young woman who, although her husband 
 htl not crossed the water, appeared to be fast breaking 
 h< • bonds, alid also to be determined not to go back to 
 p'ison. This was Mrs. Granville Budleigh, whom Claire 
 m(t again at Lady Pevensea's hospital. She was in the 
 h j'^hest possible spirits, looking very handsome in the 
 n virse's costume, with her copper-brown hair glowing bril- 
 liintly and her blue eyes and red lips taking vivid colour 
 b^^ieath the becoming white head-dress. Obviously she oc- 
 c\ipied herself more in lively flirtations with the wounded 
 ho roes or their medical advisers, than in the dull routine of 
 actual nursing, and Lady Pevensea's matrons were not 
 too well pleased with her. Cognizant of this fact herself, 
 she told Claire that she did not propose to wait till she got 
 the sack, but intended to push out to France, where she 
 would obtain heaps more fun and excitement. 
 
 " I get on better with men," she explained gaily, ^' ex- 
 cerpt with one of them. But then Jack isn't really a man. 
 He's a subtle combination of an old woman, a wild ele- 
 phant, and a dissenting parson. Simply impossible! 
 L ook here ! I'll show you a letter I had from him a week 
 a^o. No, I want you to read it. Please, to oblige me. 
 If ou know his people, you'll probably hear them talking 
 a bout us again. You ought to know what he is." 
 
 And against her inclination, Claire was compelled to 
 r ?ad the letter. 
 
 Granville Budleigh, permanently engaged on Home 
 ^ ervice, wrote from Colchester. He began by saying that 
 I e was prepared to condone and pardon the entire past on 
 
196 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 certain conditions; but before entering further into the 
 conditions, he demanded categorical answers to the follow- 
 ing questions. Then the questions followed, a long string 
 of them. (1) Would she frankly own that she was wrong? 
 (2) Would she with equal candour admit that he was 
 right? (3) Would she undertake to discontinue her habit 
 of interruption, contradiction, and impertinent comment 
 when he was talking to other people? (4) Would she at 
 once cease all communication of every sort and kind with 
 Lieutenant D. B., cutting that gentleman dead if she hap- 
 pened to meet him in a public place ? And so on, right into 
 double numbers. 
 
 Claire, handing the letter back without any criticism, 
 asked Mrs. Budleigh what reply she had made to it. 
 
 " I told him to go to the devil," said Mrs. Budleigh 
 firmly. " Just that, my dear, and nothing more." 
 
 "But how will he take such a defiance? Aren't you 
 afraid of driving him to — well, to extreme measures? " 
 
 " Oh, Master Jack knows there isn't any chance to be 
 got out of it. If he doesn't return to his senses, he'll have 
 only himself to thank. I told him from the beginning that 
 if he played the fool I should chuck him." 
 
 And again came the puzzling, enigmatic smile that 
 Claire had noticed before with wonder. It seemed to imply 
 absolute confidence and strength, as if in some inexplicable 
 mysterious manner Mrs. Budleigh felt herself to be above 
 all ordinary laws and customs, self-governing, unassail- 
 able. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THIS year the long bright summer seemed to con- 
 tinue indefinitely. November opened and the sun 
 still shone, and still Claire was happy and at 
 pc<' ce. She and Gladys walked in the park with orange- 
 tin :ed leaves dancing round them, came hand in hand along 
 th; now wind-swept pavement of the Edgware Road, 
 turned into the quiet shelter of their by-street, and saw the 
 shabby little house that they both loved because it was 
 th:ir perfect undisturbed home. They were both well. 
 T lis north side of the park was so healthy that the child 
 had not suffered by missing the usual holiday in sea air. 
 T le landlady was more and more kind and affectionate. 
 Even the defective water pipes did not really matter. 
 
 Then in an hour their peace and comfort vanished. 
 Without preliminary warning Roddy had come home on 
 leuve. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he arrived. He 
 wanted at once a hot bath, a blazing hot bath, and his 
 bellowing protests, on failing to obtain it, changed Mrs. 
 Morris, the landlady, from an affectionate friend into the 
 very indignant proprietress of a slandered lodging-house. 
 H3 wanted his buttons and buckles polished, so that they 
 would shine like fire at dinner, and he made Claire's maid 
 shed tears by his comments on her feeble efforts to achieve 
 the desired end. He wanted the little bed that Gladys 
 occupied in her mother's room to be carted out of the 
 w ly immediately ; and when the child clung to Claire's 
 skirts and entreated not to be banished, he frightened her 
 01 1 of her wits by vowing that if she did not behave her- 
 self he would take her to France and drop her into the 
 fij st trench he saw there. 
 
 197 
 
198 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Pack her off, old girl. Stop squalling, you little ass. 
 Let her sleep with What's-her-Name. This is daddy's and 
 mummy's room now. Daddy and mummy want to be all 
 alone together." 
 
 In the midst of the turmoil and confusion that he had 
 so suddenly created, he was quite unconscious of disturb- 
 ing anybody otherwise than pleasurably. He was really 
 bubbling over with gladness and good-humour. He never 
 stopped talking, as he followed Claire about while she 
 superintended the catastrophic changes of domestic ar- 
 rangement that had become necessary. 
 
 " Don't you fuss, old girl. Give your orders, and tell 
 'em they've jolly well got to carry them out. Put on your 
 very best togs, and off we go. You shall have the best 
 dinner in London to-night, or my name's not Captain 
 Vaughan. Were you proud when you heard they'd made 
 me a captain .^^ Oh, by Jove, Claire, this is ail right, and 
 no mistake," and he clasped her in his arms again. 
 
 His embraces were so violently amorous that, after 
 almost suffocating her, he left her face smarting as if it 
 had been stung all over with nettles. 
 
 " Truly glad to see me.? But why do I ask? " he said 
 fondly. "There was no time to tell you I was coming. 
 Only got my leave yesterday morning. I might have wired 
 from Folkestone, but then I thought I'd let you have the 
 jolly surprise. Now come on. Be nippy and change your 
 things. Never mind the kid. She can say her prayers 
 without you for once. These seven days belong to poor 
 old Roddy. Claire, you've been a brick, the way you've 
 carried on and kept the home fires burning. Living so 
 gloriously cheap, too, and saving up all our money! 
 Well, we'll blow a bit of it now. I mean to give you a 
 royal time in these seven days." 
 
 That first night he took her to his beloved hotel in Picca- 
 dilly. There was a little unpleasantness on arrival when 
 Roddy told the taxi-cab driver that he was an extortionate 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 199 
 
 sc( ndrel, and that if he had him in France he would give 
 hii Field Punishment No. 1. Then soon they were seated 
 op 3site to each other as in those old days. The big room 
 wa as crowded as ever, a band of some kind was making 
 Bo y music, and the same head waiter or manager came 
 sm ing to their table. Roddy greeted him with boisterous 
 delirht. 
 
 ' Carlos, you old bounder, how are you? " 
 
 ' Very well, thank you, sair. And I hcpe I see you in 
 go«i 1 health, and madame," said Mr. Carlos, bowing. 
 
 Upon my word, Carlos, you are a sight for sore eyes," 
 and Roddy laughed and rubbed his hands together. " Ly- 
 in^ out there in the mud and the rain, with the shells bai^- 
 in^ and bursting, I've often thought of you." 
 
 * That is a vairy kind compliment, sair, and I ap- 
 pr-i-r-e-ciate it." 
 
 ^ Then show your apr-r-r-eciation," said Roddy, imi- 
 taling him merrily, " by providing me and my missus with 
 your tip-toppest thing in dinners, and the best champagne 
 on your list." 
 
 Indeed, if Ke could have eaten two dinners at the same 
 tinie he would gladly have done so. If he could have 
 sm3ked, too, as well as talking with his mouth full, he 
 wo aid have been still more content. He was greedy to 
 atiain all possible pleasures at once. He had come home 
 to enjoy himself, and his only fear was that he would not 
 sqi^eeze sufficient enjoyment into the narrow space of time 
 at his disposal. 
 
 ' Claire, does this animated scene take you back into 
 th( past.^ It does me. Oh, if you only knew what it 
 means after roughing it out there? Claire, lean forward 
 so that I can whisper. I know you hate letting other folk 
 into our sentimental confidences. Well, I feel towards^ 
 ycj just exactly as I did on our honeymoon," and his 
 vo ce vibrated with emotion. " We'll make it a honey- 
 in<^on, eh?" 
 
200 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire looked at the table-cloth. She dared not meet 
 his eyes, lest he should read the apprehension and repug- 
 nance in her own. 
 
 " You haven't said a word about my appearance. 
 Don't I look fit, Claire, and young too? Look at me, old 
 lady. Aren't I quite the juvenile Roddy again — the one 
 that took your fancy when you first saw him.^ " 
 
 She looked at him now. His words had strangely 
 fallen into the w^orkings of her actual thought. Physically 
 he was without doubt improved. He was well-trimmed and 
 neat, like a plant that, after beginning to run to seed, had 
 been severely pruned by stem gardeners. The regular life 
 of a soldier, discipline, comparative abstinence and tem- 
 perance, had all done him good. He was stronger and 
 more healthy. 
 
 But the man himself? Was it possible that he had 
 always been like this? It was not merely his loudness, or 
 the almost bullying non-commissioned officer swagger, or 
 the wolflike hunger for food ; it was the overwhelming vul- 
 garity of mind, the incredible coarseness of feeling. He 
 seemed to her fantastic, like a man on the stage actmg 
 vulgarity, or like somebody carrying through a carefully 
 planned and rather heartless practical joke in order to 
 frighten a hypersensitive relative — the man who comes 
 home after a long absence and puts on a grotesque dis- 
 guise before entering the family circle. Would he sud- 
 denly laugh and say : " It's all right, Claire. Only my 
 fun. I'm not really as bad as this ? " 
 
 " Claire, you aren't doing justice to the wine. Come 
 on. No heel-taps. Here's to Victory and a Glorious 
 Peace ! It can't come too soon for Captain R. V." And 
 he boasted of his regiment and those tip-toppers, his 
 brother officers. " You may think cavalry has taken a 
 back seat in this war. But you give us half a chance 
 and you see how we'll roll up the line. Though, between 
 you and me, Claire, I only regard my present job as pro 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 201 
 
 ^7W. I ought to be on the Staff, and mean to get there, 
 .nd if not that, there are plenty of other snug billets 
 'here you can be smothered in decorations without even 
 melling powder. I'll dodge the bullets if I can, for your 
 ; ake, my poppet.'' 
 
 During the whole of his leave he only spoke in a lofty or ' 
 ( orrect manner on one subject. That was when he talked 
 ^ dth contempt of profiteering. After a visit to the city he 
 e aid he was disgusted with what he saw there. People 
 ^^ere just as much "on the make" as they ever were. 
 '?heir patriotism was gammon and spinach; they were 
 ( ynically exploiting their country's misfortune to pile up 
 ill-gotten gains. And it was the same thing in all the 
 shops. Everywhere you were overcharged; everywhere you 
 met hypocritical brutes who tried to " do you in " while 
 ])raising you for gallantly facing death for them. 
 
 He denounced these bad citizens on every occasion, talk- 
 ing to waiters, hall porters, anybody, about this scandal 
 of the hour. " Shirkers, slackers, from the word Go. 
 Dodging out of doing their bit, and then bumping up 
 prices and growing fat in smug security. Talk about the 
 Germans ! I regard these selfish sharks as a dashed sight 
 worse." 
 
 True to his word, he made Claire take her full share of 
 the royal time that he had promised. Luncheons, dinners, 
 suppers, theatres, music-halls, even dance clubs — he let 
 her off nothing. Except for brief jollifications with men 
 friends, he kept her always with him. 
 
 " Oh, how the time flies ! Would you believe it, Claire.'^ 
 Four days gone already." 
 
 She could believe. It seemed to her like four years. 
 He had promised great treats for his daughter, too; 
 Dut, carried along in the whirling torrent of his own 
 gaieties, he allowed Gladys to remain stationary on the 
 shore until the leave was nearly ended. 
 
 On this his last day he said he would be occupied with 
 
202 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 business; but when Claire came home before luncheon, 
 she heard that he had returned to the house unexpectedly 
 and taken Miss Gladys for a stroll. She went out again to 
 look for them, then hurried back to the lodgings and 
 waited for them there. Of course, he knew that it was now 
 long past the child's dinner-time; he would bring her in 
 at any moment, laughing and happy. It was absurd to 
 feel anxious. 
 
 But the trouble was that Gladys had gone out insuf- 
 ficiently clad, with only her little cloth jacket instead of 
 her thick-lined cloak, and a rather keen wind was blowing. 
 She might easily catch cold on this sort of day. 
 
 They did not come back, not by two o'clock, not by 
 three o'clock, and thence onwards Glaire suffered a tor- 
 ment of anxiety. Terrible fears as to the cause and 
 possible explanations of their absence alternately flashed 
 in vivid pictures through her mind. At dusk she was pac- 
 ing up and down outside the house. He would not, he 
 could not, keep Gladys out now that the daylight was fad- 
 ing. But darkness fell, and still they did not return. 
 
 Then for some time she was possessed by a cold and 
 rigid sort of panic. Something terrible and irrevocable 
 had happened, and it only remained to learn the worst. 
 She hurried out of the by-street, talked to policemen at 
 the crossings in front of the Marble Arch, talked to the 
 guardian at the park gates. Then she sprang into a cab, 
 told the driver to take her to New Scotland Yard, and 
 after going a short distance, leaned out of the window 
 and asked to be taken back again. 
 
 Perhaps now she would find them safe ^at the lodgings. 
 
 They were not there. And she broke down in tears. 
 The panic fear had gone, and an immense desolation filled 
 her aching heart. Why had he done this unspeakably 
 cruel thing, to take her fragile, delicate child out of her 
 care? Why had he brutally exposed her precious darling 
 to unknown, unmeasured risks? 
 
FOR BETTER, POR WORSE 203 
 
 I was seven o'clock when he brought her back. Claire 
 at he door of the taxi-cab took her into her arms and 
 car ied her up the steps to the narrow gas-lit hall. 
 
 " We have had a rare jaunt, and she's thoroughly en.- 
 jov d herself," said Roddy, " but I am afraid she's a bit 
 tir I." 
 
 :- he was crying piteously, trembling and cold, all limp 
 fro 1 1 fatigue. Her boots and stockings were wet and 
 tnu -stained; she had lost her gloves, and her little hands 
 fel like ice against her mother's face. 
 ^ V resent ly Roddy came to the upper room where Claire 
 and the maid, both on their knees, were pulling off the wet 
 stockings, rubbing her feet with towels; and between the 
 puif s of a cigarette he told the tale of their adventures. 
 
 'I 'he idea had suddenly occurred to him to take her to 
 bhe Zoological Gardens. He had fed her there, and they 
 iiad studied the animals exhaustively. " She loved it, 
 Claire. I carried her on my shoulder through the lion 
 hioiuse, and after a preliminary squall she was as plucky as 
 [jould be." Then, not being able to get a cab, they had 
 ^oiie by omnibus to Piccadilly, 
 
 ''Outside the omnibus or inside?" asked Claire, with 
 lier head down, rubbing the child's legs. 
 
 '•Outside." 
 
 '• And how did she wet her feet.'^ " 
 
 '• Oh, that must have been going across the long grass 
 in i he Regent's Park, taking a short cut. We ran, didn't 
 5^e, little lady.?" 
 
 'And after that.?" 
 
 ilfter that, it seemed, he had taken her to a friend's flat, 
 an( I then on to his club. He left her in the hall of the club 
 in t'harge of the porter, and, yes, he had certainly left her 
 there longer than he intended. Had he given her any 
 mo -e food since their meal in the Gardens ? No, it had not 
 Dcc urred to him to provide afternoon tea, not having the 
 aft imoon tea habit himself. Moreover, he had fully in* 
 
204 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tended to bring her home much earlier, but pals had be- 
 guiled him at the club. 
 
 " Look here," he said, feeling distinctly fed up with 
 Claire's curt questions, " it's time to think of dinner. 
 You'd better change your dress, unless you purposely 
 want to keep me waiting." 
 
 " Don't wait," said Claire in the same abrupt tone, and 
 without looking at him. " I am not going with you." 
 
 " Not coming with me ? Do you really mean that ? " 
 He felt incredulous, outraged, and then very angry, when 
 Claire persisted in her determination to stay at home with 
 Gladys. 
 
 " My last night in England? Well, by Jove, that's the 
 limit ! No, I'm hanged ! That's too much ! " 
 
 " I can't help it. I am afraid Gladys is going to be ill." 
 
 " Rubbish ! The kid's all right. What are you fussing 
 about? " And he went downstairs protesting to the uni- 
 verse against Claire's treatment of him. He had done 
 more than could have been expected of ninety-nine fathers 
 out of a hundred, he had wasted the whole of his last after- 
 noon in England, he had sacrificed himself to please Claire, 
 and this was his reward. 
 
 Very late at night he came up to the room again, but 
 Claire refused to leave her child's bedside. Gladys was 
 shivering and yet feverish, sleepless and light-headed, 
 haunted by visions of monstrous beasts and reptiles. 
 
 Early in the morning he came for the last time, to in- 
 quire if Claire really and truly intended to let him go to 
 the railway station without escort. 
 
 " I am sorry," said Claire in a hard voice. " But 
 Gladys is in a high fever, and I am waiting for the 
 doctor." 
 
 Next day Aunt Agnes received an agonized note from 
 Claire telling her that Gladys had double pneumonia, and 
 for three long weeks the child lay between life and death. 
 Then very slowly she recovered. Towards the end of 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 205 
 
 D ember Miss Graham took her and her mother to Tor- 
 qi y, since Cannes or Mentone was out of the question. 
 
 7he child got well again, and the doctors told Claire 
 tb t, so far as the pneumonia was concerned, she need have 
 n( anxiety. The disease had left no after effects ; the 
 litile girl's constitution and health prospects were just 
 whit they had been before the illness. Only they hinted 
 Ah kly that these prospects had never been as hopeful as 
 m^,'ht be wished. There was something, vague as yet, that 
 th y did not quite like. The child's state, in their opinion, 
 ootid not be described as normal; she herself was not 
 ex ! .ctly as other children of her age. They did not desire 
 ui luly to alarm Mrs. Vaughan, but they thought she 
 shculd understand that the child would require care and 
 attention. Climate would be of little consequence; she 
 would do as well in London as anywhere else. 
 
 Claire took her back to Mrs. Morris's lodgings after 
 Cliristmas, and this second winter of the war crept heavily 
 to\7ards the long-retarded spring. 
 
 Perhaps the illness had truly left no traces, but, never- 
 theless, Claire could not forgive her husband. She thought 
 of him now as the enemy, the implacable foe to joy, no less 
 df ngerous to her child than to herself. In reply to his 
 lei.ters she wrote to him without a pretence of affection. 
 
 He regularly reported his doings. He had achieved his 
 original ambition, and, having left the regiment, was now 
 er gaged on ordnance work. He had a good billet and a 
 nice French woman who cooked for him beautifully, but 
 still the war was not a picnic. Going up to inspect a 
 dump not very far from the line, a German shell had hit 
 tl e road just after he had passed, not two hundred yards 
 behind his car. Claire, glancing at Gladys, brooding on 
 tl e past and on the future, would not look into her own 
 h art ; perhaps afraid of seeing there the terrible thought 
 tl at they two would be safer if the shell had burst when 
 tl e car was passing instead of after it had gone by. 
 
206 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 If such wicked thoughts could indeed force a secret lodg- 
 ment in her gentle breast, it was soon swept clean and pure 
 again. One day in March she received an official telegram 
 telling her that Captain Roderick Vaughan was wounded. 
 Imediately she had a great revulsion of feeling. While 
 she had been selfishly brooding on her wrongs, he had been 
 making the supreme payment. Perhaps even now he had 
 given his life for his country. 
 
 But a visit to the War Office reassured her. He was 
 only slightly wounded. Then after three days she had 
 news in his own handwriting. The wound was very slight 
 indeed — merely a shell splinter catching him on the fleshy 
 part of the thigh. She need not be afraid: he was in 
 hospital, well nursed, very comfortable. 
 
 A month later, on the first fine morning in April, when 
 she and Gladys, carefully muffled, returned from a short 
 walk, they found a cab standing outside the door. The 
 cabman was lifting a huge Wolseley valise; the steps in 
 front of the door were piled with a mountain of kit, from 
 which rolled like small landslips such trifles as canvas 
 buckets, folded chairs, despatch cases ; and in the hall 
 stood Roddy, bluffs and loud, a highly-tinted picture of 
 rude health. Next moment Claire was crushed against the 
 rough cloth of his tunic and the hard edge of his chest 
 strap, while her hat went backwards and her hair-net 
 broke beneath the forceful ardour of his embrace. 
 
 " On sick leave .^^ " she gasped. 
 
 " No, home for good. I'm clean out of it." 
 
 *'What.? Invalided out.?" 
 
 *' No, they have let me go altogether. They all agreed 
 I have fairly done my bit. Claire, I can tell you they 
 were jolly, joUy nice about it — the big- wigs, the small fry, 
 everybody.*' 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A ND now the real wretchedness of Claire's marriage 
 / "\ began. All that had happened hitherto was but 
 "' ^ the prelude. 
 
 With a final compliment on her economy he resumed 
 ((<ntrol of the purse, appointed her his housekeeper, and 
 c uce more called her to account closely for the suras that 
 1 • ? issued. He made difficulty about the slightest extra 
 c'ltlay, telling her that now she had learnt by experience 
 1 ow far a few pounds will go with proper management she 
 c ught to be able to produce the greatest possible effect at 
 ihe least possible cost. He was so severe in ruling out 
 e5:travagance as betrayed in her purchase of delicacies and 
 comforts for Gladys that she at once began to sell super- 
 f uous garments and jewellery, making a hoard of the pro- 
 ceeds from which she could provide for the child's needs 
 without having to face his criticism and displeasure. He 
 T as the master. 
 
 Their house was situated in one of those short streets 
 that connect Great Portland Street and Regent Street, a 
 tall and narrow old house with a nearly new terra cotta 
 front, sandwiched between the wide splendours of a tea 
 shop and the gaudy little window of a milliner's. Roddy 
 rented it furnished, and as he said dirt cheap, from owners 
 >^ho were frightened by the last visit of Zeppelins and 
 laldly anxious to retire into the depths of the country. 
 ^ ['hough it might seem impossible when you looked at the 
 i erra-cotta, yet the inside of the house was worse than the 
 t)utside. It had sticky, embossed walls paper, velvet 
 (hairs and sofas, modem fireplaces like the openings of 
 lighly ornate railway tunnels, lamp-shades with immense 
 < ard-board butterflies, chandeliers with tinted ribbons as 
 
 207 
 
208 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 large as schoolgirls' sashes. In all the rooms there were 
 reproductions of the most insipid mid- Victorian art, very 
 richly framed, and with gilded lettering for the tell-tale 
 titles — Her -first Dance; Telegram for you. Sir; The 
 Charity that begins at Home, and so on. But to Roddy 
 it seemed more than all right. Never remarkable for 
 nicety of aesthetic judgment, and now coming fresh from 
 the horrors of war, he thought it perfect. He was so 
 pleased that he did not even say it should be considered as 
 pro tern. 
 
 Looking strangely out of place in these tawdry sur- 
 roundings, Claire moved to and fro with the graceful dig- 
 nity of a fallen princess, sad and white of face often, quiet 
 and repressed in manner always ; teaching their duties to 
 the servants, those queer war servants that alone were 
 available; or going upstairs just before a dinner-party to 
 sit for a few minutes with Gladys, and then perhaps wip- 
 ing her eyes outside on the landing before she pulled her- 
 self together and came down to receive her husband's 
 guests — the riff-raff of both sexes with whom he loved to 
 feast and make merry. 
 
 The time of dinner-parties had begun again, in spite of 
 the fact that such festivities were considered unseasonable 
 and improper by all right-minded people. He liked to "see 
 the happy faces of his pals around him, and he insisted on 
 giving them and himself " everything of the best ; " put- 
 ting no limit to expenditure in this particular respect; 
 making the champagne flow as profusely as when England 
 was at peace; altogether refusing to listen to public ad- 
 monitions against waste of substance. Hang it, such rules 
 could not apply to one who had so nobly " done his bit.'* 
 So he drove Claire to procure the fine unnecessary food, 
 sent her to get chickens and game at a certain poulterer's 
 where they " rooked you but asked no questions," told her 
 to use intelligence and diplomacy with butchers and 
 grocers — in a word, to " wangle it somehow." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 209 
 
 ' I look on you as my A.D.C. or Camp Commandant," 
 he aid facetiously ; " and it's up to you to forage round 
 arc make me comfortable." 
 
 ihe obeyed him in everything, and he kept her busy. 
 SI had no leisure, and her visits to the knitting-parties 
 ar < . the hospital ceased altogether. Her task in life was 
 R idy. The little time she could steal from it was all 
 toe small for her watchful care of Gladys. 
 
 After his first transports of affection were exhausted, 
 he consented to leave her at home of an evening while he 
 w« it out and amused himself. Now that he was safe, 
 qi te free from danger, and sure of having her to himself 
 foi ever, he felt there was no necessity to trot her round 
 to every little piece of fun. Looking forward through the 
 years he knew that he would be able to command her kisses 
 whenever he wanted them, and therefore he had no con- 
 tinual sense of hurry. 
 
 During those first weeks of delicious ease after his 
 fstigues he was very gay indeed, swaggering about every- 
 wiere in uniform as a wounded hero, helping the A.P.M.'s 
 blanch by sharp reproof of every passing Tommy who 
 omitted to salute him properly and sufficiently. Then one 
 night at a music-hall when he became involved in a dis- 
 turbance and had to give his name and address the A.P.M. 
 p<3ople, rather ungratefully, conveyed a strong hint that 
 if he was out of the army he need not any longer dress as 
 tliough in it. 
 
 Although he was so fond of his uniform as the badge of 
 courage or evidence of patriotism, Claire suspected at once 
 a ad little by little reached certain knowledge that he had 
 1( ft the army in a very poor-spirited manner. Knowing 
 t lat compassionate grounds for release — to use the tech- 
 nical term — could only be established in the case of a 
 perfectly sound person by the presence of extreme money 
 t 'oubles, he had put forward the plea that he had a wife 
 a ad young child totally dependent on him, and that unless 
 
210 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 he were allowed to resume the interrupted business of sup- 
 porting them ruin and starvation would ensue. A chance 
 meeting in the street with the wife of General Pirbright 
 gave Claire a clue to these details. 
 
 Lady Pirbright said that her husband, now advanced to 
 the high position of a corps commander, had been so very 
 pleased at being able to cut the knot of Claire's difficulties 
 by getting Roddy sent home to her. Naturally, the Gil- 
 mours, being such very old friends, he was delighted to use 
 all his influence on her behalf. 
 
 " And now tell me. I do hope that Captain Vaughan 
 got back in time to extricate things. It is not as bad as 
 he feared .f^ " 
 
 In suitable terms Claire expressed her sense of the Gen- 
 eraFs kindness. 
 
 It was when Roddy fetched out his pre-war wardrobe 
 and appeared again in civilian clothes that Claire first 
 noticed the outwards signs of a process of deterioration 
 which henceforth slowly but surely continued. The old 
 shine and glossiness that seemed to be imparted by the 
 man to the garments rather than by the garments to the 
 man had gone for ever. He was negligent and careless as 
 to ties and collars, no longer a fond guardian of the 
 braided coats, not distressed by a badly-folded pair of 
 trousers or a mud-stained cloth boot top. He did not 
 always shave before breakfast, was content to lounge 
 through the morning in slippers, and shirked the labour 
 of going to the hairdresser to get his moustache cut and 
 trimmed into the stiff little brush of which he used to be 
 so proud. 
 
 Perhaps he felt that the lengthened, and in comparison, 
 straggling moustache was the absolute demonstration of 
 his freedom from all irksome restraint. The reaction after 
 submitting to a year's discipline made him keenly enjoy 
 all breaches of decorum. 
 
 He was the large, coarse plant that stem gardeners 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 211 
 
 al andon, now resuming its loose unchecked growth and 
 r pidly running to seed again; or, to an expert eye, ob- 
 s 'ving him as he lolled on a sofa while cigar ash tumbled 
 C! the velvet at his elbow, he would have seemed the typical 
 c 1 i-fashioned N.C.O. who has found himself ensconced in 
 t e exquisitely soft job of camp-fire dreamings, and who is 
 r < ver likely with willingness to do anything harder than 
 €3 1, drink, and sleep for the remainder of his life. 
 
 Whatever his failings, he had been industrious and 
 € ergetic in the past; but now he was indolent and lazy, 
 J )stponing and dreading effort. Months passed and he 
 V 18 still merely hatching a plan of campaign and not even 
 f letending to do any work. As if in justification of his 
 illeness he spoke sometimes of shell-shock — shell-shock not 
 diagnosed in his case, but probably there all the same: the 
 mysterious nervous malady whose after-effects can ex- 
 plain anything. 
 
 He went on talking with extreme bitterness of the pro- 
 fiteers, but in his tone there was now perceptible a grudg- 
 ing admiration and a secret envy. All the world, he said, 
 iR'as inflamed with the. spirit of money-making; the few 
 1^ ho refused to take part in the scramble for golden prizes 
 offered by the war would probably not be thanked or 
 honoured for remaining out in the cold. The city was no 
 good. It was too late to pick up anything by Govern- 
 ment contracts. Those who had plunged their fingers into 
 tbat enormous pie took jolly good care that no late-comers 
 should have a taste of it. But if you could make anything 
 and sell it, or buy anything and sell it again, you could 
 rot go wrong. The ascending profit on every sort of ex- 
 c hange or barter was the source one wanted to tap at this 
 time of day. And the war would not last indefinitely: the 
 f olden opportunities must soon pass away. 
 
 *^ It's now or never, Claire." 
 
 Daily examination of the milliner's windows next door 
 i t last stung him into action. He used to entertain his 
 
212 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 guests at the dinner-parties 3vith stories of the iniquitous 
 profits made by his neighbour. For a little straw hat with 
 a mauve ribbon, of which the material cost at present 
 prices would not be more than perhaps eighteen shillings, 
 she had the temerity to ask twelve and fourteen guineas. 
 " And she gets it, mark you. I watch the hats go out of 
 the window. Highway robbery. As much as twenty- 
 pounds for anything with feathers. The wife will tell you 
 I'm not exaggerating. Simply coining money ! " 
 
 Thus came the inspiration for the first of his series of 
 war ventures. He took empty premises in New Bond 
 Street and started a furniture shop, stocking it with all 
 the furniture that had lain in warehouse since the Sedg- 
 moor Street collapse and the retirement from the Mayfair 
 house. Claire pleaded that he would exclude their wedding 
 presents from the stock, because it would be so painful if 
 their donors chanced to see them there offered for sale ; 
 but he over-ruled the objection as vexatious. He had 
 long since spent the savings amassed while he was away, 
 and from time to time they had impinged on their capital ; 
 now he made her raise more money for preliminary outlay 
 — the sprat that was going to catch the salmon. 
 
 She offered to help him in the shop; but as usual he 
 made light of her capabilities. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, I don't quite see what form 
 your help would take. This is going to be real business, 
 you know ; " and he smiled at her as one smiles at a well- 
 intentioned but notoriously incompetent person. " You 
 might walk up and down pretending to be a customer, of 
 course, but I think that would be rather mfra dig.'' 
 
 She said that he would be buying stock as well as sell- 
 ing it, and she believed that she might be able to give him 
 valuable advice. She thought that she really did know 
 quite a good deal about furniture. 
 
 " You often said so yourself, Roddy." 
 
 " Did I, Claire.^ " And he laughed. " In my time no 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 213' 
 
 do bt I've said a good many pretty things to you that I 
 di^ a't mean too seriously. No, my dear, I must get some 
 Til ular woman of business to help me in this job." 
 
 -t was strange, but his slighting tone and the wound to 
 a]i innocent vanity had power to give pain in the midst of 
 h( deeper and more logically founded wretchedness. 
 
 When the shop was opened he did not even ask her to 
 lc( k at it; and she, smarting from the slight, carefully re- 
 fi. lined from ever going near it. He did not even notice 
 tl it she kept away. He said they were evidently in for a 
 hjge success; they had sold a Nappensol settee and a set 
 o/ brass fire-irons within two hours of unlocking the door. 
 And as the weeks passed he reported that things were 
 gcing like wildfire. 
 
 Then after some time he said that he had been thinking 
 over her offer of aid. 
 
 "And that reminds me, Claire. Your typewriter! I 
 hs.ven't been able to find it. You sent it to the warehouse 
 \^ith everything else, I suppose? " 
 
 Claire explained that the typewriter had not gone to the 
 warehouse, 
 
 "Where is it? Here?" 
 
 " No, I have sold it." 
 
 " When did you do that? " f 
 
 " Oh, only a little while ago." 
 
 " That seems a funny thing to do. You ought to have 
 ^ ot a dashed good price for it, because typewriters are as 
 scarce as diamonds. What did you do with the money? " 
 
 " I spent it." 
 
 "On what?" 
 
 " Oh, on different things that I wanted." 
 
 He was frowning, and he pulled his luxuriant moustache ' 
 iretfully. Seeing that he was becoming angry, she added 
 hat the things she had bought with the money were all 
 lecessities and not frivolities. She dared not tell him that 
 ;hey were for her daughter. 
 
214. FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Oh, all right. It was your own machine, so I suppose 
 I mustn't complain. But it's an infernal nuisance that 
 you have parted with it just when it would have come in 
 useful. I was going to tell you that you might come for 
 an hour or two of a morning and do a little clerical work 
 for us. Nothing difficult — ^just copying. Now, I shall 
 have to see if we can manage to fix you up with a 
 machine." 
 
 And again she felt the stab of her harmless self-respect. 
 She was not allowed to have a word in any questions of 
 taste ; she was held to be incapable of understanding any- 
 thing connected with management ; but she was to go like 
 the humblest servant of the shop and do mechanical labour 
 in order to give increased leisure to her intellectual 
 superiors. She revolted against this minor outrage, small 
 as it was when compared with the larger griefs that made 
 her misery. 
 
 " No, Roddy, I couldn't do that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She repressed all outward sign of indignation, and an- 
 swered meekly. " To begin with, I haven't the time." 
 
 " Oh, you can make time enough. Beyond just look- 
 ing after thingsi here, what have you got to do all day ? " 
 
 " You forget that there is Gladys." 
 
 " No, by Jove, I don't. Its Gladys this and Gladys 
 that — fussing and messing about! Look here, if Gladys 
 is to be put forward as the excuse whenever you don't 
 choose to do what I ask you, I shall pack her off to 
 school and get her right out of my way." 
 
 " No, oh no, Roddy, you won't do that." For a few 
 moments she had stood looking at him with terrified eyes, 
 and she put her hands to her throat as if struggling for 
 breath. 
 
 " It's what I will do, if I have any more nonsense." 
 
 He was surprised by the vast effect of his unpremedi- 
 tated threat, and either from obstinate anger or because 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 216 
 
 brvi ally willing to use any weapon that offered, he went 
 on 3peating it. 
 
 Oh, but no," she cried wildly and incoherently. ** No, 
 thf would be — yes, that would be too much. Roddy, you 
 ca 1 t ever separate a little child and its mother." ^ 
 
 ' ' She's more than old enough to go to school." 
 
 *' No, that I'd never stand. I — I let you do anything 
 els< don't I? But don't attempt to do that. A child is 
 sac i ed." 
 
 * That's enough. You're getting hysterical." 
 
 *• My Gladys. No, oh no. You won't dare. Roddy, I 
 wa 1 you, if you ever dared to take away my child " 
 
 ' She's my child, just as much as yours. Aren't I her 
 fat! er.'' If I judge it more convenient " 
 
 I , was another most ugly scene. In the end his voice 
 alore sounded. 
 
 '' Dry your eyes, and stop making a fuss. As to Gladys 
 I say again, please to remember that I am her father — 
 wit 1 a father's feelings, too ; as fond of her as you are, 
 very likely, only not wanting to spoil her as you do. And, 
 more than that, Claire, I call upon you not to set Gladys 
 agf inst me. I've a right to her love as well as yourself. 
 I'm not going to allow disunion, or let you train the child 
 to ook on me as an ogre or bogey. The other day when 
 I net her on the landing she shrank away from me in a 
 way that I didn't like at all. If I speak sharply to her 
 it's for her own good, and it's your duty to make her 
 understand it. That's another reason that would make 
 me disposed to send her to school, if I found that her con- 
 fide ace in me was being sapped and her affection alienated. 
 As to her health, and what the doctors tell you, and all 
 tha :, she might be a good deal better off at a school than 
 her('." 
 
 ^ he would die rather than submit to separation from 
 her darling, and yet his threats terrified her. They left 
 her shaken and weak. After all, would she be able to 
 
216 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 resist such cruelty, however monstrous and unnatural? 
 What are a mother's rights? Very little, if measured 
 against a father's. She pressed her face against the 
 child's serge frock to hide fresh tears, and trembled the 
 while. He was the master, and he held them both in the 
 hollow of his hand. 
 
 Until he left the house, often very late in the morning, 
 she kept the child hidden as much as possible, hushed her 
 instantly if she raised her voice, to prevent his being dis- 
 turbed ; and she trained and coaxed her to run to kiss him 
 at every chance meeting, in order to soften his heart. 
 " You mustn't be afraid of him, darling. He is really 
 very kind and good. He loves his Gladys and would 
 never hurt her." 
 
 He did not repeat his menace ; nor did he speak again 
 of Claire's rebellion in regard to the suggested shop-work. 
 He seemed to have forgotten. But her dread remained 
 with her, changing in form, torturing her. Suppose he 
 were to play some diabolical trick, such as taking Gladys 
 away during her own absence. She remembered her feel- 
 ings on the day when he took her from Mrs. Morris's lodg- 
 ings, and would come rushing back from her errands to 
 make sure that Gladys was still safe in those upstairs 
 rooms. It was all right. He had not spirited her out of 
 the house. And Claire would sit down with her heart 
 tumultuously beating. It had been a baseless, foolish 
 fancy; she told herself that whatever attack he made 
 would be open, violent, not secret or underhand. And 
 then-the nerve-racking dread took some other form. 
 
 She had feared him before this and trembled, too, at the 
 sound of his voice ; but now she often quailed at the mere 
 sight of him. When he startled her by coming into the 
 room unexpectedly she felt a deep-seated physical disturb- 
 ance ; a commotion of her very being, similar to the shock 
 of horrified surprise experienced by a child or timid per- 
 son suddenly brought face to face with the huge savage 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 217 
 
 ar nal only previously known in frightening tales. 
 So letimes when one of the maid-servants brought her a 
 m« sage saying that he was downstairs and wanted to 
 sp: ak to her, she almost fainted. If he merely had to tell 
 he I that he required more money for the shop, she felt 
 a 1 elief as great as though a crushing weight had been 
 Kfiad from her shoulders so that she could stand up, or 
 iro 1 bands were loosening round her neck so that she could 
 breathe again. Yes, yes, yes, of course, she quite under- 
 st< ) Dd. The shop was going magnificently, but high wages, 
 hi^,^h rent, high everything, had temporarily to be pro- 
 vided for. Exactly. With eager haste she signed what- 
 ev r papers he dictated. 
 
 They were living on capital, and she was not blind to 
 wl it these words imply; but in this respect she was care- 
 less, desperate, as to consequences. 
 
 The woman of business or manager that he had secured 
 for the shop was a Mrs. Ord-Knox. Roddy had intro- 
 dii(;ed her to his home circle as " the wife of a colonel," 
 ev dently considering this a full and sufficient description, 
 and perhaps unconsciously implying that it would be in- 
 delicate to inquire what colonel, or in which theatre of 
 war he might be looked for. Mrs. Knox for her part al- 
 lowed one immediately to infer that an estrangement had 
 supervened between her and her commanding officer. Pos- 
 sibly the colonel was one of those unfortunate people who 
 caanot support an excessive use of scent, in which case 
 one could understand that the estrangement was in- 
 ev itable ; for Mrs. Knox carried about with her an almost 
 overwhelming perfume of heliotrope. It was, indeed, so 
 very strong that the Vaughan's guileless parlourmaid 
 sneezed on the threshold of the drawing-room after an- 
 nouncing her. 
 
 She had dined at the house several times before the 
 fo mdation of the shop, and since going into business she 
 at:ended Roddy's biggest and most important parties. 
 
218 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 She was a rather tall woman of forty or more, with a 
 thin aquiline nose, pale grey eyes, and a large loose smil- 
 ing mouth that in moments of complete repose, and when 
 she thought herself free from observation, contracted and 
 lessened itself to the hard, thin lines indicative of a cold 
 and calculating temperament. In fact, on such rare oc- 
 casions, her whole face changed to a worn and battered 
 hardness from the voluptuously fascinating mask by which 
 Roddy and his pals were so evidently allured. For the 
 evening toilette she employed a considerable amount of 
 paint as well as powder, and dressed her brown curls in a 
 floppy style, although binding them low across her brows 
 with narrow bands of gold tinsel. She talked drawlingly, 
 raising her well-marked eyebrows when she laughed; 
 dropped the final g of such words as ripping, and gen- 
 erally aped the manner of the lady of quality as presented 
 to the public in conventional plays and second-class 
 novels. She had pretty little friendly gestures, as when 
 laying her hand on the sleeve of a neighbour's coat or 
 tapping his knee with the long pointed nails of her ciga- 
 rette-stained fingers ; and from the first Roddy had voted 
 her to be a clinker, without the least side or nonsense. 
 Claire disliked her neither more nor less than any other 
 of their guests. 
 
 They were appalling, these guests of the winter of 
 1916-17 — war friends of Roddy, other furniture dealers, 
 shop customers, wives of mysteriously missing officers like 
 Mrs. Knox, but younger; and their unmarried sisters, not 
 unlike the girls who are all day shopping in the Burling- 
 ton Arcade and who walk backwards and forwards for 
 miles before they find what they are looking for ; anybody 
 dubious, common, improper, as it were, pulled in out of 
 the street for a bit of fun by the large-hearted rollicking 
 host. Claire, anxious perhaps to-night because Gladys 
 had complained of a pain in her back and could not sleep, 
 lived through the evening as one lives through a long 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 219 
 
 JOL ^ey In a crowded third-class carriage, a visit to the 
 sU? IS, or an obscene play at a continental theatre. 
 
 ' "he jokes and chaff grew broader, louder. When the 
 mc 1 was over they sat long at table. Roddy behind a 
 cl( id of tobacco smoke, flushed, blissful, still plying the 
 wir ?, began to propose loyal toasts. Mrs. Knox's drawl 
 wa lost in the chorus of voices and only her perfume 
 rea :hed one. " Here's to Victory. Here's to Peace. 
 . Here's to the brave lads who are going to 
 see we get it. . . . Here's to the living, and here's to 
 th i dead. ..." It was dreadful to think of the Great 
 Cause, and then to think of this noisy, half-tipsy gang 
 dating for a moment to link themselves with its altruism 
 anci glory. 
 
 Two such orgies were rendered a little less unbearable to 
 CI 3 ire by the presence of someone of different mould, a 
 friend of her youth. 
 
 IValking one day with Gladys towards the Regent's 
 Park, she had met Evan Giles, the writer. He was carry- 
 ing books to the London Library, and looking as tired and 
 threadbare as the shabby old volumes themselves. He 
 wcke as if from a dream when Claire spoke to him, and his 
 sadly-lined face lit up with pleasure when he recognized 
 her. He stood talking, was sweet to Gladys, begged 
 permission to visit them; and Claire, grateful for his kind- 
 ness, touched by the wistful look in his eyes, by something 
 forlorn and disconsolate in his whole aspect, said they 
 were soon expecting friends to dinner and asked if he 
 would be good enough to join the party. He accepted 
 with alacrity, came once, and then again. 
 
 He was not shocked; he enjoyed himself. Claire noticed 
 that he drank very freely, ate little, and though for the 
 m)st part silent listened contentedly. He thanked her 
 w'len going, said it had done him good, tp,ken him out of 
 hi uself . 
 
 And Claire thought that in his case, of course. Tout 
 
220 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 ccymprendre, c'est tout pardonner; his own mind carried 
 such a beautiful delicate world of fancy that no common 
 people outside this world could ever make him uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 " You must come again, Mr. Giles, very soon." 
 
 " It will be a great kindness if you let me. Good-night, 
 dear Claire." 
 
 But Roddy would not treat him with respect ; was only 
 just civil enough to prevent an absent-minded, dreamy 
 man from seeing his rudeness. And for the second time 
 he put his foot down. Enormous as was the social descent 
 from those days when Emily's large bosom had suffered 
 twinges of envy because of the grand and smart folk enter- 
 tamed by her sister and brother-in-law, he still felt that 
 the company assembled at his hospitable board was too 
 good for Evan Giles. 
 
 " I tell you I won't have that shabby scarecrow here 
 again." 
 
 " Do you really forbid me to ask one of my oldest 
 friends ? " 
 
 " Put it like that, if you please. Yes, I do forbid 
 you." 
 
 At last Claire paid a visit to the shop. Necessity com- 
 pelled her. A doctor had lately frightened her by at- 
 tributing the back-aches of Gladys to some latent weak- 
 ness of the spine, and he advised that the child should 
 join a certain class for specially devised physical exercises. 
 The class would start to-morrow and Mrs. Vaughan must 
 decide at once. But Claire could not decide without 
 Roddy. She had not sufficient money. He was not com- 
 ing home to dinner, having announced that he would be 
 working at the shop all through the evening and probably 
 till late at night. They were stock-taking and making up 
 accounts there. 
 
 If she spoke to him about it all on the telephone, he 
 would almost certainly say No, Then what should she 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 221 
 
 dc Somehow or other, Gladys was going to that class ; a 
 w. e of indignation passed hotly through the mother's 
 bi ■ in as she thought of the question being even for a 
 m ] nent in doubt. How could one hesitate to give Gladys 
 th earth itself and all that it contained, if the gift would 
 mice her stronger and happier? However cowardly she 
 mi^ :ht be in things that related to herself, she would never 
 be a coward where Gladys was concerned. She deter- 
 m.] ed to go down to the shop at closing time, make him 
 cci sent and sanction the outlay. After all, it would be 
 le^i than the cost of a single dinner-party. 
 
 !3ut on the way to Bond Street her courage nearly aban- 
 dc I ed her. It was a wretched cold night, with fallen snow 
 jslcvly melting and seeming to give off a mist that made 
 the darkened streets still darker. The cold, the dark- 
 ness, and the heavy sense of the world's tragedy, made 
 Loadon horrible at night in these endless war winters. 
 People passed one as vaguely threatening forms, shapeless, 
 se iless, and nearly always silent. A momentary beam of 
 light from an opened door, the voice of an unseen speaker, 
 the music of a piano coming from behind drawn window 
 bl nds, startled without cheering one. In Bond Street 
 there were many more moving figures than she had met 
 with further north; and one of these phantoms tried to 
 keep pace with her, asking in an elderly, masculine voice, 
 "Why tripping so fast, O fair unknown?" Another, 
 bulking huge and barring the way, announced itself as a 
 Scotch Canadian private, and merely wished to know, 
 " Zlanst kindly show me the road to nearest hoot of 
 Y M.C.A.? " But she could not find her own way, much 
 le iS direct others. For a little while Roddy's place of 
 business evaded her altogether; and she tripped fast to 
 ard fro, peering through the darkness and thinking, 
 " This was the street of my fate. Somewhere quite near, 
 01 the other side of the road. Is the place where he 
 lo Iged, the place to which I went of my own will to take 
 
222 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 slavery in exchange for freedom, and seal the bargain with 
 a kiss.'' 
 
 A kindly, harmless little phantom of an errand boy 
 put her right at last, and found the shop door for her. A 
 shut motor car was standing outside it. 
 
 It was past closing time. They had turned out most of 
 the lights and were putting the shop to bed. Two young 
 women stretched hoUand shrouds over choice pieces of 
 furniture, a young man moved to and fro locking up show- 
 cases, and from some dim recess at the back came a sound 
 of voices and occasional laughter. Claire noticed that the 
 place seemed very empty. A small, richly-enamelled 
 writing-table confronted her like a reproachful ghost of 
 the Nappensol magnificence and immediately vanished as 
 the dust sheet went over it. 
 
 Then a rather pert girl in hat and jacket came forward 
 and asked what she wanted. 
 
 Captain Vaughan, the girl said, was in the office, but 
 he could not possibly see anyone. He and Mrs. Knox 
 were just going out to dinner. The car was waiting for 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, very well. I'll take a message to him, since you 
 insist. What name is it.^^ " 
 
 " I am Mrs. Vaughan." 
 
 The girl smiled very pertly, stared hard at Claire, and 
 turned away still smiling. At the sound of her name both 
 the young man and the two young women had looked 
 round quickly and were regarding Claire with curious 
 interest. Then, before the message could be delivered, Mrs. 
 Knox and her escort came laughing gaily from the back 
 shop. 
 
 Mrs. Knox looked very grand, with her golden circlets 
 faintly gleaming, her curls flopping down to her eyes, and 
 her thin hook nose touching the collar of her immense fur 
 cloak. She started and stopped short at sight of Claire, 
 but greeted her with drawling courtesy; while 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 223 
 
 R: idy, not seeing her so quickly, was visibly dis- 
 co] certed. 
 
 Hullo, Claire,'' he said, recovering^ from his embarrass- 
 meit. "We're off to the Alhambra. A pal unexpect- 
 ed! J sent me seats, and I'm giving Mrs. Knox a bit of 
 feed somewhere before the show." 
 
 • But has Mrs. Vaughan dined? " drawled Mrs. Knox. 
 " C h, but yes — surely — won't Mrs. Vaughan come and 
 feil with us? It's the Ritz, isn't it? No distance." 
 
 ' • You're very kind, but, no, thank you," said Claire. 
 " C nly if you will allow me to speak to my husband for 
 a moment. I won't detain him." 
 
 **Why, surely, indeed, yes," drawled Mrs. Knox; and 
 sh; passed on. 
 
 (I)laire in a low voice told Roddy why she had disturbed 
 hini, and he at once gave his consent to all that she asked. 
 
 '• Yes, of course, certainly. Anything for the child's 
 welfare," he said good-humouredly and loudly, as if not 
 unwilling that his words should be overheard by Mrs. Knox, 
 who stood waiting for him at the door. " Hang the ex- 
 pense. When did I ever deny her anything? Now if you 
 really won't come on to the Ritz I must be off. I shall 
 re:um here to finish my work after the show. So I may 
 be very late, as I said." And he hurried away with the 
 lady in the fur cloak. 
 
 This was Claire's first plain intimation of Roddy's un- 
 fa thfulness ; and as she walked home through the cold and 
 darkness she thought of it for a little while. To have 
 m(t the solid fact in this sudden manner, like a blow in 
 th? face, with the whole shop watching, understanding, 
 and grinning at her, should have been something quite 
 in ;upportable to her pride as a wife ; and, nevertheless, 
 as she hurried on her heart was warmed by comparatively 
 joy^ous thoughts. What really mattered was all right; 
 he r poor little girl would not be deprived of the gymnastic 
 tr ^atment. Gladys was to be given this new chance. 
 
224 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Had she not known till now that his manager was also 
 his mistress? "Oh, but, yes, surely" she must have 
 known; at least, could not be surprised. Unfortunately 
 the arrangement did not seem to promise well for the 
 success of the shop. It must be very expensive — that 
 fur coat, the car! The scent was probably quite cheap. 
 Then as the thought of Gladys mingled again with these 
 musings she felt something approaching gratitude to Mrs, 
 Knox. It had been the presence of Mrs. Knox just now 
 that made everything so easy. If Mrs. Knox had not 
 been there, all dressed in her best and ready for the evening 
 treat, Roddy would not have felt constraint, possibly even 
 faint contrition; and in that case he might have refused. 
 Claire walked on swiftly and lightly through the snow and 
 mud of unswept pavements, thinking no more of the 
 joyous pair who were hobnobbing in the candle light at 
 a little table of the dearly loved hotel. She thought with 
 hope of the child whose arms would soon be round her 
 neck. Nothing else mattered really. Gladys was to have 
 her chance. 
 
 For a time now Claire enjoyed immunity from certain 
 of her troubles. There was a cessation of the dinner- 
 parties. Roddy apparently was kept busy at the shop on 
 most nights. He returned in the small hours and slept on 
 a camp bedstead in his dressing-room, continued to sleep 
 on it all through the morning sometimes and came down 
 to luncheon with eyes rather blood-shot and a hand that 
 shook so that it once broke a glass when he was helping 
 himself to whisky. In this tremulous, exhausted con- 
 dition he used to mumble about shell shock — " Never quite 
 the same afterwards. It finds you out. Touches the weak 
 spots,'' and so on; — but in spite of the nervous debility 
 he swore with such vigour at the servants that three 
 parlour-maids gave notice within a month. He looked so 
 big and ugly as he came into the dining-room that it was 
 difficult to overcome the qualms of Gladys and make her I 
 
 J 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 225 
 
 \ m forward to kiss him as he wished. But he was often 
 
 ^ay from home altogether. He sought sea air at the 
 ' eek-end, and some unknown friend of Claire once sent 
 } er a common little newspaper with a marked paragraph 
 ! 1 its society news giving a list of the people who stayed 
 I ist week at the Hotel Metropole, Brighton. The list in- 
 < luded the names of Captain and Mrs. " Roddy " Vaughan. 
 
 Then, in due course, the furniture shop went to smash. 
 lie came home sad and doleful, sighing lis he told Claire 
 fhat the luck had run against him cruelly and he almost 
 wished that he was dead. The fact was that he had merely 
 imptied the shop, obtaining good prices for all articles 
 J old, but never replacing them with fresh stock. The 
 money had all gone in fun and riot. With the aid of Mrs. 
 jJnox, one might say without exaggeration, he had simply 
 devoured the shop. And his low spirits were due to the 
 callous behaviour of Mrs. Knox. In presence of the 
 disaster she had deserted him. Never again would he have 
 the solace in toil that had been provided by the slow music 
 of the languid voice, the touch of those wavy curls, the 
 lulling and soothing fragrance of the heliotrope. 
 
 Claire understood why he was sad. Indeed he almost 
 seemed ready to speak of the misfortune that had befallen 
 him, and plainly sought consolation and sympathy. But 
 she did not at once realize the consequences to herself of 
 Mrs. Knox's unkindness. She shivered as her ear caught 
 the ancient and disused words of endearment — " Dear old 
 Claire! Always a dear, aren't you? By Jove, when a 
 man's down on his luck and feels all the world's against 
 him, it's something to have one faithful heart to turn to. 
 Bring your chair round, and sit by me, Claire. I'm afraid 
 I've neglected you of late; but you mustn't think I've 
 ceased to value you, yes, and to admire you, and think 
 pretty things about you. You're my own old Claire, aren't 
 you? " 
 
 And the pitiful struggle ensued — the miserable struggle 
 
226 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 made by thousands of wives in Claire's situation, the hope- 
 less effort to save a little self-respect from the wreck of all 
 else. They are willing to forgive, to forget, but not im- 
 mediately to condone. Flesh and blood, body and brain, 
 every smallest thread of tissue, each tiniest nerve-cell, make 
 them recoil in disgust. There is scarcely a task so vile 
 that they would not without flinching face it, rather than 
 subside into the still warm place vacated by the woman 
 who has wronged them, and tamely suffer the caresses of 
 which she has unexpectedly grown tired. Claire made 
 the struggle — and was beaten. He was her master still, 
 with all a master's rights. 
 
 But to her fear was now added a violent physical 
 repulsion. By no effort of imagination would she ever 
 again recover the old mental picture in which she saw re- 
 deeming features or qualities. The sight of his sensual 
 lips, his fattening jowl, his great shoulders and bull neck, 
 stirred her to the depths with disgust. When he forced 
 his face close to hers she shut her eyes, felt faint, felt sick. 
 Even when he put his arm round her waist or patted her 
 on the back as they passed from one room to another, she 
 sometimes nearly shrieked aloud. 
 
 He became a wine merchant, and just as he had eaten 
 all the furniture he drank all the wine. He was habitually 
 drinking in excess, and had not needed the temptation of 
 trade facilities. After that he was associated with partners 
 in some coal selling. When the coal burnt itself out he 
 took to leather goods. 
 
 Then there came another crash in his affairs. It was 
 the usual thing — another proposal to realize securities 
 and pull him straight. 
 
 " But you are ruining us utterly," said Claire, " Soon 
 we shall have nothing left." 
 
 She tried to argue with him, but he only replied that a 
 couple of thousand pounds were so vitally necessary that 
 he could not do without them. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 227 
 
 -^hen with breathless eagerness she made a proposal on 
 he ] side. She said she consented to raise the money if he 
 Ef eed to their hving apart. He was staggered by this 
 al lormal suggestion, and said she must have taken leave 
 oi her senses. 
 
 ' Are you mad? My word, that's a nice thing to say« 
 Y u and I part ? " He spluttered with indignation. " Da 
 yoi really mean you would entertain such an idea?" 
 
 She meant it with all her soul ; and with all her strength 
 si ( pleaded that the idea might be converted into solid 
 f e ( t. There need be no scandal, no recriminations. People 
 ii( id never know that they had made the agreement. 
 Courts of law need not be approached or have anything 
 to do with it. They would get a deed drawn up binding 
 eaoh other. It would be quite easy. 
 
 " Where have you got all this from? How do you 
 know such a dashed lot about it?" 
 
 " Roddy, I have found out, because I have been thinking 
 so much about it. Lots of people do it. It's always 
 being done. Not what they call a judicial separation — 
 but just a deed — an agreement that we enter into and 
 c.in't break." 
 
 He was angry. He would never, never consent. He 
 clung to the notion that enemies to him had been poisoning 
 her mind, priming her for mischief. If not, he asked, how 
 could she have thought of it? 
 
 " Because I'm so unhappy ; and, Roddy, I — I feel I 
 cm't go on." 
 
 But she had to go on. His was the sovereign will; he 
 forced her still to bow to it. The money he required was 
 s applied to him, and he gave nothing in exchange. 
 
 No member of the real business world could meet him 
 "v ithout at once seeing that he was a man fast going down 
 1 ill. He failed to keep appointments, forgot unposted 
 litters in his pocket, became almost too indolent even to 
 
228 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 talk of doing work. He let chances of gain slip by him, 
 and knew that they were gone without remorse. He did 
 not care to think of his big hopes and wide ambitions; 
 he laughed away his sense of disappointment and failure, 
 drowned all his sorrows in drink. Yet he never quite lost 
 belief in himself and his star. At the core of him there 
 was still a glow, a hope, or an instinctive faith in the 
 indestructibility, the everlasting glory of that central 
 phenomenon of the universe known to men as Roddy 
 Vaughan. 
 
 Something would happen — and he knew it must be some- 
 thing prodigiously stimulating — to rouse him again to 
 action and success. He was under an eclipse; but, after 
 all, this semi-darkness was only pro tern. 
 
 And the strongest of all his appetites remained just as 
 powerful as when he had been at his very best. In his 
 widespread love-makings he was again the hardy adven- 
 turous hunter of the far-off past. Nothing feminine came 
 amiss. After the thinness and high-bred languors of Mrs. 
 Knox, he found the plumpness and loud slang of a music- 
 hall artist a refreshing change. In this topsy-turvy 
 London of the war, variety was never lacking, the game 
 on foot never scarce. Dark girls, fair girls; chestnut 
 locks and apple cheeks beneath white hoods; pale faces 
 and tired eyes shaded by service caps ; girls whose essential 
 charm burst the disguise of their soldier's stiff uniforms or 
 nurse's ugly gowns, and exploded with an emotional shock 
 that thrilled him through and through — there was always 
 something strange and new to run after. A girl in khaki 
 trousers off a motor car evoked a passion that three long 
 weeks scarcely cooled. 
 
 But he always came back to Claire in the end. Some- 
 thing he found with her that was nowhere else in all the 
 vast town. In each renewal of that particular love-making 
 he felt again, if faintly, the charm that she had exercised 
 over him at the very beginning; illusive but delightful, a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 229 
 
 ^ ace that could not be imitated, a sweet seduction that 
 T^ .8 her herself. She was the real tip-topper ; and whether 
 s ' e loved him, feared him, or hated liim, he felt that he 
 i t uld not let her go. 
 
 " Dear old girl, why are you so snappy to me? Don't 
 ;) >u see that I want to make it up. Can't you let bygones 
 I bygones.?'' 
 
 Even if he was silent, smoking his pipe reflectively, only 
 ^: ancing at her from time to time, Claire understood, 
 ho words were needed. Before he took her by the wrist, 
 slid his hand up her arm, gently drew her to him, and gave 
 1 ?r a wine-tainted kiss, she knew that her turn had come 
 lound again. 
 
 In the morning when the light came creeping in and 
 she saw his face upon the pillow at her side, she sprang 
 C) it of the bed. He would go on sleeping like this for many 
 ir ore hours ; but she looked back, dreading that her sudden 
 violent movement might have wakened him. She looked 
 at him, his hair all tangled, his puify cheeks sleep-soiled, 
 n red stubble glistening on his heavy chin beneath the un- 
 combed moustache; and she fled into the bathroom to 
 wash herself — to wash in hot water and in cold water, 
 leeling that she could never wash away the stain of con- 
 tact with those lips. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 ^'y^^^H, Mother, help me. I'm too miserable. But for 
 ■ m Gladys, I should commit suicide." 
 
 ^^-^ "Claire!" 
 
 " I do still belong to you all. Other families don't allow 
 anyone belonging to them to suffer as I have. They inter- 
 fere — to protect her, to save her. Mother, don't refuse. 
 Help me — let the others help me." 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour sat aghast. It was comparatively late in 
 the evening, and Claire had found her alone in the dining- 
 room seated by a meagre wood fire, and still knitting; 
 like the last gallant survivor of those knitting parties 
 that used to assemble so light-heartedly in the days when 
 the war was young and gay. Instinct and not reason had 
 brought Claire here. It was the cry of an almost broken 
 heart suddenly destroying that myth of the happy mar- 
 riage in which Mrs. Gilmour had taken pleasure for such 
 a long time. 
 
 " I fear, Claire, that you would find every single member 
 of the family raise insuperable objections to your pro- 
 posal ; " and she was about to rise from her chair, but 
 her daughter clung to her arm and detained her. 
 
 " Mother dear, don't get up and walk about. At least 
 stay by me. I'm so utterly alone, except for my darling 
 Gladys, that you don't know what comfort I feel even in 
 holding your hand like this. Don't, don't make me feel 
 that I'm quite nothing to you — that I am cast out, and 
 abandoned to my fate." 
 
 " My dear child, of course not. You are evidently 
 greatly overwrought, or you would not use such ex- 
 pressions. But now collect yourself and tell me with 
 complete frankness what has put all this into your head ? " 
 
 230 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 231 
 
 Then in order to support her case Claire told the story 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Granville Budleigh. 
 
 virs. Granville triumphantly defying Granville had gone 
 to France and driven a motor car for months and months. 
 Ti en they had come together again, living in London be- 
 ca ise Granville was temporarily employed at the War 
 Oi^ce, and their quarrels were worse than ever. But now 
 his family had intervened, and decided that in the interest 
 of all parties — themselves, as much as the unhappy pair 
 — :he union must be brought to an end. Lady Paramont, 
 fill ling strength for this as well as for all her gigantic 
 war activities, had convened the heads of the family, and 
 hj.l insisted that the lamentable state of affairs could 
 nob be allowed to continue. Without saddling the re- 
 sponsibility and blame on either of them, she had just 
 fi]';nly insisted that they must be separated. And the 
 whole family had agreed that separation was the only cure 
 for insupportable distresses. 
 
 '^ I do not know them," said Mrs. Gilmour simply. 
 " Brimling Budling, do you say ? I have never even heard 
 the name." 
 
 " But Uncle Derek knows them well. Mother. He is a 
 vory old friend, if not a connection ; and he approves most 
 heartily. He came to tell me about it, and he said : ^ Why 
 should two people be allowed to tear themselves to pieces.'^ 
 Is not such a cat-and-dog existence a travesty of mar- 
 riage? ' Mother, on my honour, those were Uncle Derek's 
 V(ry words. They made such an impression on me that 
 I am not likely to forget them — for, naturally, they made 
 me think of myself." 
 
 " Derek is carried away by the tide of these new, and to 
 my mind, thoroughly objectionable ideas. It is the war, 
 I suppose, turning everything upside down — and, as bad 
 a ; the war itself, all these new people suddenly rich, while 
 W3ll-bred, self-respecting people are being slowly ruined." 
 A nd Mrs. Gilmour figeted her legs and sighed. " I pray 
 
232 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 that we shall return to saner notions in the years to 
 come." 
 
 Claire assured her that Granville Budleigh's people did 
 not belong to the newly rich; they were well-bred people, 
 yery old-established, just the sort of people that her 
 mother had always respected. 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour only shook her head. 
 
 " Claire," she said all at once, " You really must excuse 
 me and not think it unkind if I get up. It is not only 
 that I have been bothered with pins and needles in my 
 feet since the shortage of fuel began and roaring fires 
 became a thing of the past, but with me movement always 
 aids the action of the mind. I seem to think better when 
 on my legs." Then she gave Claire's hand a friendly 
 squeeze, got up, and began to move about the room. 
 
 " And certainly, Claire, if ever anything demanded 
 careful thought, it is the communication you have made 
 to me. I can't conceal from you that it has fallen as a 
 dreadful blow. But you were right to tell me, Claire; 
 and already I begin to hope that, having eased yourself 
 by this confidence, you will soon feel able to take a more 
 cheerful view ; " and she paced to and fro for a little while 
 in silence. " I am trying to recall the name of a play 
 written by Sir Arthur Pinero. Across the Seas! No, that 
 is wrong. I have it on the tip of my tongue." And 
 suddenly she stopped walking and turned triumphantly. 
 " Mid'Chan/nel! Did you ever see that play acted, 
 Claire?" 
 
 " No, Mother," said Claire in a desolate voice ; " but 
 I have read it. I know exactly what you are going ta 
 say." 
 
 " I don't think you can, Claire. I was going to say 
 that to my mind you and Roddy are simply in the position 
 of the characters in the play — the husband and wife who 
 disagreed. You and Roddy are in mid-channel." 
 
 " No," said Claire forlornly, " we're in the middle of the. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 23a 
 
 1) lantic Ocean, with our ship split in two by icebergs, 
 ^ ing down, and no help in sight. And you forget, the 
 \ fe in the play killed herself." 
 
 "Claire!" 
 
 As she sat gazing at the hearth the flames of the wood 
 f e were sufficient to light up her face, showing the delicate 
 \ ofile and the slender chin all bright and aglow, ob- 
 1 erating with radiance that look of a person over-driven^ 
 \ \ nted, vainly seeking escape, which might have been ob- 
 s : rved when she was speaking just now. But the drooping 
 .8 J dness of her attitude somehow forced itself painfully on 
 t e attention of Mrs. Gilmour, and it was with great 
 alfection that she came and patted Claire's shoulder before 
 s ]e resumed her promenade. 
 
 "I have been so proud of you, dear — really citing you 
 as an instance and an example. To me marriage has 
 always been such a sacred thing — there is no other word 
 for it. And when I saw you so thoroughly happy, as I 
 always believed, and never a breath of scandal — not sa 
 n.uch as a whisper — well, it was a constant joy to my 
 Mother's heart. Seeing you so pretty, and so greatly 
 admired — seeming at one time drifting towards the vortex 
 : the very smartest set — and no one able to hint a word 
 to your disparagement, you don't know how proud it made 
 n e. And now in a moment to be told that we are to be 
 plunged into what must be a terrible scandal." 
 
 " There need be no scandal. Mother, I have done 
 n>thing wrong." 
 
 " But what would everybody think when they heard 
 y3u were separated from your husband.'^ What would 
 n 3t the talk be — even if the newspapers left us alone? I 
 siiould simply feel myself a prisoner in this house. I could 
 n)t go out and face people. Oh, no, Claire," and Mrs. 
 G ihnour spoke with much feeling, " you really must spare 
 Ui. As your mother, I do appeal to you not to drag us- 
 a 1 through such an ordeal as that,'' 
 
234. FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire said little more ; but while her mother talked on 
 stared at the dancing flames of the fire. They were not 
 unlike Mrs. Gilmour's thoughts: flashing feebly here and 
 there, fading, dying down, then bursting out in another 
 place, and again returning to the same spot. 
 
 " Take Cyril to begin with. He would never for a 
 moment consent." And, digressing, Mrs. Gilmour enlarged 
 upon her delight in Cyril's marvellous change of character. 
 The war had been the making of him. He was now a stafF- 
 officer; also a man with settled convictions, grave and 
 serious, full of lofty aims, and holding the very strictest 
 views with regard to propriety and decorum of conduct in 
 all relations of life. " And that reminds me of the havoc 
 that would be wrought in Cyril's career if you persisted — 
 yes, I must say it, — if you selfishly persisted after what 
 I am going to tell you. It is a secret — ^but no matter. 
 Cyril did not go to see you during his last leave, did he? 
 No. Well, dear, he was very much occupied.'^ She said 
 this archly and gaily. Then in a solemn tone she told the 
 secret of Cyril's engagement to Lady Esther Leach, the 
 elder daughter of that well-known religious and philan- 
 thropic peer. Lord Bedminster. The young lady was a 
 little older than Cyril, but a noble, high-minded creature, 
 reared in the midst of piety and good works. Now was 
 it to be supposed that either she or her relatives would 
 continue to contemplate alliance with a family concerning 
 which Claire had occasioned chatter and evil report? The 
 match would be at once broken and Cyril's heart with it. 
 " No, dear, is it likely that you will get any assistance 
 from Cyril?" 
 
 Then she told Claire another secret. Leonard Joyce 
 had deserved well of his country by working at one of the 
 new ministries after his own office hours, and Emily was 
 eagerly waiting for the next Honours List, confident that 
 her husband's name would appear in it under the heading. 
 Knighthoods. Further, Claire's eldest brother John, for 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 235 
 
 err : lent services in connection with shipping, would almost 
 cer ainly be given his long-delayed and over-ripe baron- 
 et( . But might not the Government, now more than 
 ev cautious as to public opinion, be fearful of permitting 
 th fountain of honour to play upon anybody whose con- 
 ne :ions were involved in domestic disputes and consequent 
 ill latured gossip? " No, it would be idle to expect either 
 L( ( nard or John to take such a risk, and back you up> 
 CI ire, at such a time as this." 
 
 . md Mrs. Gilmour summed up this side of the argument 
 b} asking Claire, in effect, could she be cruel enough for 
 he: own selfish ends and rather than submitting patiently 
 to I little personal discomfort, to rob Cyril of an eminently 
 re i pectable wife and deprive Emily, Leonard, and John of 
 the legitimate gratification of a very natural and proper 
 desire? 
 
 ♦ Then Mrs. Gilmour said a few words about herself. 
 The war had not made her feel younger. Rather the 
 reverse. Upsets upset her more than they used to do, 
 *^ At my age, nights passed in the coal cellar when these 
 inhuman fiends are bombing the defenceless town naturally 
 try the health. I have answered every call in a patriotic 
 sf irit, without murmuring, and still this appalling taxation 
 increases. My means, once considered large, are dwindling 
 to nothing. Cyril's marriage will probably clean me out — 
 a^ Leonard would say. High prices, fuel not available, 
 food scarce, restrictions on lighting! No, believe me, 
 C aire, these are not comfortable times to live in, either 
 fcr you or anybody else. First they took my horses, then 
 it was my car. I made no complaint. What must be, 
 n ust be. Three-quarters of the house are shut up. Nearly 
 a 1 the women servants are gone. I am reduced to a 
 S(»litary candle in the hall to save electricity. I dare 
 s ly you noticed it. What would your father have said? 
 ]\[y odd man is now an old, old fellow who comes every 
 n orning, and looks just like a Chelsea Pensioner out of 
 
236 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 uniform. Last of all, if you please, they wanted to take 
 Belton from me. But that," said Mrs. Gilmour very 
 sternly, *^ they shall not do. Nothing shall make me part 
 with old Belton." 
 
 Then her features relaxed and she smiled playfully. 
 ** This will amuse you, Claire. Between you and me, 
 Belton is not nearly as old as he pretends. He keeps 
 adding on the years to keep pace with the rising age limit. 
 And always telling me tales about his infirmities! He 
 shuffles about the house limping from chronic rheumatism, 
 and he coughs, and waits at table in spectacles alleging 
 defective eye-sight. Emily said I ought to make him go; 
 but I thought that rather heartless of Emily — especially, 
 considering her tenacity in keeping Leonard safe at home." 
 
 Claire, walking away from the house, thought of her 
 family with all the bitterness of which she was capable. 
 They would not help her, they made light of her trouble. 
 They could not understand that it must be great indeed 
 if it carried such loss of pride, as might be inferred by her 
 being willing to let them know of it. Engrossed in their 
 own affairs, they would not stir a finger on her behalf. 
 And comparing them with that other family, the larger- 
 minded relatives of Mr. and Mrs. Budleigh, she remembered 
 what an unconverted Cyril used to say years and years 
 ago. They were middle-class, half and half people, this 
 family of hers; timid in their virtues, living always on 
 the smooth surface of things ; and dreading even a glimpse 
 of the depths beneath. 
 
 She was going home by train from Sloane Square 
 station, and as she passed the church she thought of her 
 wedding. Just perceptible in the darkness the sacred 
 building loomed high and black above her, its iron railings 
 and chained gates invisible though almost within reach 
 of her hand. Closed at night, it still did a brisk business 
 by day. Claire thought of her own wedding and the hun- 
 dreds of weddings solemnized there since then; the con- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 237 
 
 I act lightly entered; the clergy taking no future re- 
 
 )onsibility5 asking no questions, unless inquiring what 
 ' ctras were required, such as music, singing, flowers, and! 
 
 •d carpets, pocketing their fees, just tying people to- 
 . 3ther without a thought as to whether their piece of work 
 ' as likely to lead to misery or not. 
 
 Presently on the station platform, hustled and pushed 
 r > and fro by the endless war crowd which now always 
 s »emed in movement, even late at night like this, she was 
 linking of how she had met Roddy here that day when 
 re accompanied her on her visit to Nurse Mitchell. They 
 stood just here watching the indicator board, waiting for 
 ttie little fiery arrow to announce the Richmond train; 
 ibe contended and at ease, innocent of all evil; and he gal- 
 Unt, deferential, wrapping her round with solicitous care. 
 When the two lights came gliding towards them out of 
 the tunnel, he gently led her forward. If she had known, 
 it would have been better to throw herself under the train 
 than get into the carriage with him. 
 
 About a week later she received a letter from Cyril 
 imploring her not to allow her difference with Roddy to 
 grow wider. The curious priggish eloquence of the letter 
 astounded, her. Truly the war had changed him from the 
 Cyril who would not get up of a morning, and whose 
 thoughts were habitually set to the music of revue choruses. 
 He quoted the poetry of Rupert Brooke and the essays 
 of " A Student in Arms " nowadays. 
 
 He said nothing of his engagement, as if that was a 
 matter too delicate and refined for allusion when speaking 
 to somebody in Claire's present state of mind; and his 
 last sentence was at once an insult and a command. Lap- 
 sing towards slanginess, he told Claire to " drop it," to 
 " run straight," and never to bring disgrace upon those 
 who had always wished her well. 
 
 But Claire could not drop it at the outrageously- 
 worded command of her brother Cyril, 
 
238 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Suddenly she had an idea that seemed like an inspiration. 
 There was one person who would not only understand 
 everything, but be able to give her counsel and guidance. 
 That was Evan Giles. She had the innocent and still not 
 uncommon belief that an author is wise and far-knowing 
 beyond other men; moreover, Mr. Giles was a very old 
 friend for whom she had always felt great respect. From 
 her childhood he on his side had treated her with a very 
 special consideration, showing in a hundred ways that he 
 held her in affectionate regard. Mr. Giles would help 
 her. 
 
 So she set forth at dusk one afternoon to seek him in his 
 home at St. John's Wood. The houses of his road were 
 low and old-fashioned, with little front gardens and tiny 
 carriage drives ; but this part of the town had been knocked 
 about by air raids and many of the garden gates were 
 barricaded. The whole road had a deserted and abandoned 
 aspect as she passed along it in the gathering darkness. 
 
 She found the house at the end of the road, and as she 
 stood on the steps of the porch, she heard sounds of noisy 
 mirthful voices within. 
 
 A slatternly maid-servant said that Mr. Giles was at 
 home, and Mrs. Giles too. " Come in," said the servant. 
 " I want to shut the door. The police are so mighty 
 particular about the lights showing." 
 
 Claire obeyed, but with embarrassment. She had not 
 thought of Mrs. Giles. She knew that her old friend was 
 married, although he never spoke of his wife. She had 
 never seen Mrs. Giles at Hague House, or anywhere else. 
 
 " This way," said the servant, and next moment Claire 
 was plunged into a brilliantly lighted dining-room with 
 the merry party whose laughter she had heard all seated 
 round the table at tea. 
 
 Mrs. Giles, a stout, red-faced woman of over forty, wel- 
 comed her in a manner which, although sufficiently cordial, 
 did not set her at her ease. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 239 
 
 • Never? " said this lady. " Mrs. Roderick Vaughan — 
 M is Gilmour that was! Well, this is a surprise — and an 
 uii xpected honour, too, I'm sure. Make room, you boys. 
 G : up, Vi ; " and she reproved her daughter for want of 
 m nners. " Now, Major, squeeze in a chair next to you. 
 E^an, why don't you take Mrs. Vaughan's scarf, instead 
 oi gaping helpless ? " And she laughed. " The most help- 
 les 5 being on this earth, Mrs. Vaughan — that husband of 
 ml le. Do please be seated." 
 
 ' So glad to see you, Claire," Evan Giles was mur- 
 m I ring nervously. " So very glad, indeed. Vi, I'll take 
 your chair, and Mrs. Vaughan shall have mine." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Miss Giles gaily. " She must sit next 
 to the author of * Blind Purposes.' We're very proud of 
 hiin, you know, though we don't read his books." 
 
 " And precious few other people read 'em either, as far 
 as I can make out," said Mrs. Giles curtly. 
 
 Gradually then the disturbance caused by Claire's ar- 
 rival subsided; everybody sat down again, and conver- 
 sation was generally resumed. The daughter, a girl of 
 twenty-one or twenty-two, was in uniform, and she laughed 
 and joked freely with two young men who were dressed 
 as officers of the Flying Corps. The major belonged to 
 the A.S.C., with his headquarters somewhere close by. He 
 also was red in the face, and neither so young nor so thin 
 as he used to be. Evidently he enjoyed a reputation for 
 having a merry tongue ; and Mrs. Giles said once that he 
 would be the death of her if he did not stop whispering. 
 She gave Claire to understand that the major was a 
 privileged person, and described him as an old flirt of hers. 
 J. thin, weather-beaten man of middle life had civilian 
 cDstume of a sporting character, with an immense white 
 hunting-scarf. He was part proprietor of livery stables, 
 e s Mrs. Giles explained, and throughout the war had been 
 luying horses for the Government. She called him her 
 ^ faithful aide-de-camp," and when he and the major con- 
 
240 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tested the right to fill her glass with more whisky and 
 soda water, she said she would not have them quarrelling. 
 And she bridled, and smiled at Claire, nodded as if to imply 
 that these two were always disputing her favours and 
 needed tactful management. Then, as if doubtful 
 whether she had made her meaning apparent, she said, 
 " Oh, these men, Mrs. Vaughan 1 What a lot of keeping 
 in order they require, don't they? They pretend to be 
 our slaves, but always wanting to tyrannize. But I needn't 
 tell you anything — the beautiful Mrs. Vaughan, as they 
 used to call you in the papers. How they did put your 
 pictures in, to be sure! But, of course, the war has cut 
 down the papers to nothing. Ruined literature, too — if 
 we're to believe my husband's tale." 
 
 It was afternoon tea, but everybody except the host 
 and his daughter was taking something stronger. There 
 were decanters and black bottles on the sideboard; and 
 Mrs. Giles again criticized Miss Vi's want of manners, 
 because she did not persuade Mrs. Vaughan to have a 
 glass of cura9ao after walking about in the fog 
 and cold. 
 
 " It's old stuff," she said. " Real cura9ao — ^pre-war." 
 
 " Ah, me," said the major, ceasing to be merry, and 
 speaking with great seriousness. " The old stuff is be- 
 coming scarcer every day. I don't know what we are 
 coming to." And he lamented the loss of certain of his 
 official privileges. He could no longer get whisky out 
 of bond and give a bottle or two of the real article to 
 friends, as he used to do in the earlier days of the war. 
 
 Then again they laughed and joked amongst themselves, 
 leaving Claire unquestioned, while she drank her cup of 
 luke-warm tea. They were all going later on to a place of 
 entertainment, the major driving them first to a restaurant 
 in his big Government car; but there was time for a 
 game of bridge between now and then. Mrs. Giles and 
 her two flirts would play cards, and one of the flying 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 241 
 
 ofi cers should make a fourth, while the other " did a quiet 
 S]i ion, with Vi." There tvas much pleasant fun as to 
 wl ich should play and which should sit out. All talked 
 t(/ ^ether. 
 
 •' I'll toss you for the lady. Heads the spoon, tails the 
 ta )le." ..." I'll stand your losses, and you shall keep 
 y: iir gains if you'll give her up to me." ..." Oh, you 
 boys." . . . "Mother, I object. I'm not going to be 
 bmdied about in this undignified manner." . . . "All 
 rijjht, let her decide herself." . . . "Now, that's a fair 
 o:Ter." ..." Miss Vi, say which you prefer, and put them 
 
 t of their misery." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Miss Vi archly, " that would be telling." 
 
 In the midst of it all, Evan Giles sat silent and re* 
 pressed, only rousing himself to murmur nervously to 
 Claire. He looked old and worn and sad, his long grey 
 hfir untidy, his velveteen jacket faded and rubbed, quite 
 threadbare at the wrists. Claire noticed, too — indeed, no 
 one could have helped noticing — the lack of respect shown 
 to him, both by his wife and his daughter. They made 
 stupid jokes about him, as though it was a custom of the 
 house. The daughter was merely flippant; but the wife 
 \\'as rude, and one caught an ugly, sneering tone in her 
 voice that was very repellent. 
 
 " Won't Mr. Giles take a hand? " said one of the young 
 men. 
 
 " The talented author of The Dreaw, Valley doesn't 
 Inow one card from another," said his daughter. 
 
 " Mark of genius, we're to suppose," said his wife 
 sneeringly. 
 
 "P'raps Mrs. Vaughan will oblige.?" 
 
 " No," said Giles gently. " Mrs. Vaughan and I are 
 i;oing to have a quiet chat together. You must come into 
 3 ly den, Claire." 
 / " Den ! " said Mrs. Giles. " Pig-sty, / call it. And, 
 
 1 Dok here, Evan, if you're going to drag Mrs. Vaughan in 
 
242 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 there, you just ring the bell and tell the girl to light the 
 gas fire." 
 
 " I'll light it myself," said Giles quietly. " Put on your 
 cloak again, Claire. Let me help you." 
 
 He led her across the narrow hall into the untidiest 
 room that she had ever seen in her life. It was lined 
 with book-shelves, but half the books that ought to have 
 been on the shelves were on the floor, or on the large, 
 central writing-table, or on the seats of chairs; and the 
 remainder were tossed about as if mischievous children 
 had been playing with them. Everywhere, in basket trays 
 and large portfolios, overflowing from the central table 
 and other tables, there was an inextricable confusion of 
 papers. Everything was dusty. The whole room smelt of 
 dust and tobacco smoke, and when Giles rose from his 
 knees after lighting the fire it began to smell of gas, too. 
 
 " It is sweet of you to come like this, Claire, and I am 
 truly glad to see you. Such ages since we met — those 
 jolly parties at your house. I hope the world has been 
 treating you well — and your pretty little Gladys." 
 
 Now was the time for Claire to speak of her trouble and 
 ask for his advice. But she could not do it. He was so 
 evidently a man worried, harassed by his own thoughts. 
 Absent-minded often, he now seemed preoccupied with 
 some permanent care ; here, in his own house, he was ill at 
 ease, nervous, quite different from the Evan Giles she had 
 come to find. She must postpone the purpose of her 
 visit. 
 
 " And this Is your workshop? " she said sympathet- 
 ically ; with genuine reverence and interest, yet innocently 
 echoing the phrase of the professional visitor — " the room 
 in which you do your beautiful work ? " 
 
 " My beautiful work ! " And he gave a sigh like a 
 groan. Then he went on, with a smile, *' Yes, dear Claire, 
 this IS the hallowed spot where I scribble away for dear 
 life. My work just now is what we call book-making 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 243 
 
 rj her than book-writing. Historical monographs ! And 
 I't . doing a little criticism — articles for the quarterlies. 
 Tl e solider form of fiction has gone down in this war, like 
 S( many other solid things." 
 
 rhey talked about books for a little while, although 
 h ' seemed to be listening to the ebb and flow of noise that 
 cu ne from the card-players on the other side of the hall. 
 E showed a sense of relief when Claire got up to go ; but 
 he said he would walk with her to the station. 
 
 •' I'll say good-bye for you. But, no," he added 
 n-; rvously, " perhaps you had better do it yourself, if you 
 don't mind;" and he opened a door. "Mrs. Vaughan 
 is going." 
 
 " Oh, good-bye," said Mrs. Giles, without rising from 
 tlie card-table. " Very pleased to have made your ac- 
 qoaintance. . . . Now, where are we? Major, you said 
 Two Hearts, didn't you? Very well. Three diamonds." 
 
 Giles seemed more at ease directly they were outside the 
 house, and as they walked side by side in the darkness he 
 talked to her of his family. His boy Jack was a year 
 younger than Violet, a dear fellow, just coming out of 
 Sandhurst. Violet was a heart of gold, devoted to him 
 really, although, like nearly all the girls of to-day, very 
 independent and a little wilful. " One has to guard against 
 adverse influences. I do my best, Claire." And then he 
 soemed to be vaguely apologizing for his wife, or trying 
 t'> excuse anything that might have seemed strange in her 
 behaviour. " You won't judge by first impressions, Claire, 
 I know. My wife is very open in her nature — by tem- 
 perament fond of gaiety. Nowadays one cannot always 
 choose one's friends too nicely. One has to let things 
 crift a little when all the world is drifting." 
 
 The further away from the house that they went, the 
 I lore cheerful he became, the less unlike himself. At the 
 s fcation he bought a ticket in order to go down with her to 
 ibe platform, and as they walked to and fro, waiting for 
 
244? FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 her train, he was again the Evan Giles of her oldest 
 memories. Then, if only there had been time, she would 
 have opened her heart to him. 
 
 " You must come again, Claire. You have broken the 
 ice. We gave you a dreadful reception to-day — but it will 
 be all right on another occasion — no crowd — only our- 
 selves. Promise to come soon." 
 
 And Claire said she would like to come very soon if 
 she might. She wanted to consult him on a personal 
 question. 
 
 " Yes, yes — I shall love to hear about it. Anything 
 that concerns you, Claire. You know what I have thought 
 of you ever since you were a child. And nothing has 
 ever — can ever change you. In this ugly, ugly world you 
 remain unaltered, unspoilt. . . . Now, we must hustle. 
 I say. Ring up my wife on the telephone, and oifer your- 
 self, will you? She'll like that. She's very sensitive. 
 Good-bye, Claire. Good-bye." 
 
 She followed his directions with regard to the telephone, 
 when a few days later she asked permission to return to 
 St. John's Wood, and Mrs. Giles at the other end of the 
 wire answered very graciously, begging her to come to 
 tea that same afternoon. 
 
 But things were not better on this second occasion; 
 they were far, far worse. 
 
 Claire found the husband and wife alone, and no other 
 visitors presented themselves. But Giles looked more care- 
 worn and nervous than ever, and Mrs. Giles was redder in 
 the face. She was voluble, with abrupt gestures, and 
 suffocating laughter that changed to angry expostulation 
 when Giles interrupted her in an anecdote. Even if Gilesi 
 had not incurred her further violent displeasure by a 
 murmured suggestion that she should not neglect the tea- 
 pot, it would have been painfully clear to the most in- 
 nocent observer that she had already drunk more than was 
 good for her from those bottles on the sideboard. Dressed 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 245 
 
 in Dutdoor costume, she had set her girlish toque at a 
 qi. erly rakish angle, and the yellow curls on one side of 
 he] flushed face hung much lower than those on the other 
 siu 3. 
 
 • Well," she said, suddenly struggling to fix the clasp 
 of her huge coat collar, " I'll leave you two to your 
 CO] fabs. I ought to have warned you, Mrs. Vaughan, 
 the' t I had to be going out early." 
 
 Jiles with a tortured smile, muttered something to the 
 ef ct that she need not tear off in such a hurry. Her 
 aj > Dointment would wait for a quarter of an hour. 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs. Vaughan won't be huffed," she replied curtly, 
 " It's you she came to see, not me." 
 
 ^ I came to see you both," said Claire gently. 
 
 '' Did you? " said Mrs. Giles bridling. " Then that's a 
 qii3er thing to happen with Evan's fine friends. You're 
 the; first that's ever troubled to do the civil to his 
 w "e." 
 
 •* My dear," said Giles, " for heaven's sake don't drag 
 out absurd old grievances." 
 
 But Mrs. Giles was not to be quieted. She asked Claire 
 how she would like to have a husband who habitually went 
 to parties at grand houses and left his wife at home. She 
 vowed that Evan made a secret of his being married at 
 all. If there was any amusement, instead of taking her 
 to share in it, he sneaked off alone. " I put up with it, 
 and always have; but I'm not going to pretend I enjoy 
 begin snubbed and neglected. What's more, if he had any 
 g.mtlem^-nly spirit " 
 
 " Don't talk about things you can't understand," said 
 Ciles bitterly. 
 
 Claire did not know what to do or say, and next moment 
 tlie dispute between the husband and wife burst into a 
 n)isy quarrel. 
 
 " That's enough," said Giles wildly. " For God's sake 
 h)ld your tongue;" and he jumped up from his chair. 
 
246 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " No, Claire, don't run away. Come into my room. Don't 
 leave me." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't leave him," and Mrs. Giles laughed. 
 " I am going myself, Mrs. Vaughan." 
 
 Giles took the guest across the hall to the dusty work- 
 shop, and hurried back to close accounts with his wife^ 
 Claire heard them shouting, raving at each other. Then 
 they were out in the hall, close to the workshop door, 
 and it was impossible not to hear nearly every word they 
 said. " I forbid you to go out while you are in this state " 
 — Giles repeated the same sort of phrase again and again, 
 " I forbid you to go and meet that man. I tell you, you 
 are not in a condition to go flaunting about London.'* 
 And suddenly his wife overwhelmed him with a torrent of 
 fierce abuse. Claire, hearing it all, felt a thrill of horror 
 and disgust. It was the brutal voice of a street virago 
 turning against a policeman at a street corner, high- 
 pitched, hoarse with rage, terrible. Next moment came 
 the sound of scuffled footsteps; the front door opened, 
 and closed with a bang that shook the house. Mrs. Giles 
 had gone. 
 
 Evan Giles came into his workshop, and stood looking 
 at Claire. 
 
 " How can I apologize to you," he said jerkily, " for, 
 well, for losing control of myself? " His face was twitch- 
 ing, and his hand shook in a grotesque manner, as he auto- 
 matically swept some books from the seat of a chair. 
 
 *^ Really, Claire, to have allowed you to witness " 
 
 Then he sat down, put his hands to his brow as his grey 
 head sank, and burst into violent noisy weeping. " Oh, 
 my God — my God." 
 
 " Mr. Giles, don't, please don't. I'm so sorry — so 
 dreadfully sorry." Claire had gone to him, and her hand 
 touching his became wet with his tears. 
 
 "Can't pretend!" he said brokenly. "That's what 
 she told you, didn't she? Well, my pretence has failed. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 247 
 
 to: Oh, Claire, if you could understand how that com- 
 mn 1, passionate woman has destroyed me." And he moved 
 his hand and struck his breast. " All that there was 
 in me — the little spark — not divine fire, oh, no — ^but 
 th little something good that gave me faith and 
 hcj^e.'* 
 
 . t was most dreadful to Claire to see his grey hairs 
 ar.c glistening eyes, when presently he recovered some 
 coriposure and told her the story of his ruined life. The 
 ugly, littered room, with its confusion and disarray, seemed 
 to symbolize the slow wreck of hope, the submission to 
 eh OS. Her heart bled for him; an immense pity flowed 
 from her. 
 
 •• Claire, those first books of mine were all right. 
 Nothing great — no, no, far from it. We writers, Claire, 
 car't be conceited, can't be mistaken — so long as our 
 aim is high we know how miserably we fall short. But 
 my poor stuff — Blind Purposes, and that — that other 
 thJig — had a lift in it. I was just off the ground. Those 
 wl o knew, saw it was good work — so far as it went." 
 
 •* It was beautiful work." 
 
 " Dear girl, i/ou said so — and your praise was precious 
 to me. But work of that sort is the fruit of thought and 
 peace," and he made a despairing gesture. 
 
 " It can't be done in a house like this — with a com- 
 panion sneering at you, goading at you, asking you why 
 you don't make more money — gloating over things said 
 against you in the press, counting the names of the men 
 who have gone over your head since you began. Claire, 
 I ^ave up the fight. Do you remember what Stevenson 
 sa d about the artist who knowingly ceases to be con- 
 sc:entious in his work? That happened to me — it had 
 to happen. I was lost; for my belief in mjself was the 
 th ng I couldn't afford to give away. But she took it, 
 CI lire. She had taken everything else from me — and she 
 to )k that, too." 
 
248 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 He was calm again now; but nothing could check the 
 stream of his words. 
 
 " Yes, I want to tell you, Claire. There's no need, I 
 know. Your bright intelligence sees it all by now. But 
 I've said so much, I'd like to tell you everything. 
 
 " I went on scribbling dully and stupidly, as people do 
 when the light has gone out of them and their thought 
 is only of gain. I didn't shirk, Claire. I have worked 
 very hard, you know — to keep the pot boiling, clothe and 
 feed the children, find their mother in cab fares when she 
 went to meet her lovers, and pay the wine merchant's bill • 
 after she'd taken to drink. 
 
 " Of course she was unfaithful. She filled the noisy 
 background of my life with possible, probable co- 
 respondents — common brutes ; grooms, horse-jockeys, any- 
 body you like ; " and he had a bitter smile. " That fellow 
 from the livery stable, and that quartermaster fellow, 
 that you saw the other day, were princes among them. 
 Why didn't I divorce her? you'll ask. Claire, in the 
 beginning I was cowardly about it. I dreaded the dis- 
 grace of it — and the loss of influence, too, that I should 
 suffer as more or less of a public man. And, Claire, I'll 
 confess the truth, even if it makes you feel contempt for 
 me. In those early times I was still fond of her, the chain 
 of the flesh still held me — I, well, I persuaded myself it 
 was a fine thing to do to swallow my dishonour like a dose 
 of filthy medicine now and then — and forgive and forget. 
 Claire, I oughtn't to speak of such things to you. But 
 it's all summed up in the Kreutzer Sonata, the truest 
 and most atrocious book that a man ever wrote. We 
 went on like that — like brute beasts, snarling, fighting, 
 and then lying down together in the same lair. 
 
 " After that, when the last animal glow of love was 
 gone, I just let things drift, and very soon it was too late. 
 The children were growing too old. Claire, my only hope 
 is that Vi may get decently married before she finds out 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE " 24^ 
 
 ^ ; at her mother really was, and that Jack may have been 
 s i knocked about that he will be hard enough to stand it 
 wl en the truth hits him in the face. Of course they both 
 k 3W she drinks; but they don't know anything else. Vi 
 if quite innocent so far — quite straight, on my honour, 
 C i lire. Of course, too, I've weakly hoped that time would 
 h p me. She is close on forty-five, Claire. She, she must 
 r > 'orm — or grow tired of men some day. But I shan't 
 \^ * it for that, if only I can see my girl and my boy es- 
 t 1 3lished in life. I shall sing my Nunc Dimittis very 
 q ] ietly. Nothing theatrical or sensational — no last words 
 
 ' exit speech." And he smiled again. " Who cares or 
 n:tices when a failure goes off the stage? Small para- 
 graph at the bottom of a column — if it isn't crowded out 
 b) the pressure of more important news: ' Fatal accident 
 to an author,' or, ^ Mr. Evan Giles, a writer once popular 
 with a certain class of readers, but long since forgotten, 
 was found dead yesterday morning an the North London 
 Railway.' " 
 
 Claire had jumped up, and again she touched his hand. 
 
 " Oh, no, if you did that, it would indeed be cowardly, 
 a ad unworthy of you." And forgetting something that 
 she herself had said, she implored this broken-hearted man 
 n3ver to trifle even in thought with the terrible word 
 suicide. 
 
 " No, Claire. Dismiss it from your dear pitiful mind, 
 
 1 ought not to have said it. Of course, I don't mean it. 
 The people who talk as I did, never mean it, Claire." 
 
 And soon he spoke sensibly and philosophically, de- 
 t iching himself from the personal point of view and trying 
 t ) generalize. 
 
 " After all, I am no worse off than thousands of others. 
 A t the bottom of all such tragedies — for they are tragedies 
 - -lies the folly and injustice of our marriage law. It's a 
 c irsed law, Claire. If two people don't agree, can't live 
 t )gether happily, their marriage should be annulled at 
 
260 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 once — without delay, without disgrace, without waiting 
 for the sin and shame that will certainly come if they 
 are kept tied together." Then abruptly he swung back 
 to the personal standpoint. " Suppose she and I could 
 have got free directly we found that our marriage was 
 likely to prove a damnable failure — I mean twenty years 
 ago — each of us might have been happy. We could have 
 parted without pain — even with a kindly feeling. With 
 another sort of man she might never have sunk. At least, 
 she would have had a better chance." 
 
 Claire was thinking of herself now, and of the strange 
 hazard that had made her think of asking Evan Giles to 
 help her with advice. She went away presently, abashed 
 by a misery that seemed greater than her own. 
 
 The impression created by that scene in the dusty, lit- 
 tered room did not fade easily; and longing, in however 
 small a degree, to comfort him, she invited Giles to 
 luncheon or to tea several times, when she was sure that 
 Roddy would be out of the way. It was, outwardly, just 
 the old Evan Giles who gladly availed himself of these 
 invitations. He made no allusion to his domestic life; 
 he was whimsical, genially cynical, and delightful in his 
 'treatment of Gladys. 
 
 She told Roddy of these visits, and he did not disap- 
 prove. 
 
 " I have not forgotten, Roddy, that you said I wasn't 
 to ask him to meet your friends; but you don't mind his 
 coming to a meal with Gladys and me when we are all 
 alone.? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind ; " and Roddy shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. " There's no accounting for tastes." 
 
 But then Mrs. Giles intervened. Feeling her dignity 
 outraged, she had taken up her pen and written in a very 
 offensive strain. Of late Roddy had developed a habit of , 
 opening Claire's letters, and he opened this one. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 251 
 
 " There," he said, tossing it across the breakfast-table, 
 ^* that's what you bring on yourself. Perhaps you'll see 
 v: 10 was right, after all. Perhaps you'll drop that shabby y 
 c dging humbug for good now." 
 
 Claire flushed hotly, as she in her turn read the imper- 
 t aent note. Mrs. Giles presented her compliments to 
 rv ,'rs. Vaughan, and said that after the very strong hint 
 .^ le had let fall, she was at a loss to understand Mrs* 
 \aughan's conduct in inviting Mr. Giles to parties with« 
 oit his wife. She begged once more to remind Mrs. 
 \aughan that Mr. Giles was not a bachelor, but a mar- 
 red man. 
 
 Next day Evan Giles himself wrote to Claire, sadly 
 t3xplaining and apologizing. 
 
 " After what I have told you, you will understand the 
 tremendous irony of the fact that she is always jealous of 
 me* Once seen, you are too attractive, my dear Claire, for 
 me to be allowed the solace of your friendship. Thank 
 you, dear kind girl, for your pitying kindness. I have 
 fallen low to let you know all my miserable secrets. Q 
 shade of Carlyle ! A brave man should consume his own 
 smoke.? Burn this letter and forget 
 
 " Your unhappy E. G." 
 
 Claire burned the letter, but she always remembered its 
 words. She never saw his handwriting or heard his voice 
 again. 
 
 During this brief period of final intercourse with the 
 friend of her youth, she had taken the extreme measure 
 of asking legal advice in regard to her great desire. One 
 morning she went to Gray's Inn, and consulted the solici- 
 tors of her family. 
 
 Mr. Collie, senior, the head of the firm, received her 
 with much courtesy and kindness ; but he was so engrossed 
 by war grievances — such as the absence of his son, the 
 
252 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 extra work thrown on his hands, the unfairness of the 
 super tax, and so forth — that it seemed as if he could 
 only give his cHent a divided attention. "Tie certainly did 
 not help her. 
 
 He said he thought a separation by agreement a very 
 unsatisfactory way of doing things. Again, if Captain 
 Vaughan did not agree, what then.'^ No, he thought a 
 judicial separation, if possible, would be the thing. But, 
 still again, was it possible? 
 
 " If there has been infidelity, you don't seem to have 
 any proof of it. You don't seem even to have protested 
 against it. Your husband has not left you, and he has 
 not been cruel to you." Then, seeing the surprised ex- 
 pression of Claire's face, Mr. Collie talked a little of 
 cruelty as understood in the legal sense of the term. 
 ** What you have told me so far really only amounts to 
 this : Your husband makes you uncomfortable. He is not 
 
 a pleasant companion to live with, but " and he made 
 
 a deprecating gesture with his hands. " But, after all, 
 your health hasn't suffered. It struck me, if I may say 
 so, just now when you came into the room, that you were 
 looking extremely well — and I suppose at my age I may 
 venture to add, in very good looks ; " and he bowed and 
 smiled. " Of course, Mrs. Vaughan, I need not say that 
 the services of the firm are entirely at your disposal in 
 the matter — should you decide to carry it further. I 
 only wish my son was here. Three and a half years they 
 have detained him in the Army. Three and a half years, 
 Mrs. Vaughan. I shan't wound you now by confessing I 
 formed an unfavourable opinion of your husband when I 
 first met him, before the marriage. Your relatives, how- 
 ever, allowed me to be over-ruled in every suggestion I 
 made. By the way " — and he spoke briskly, as if stimu- 
 lated by a new idea^ — " have you broached this subject 
 to Mrs. Gilmour? I have a sort of notion that she won't 
 take kindly to it." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 253 
 
 And as he ushered Claire through the outer offices, and 
 1 the top of the old Georgian staircase, he talked of her 
 I Dther. 
 
 " Mrs. Gilmour will not answer letters. I suppose I 
 ] Lve written to her six times on a quite important matter 
 - -and not a word in reply. If you're seeing her I wish 
 
 )u'd jog her memory. You might just hint that as I 
 i n single-handed here, owing to the war, it is not very 
 « insiderate to give me additional and unnecessary labour.'* 
 
 Mr. Collie could not or would not help Claire. No one 
 ^ ould help her. People were too busy, too much preoccu- 
 ])ied with their private affairs, even to understand or be- 
 lieve in her bitter need of help. 
 
 But Aunt Agnes understood. At the first vague word 
 lliat her niece uttered she took fire. 
 
 " Of course, my poor angel, get rid of him. Don't hesi- 
 tate a moment. Never mind what anybody says. What's 
 it got to do with them, I'd like to know. No half measures, 
 Claire. Go for him hammer and tongs. Divorce the 
 brute." 
 
 Miss Graham was ill in bed ; but she scrambled up to a 
 idtting posture, tumbled off the lace shawl that had been 
 <!0vering her head, and let her white hair fall as she 
 :alked to Claire. Her eyes glittered; her weak voice 
 :hrillcd with the strength of her convictions. 
 
 " First of all, if it's any question of money, I'll provide 
 that. I don't care what it costs. I have nothing to do 
 ^ith my money except buy those irritating War Bonds. 
 Every penny I possess is yours, Claire, if you want it." 
 
 And she said that directly she was well enough to go 
 >ut of doors she would take Claire to some real solicitors 
 — not namby-pamby idiots like those bow-wow Collies, but 
 ^ood, sharp-fanged dogs, who would get at Master Roddy's 
 •leels and never leave him till they had brought him down. 
 
 " Only one short little life, Claire ; so why should any- 
 oody be martyrized in it.? And you, of all people, you 
 
254 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 poor defenceless child. Oh, Claire, if you knew how it 
 has made my blood boil, and how I have writhed when 
 forced to speak to him civilly." 
 
 Then Miss Graham, raising herself still higher on the 
 pillows, fairly expressed her contempt of the existing sys- 
 tem of marriage and divorce, and Claire seemed to be lis- 
 tening to the companion tirade of Evan Giles' outburst. 
 Only, delivered with dry eyes and in an old lady's gently 
 thrilling voice, it seemed so much stronger. 
 
 " Why should we submit to such antiquated, preposter- 
 ous edicts.'' Who laid them on us, Claire.? Why, a lot of 
 nasty disgusting old priests, who kept concubines hun- 
 dreds of years ago. What did they know of common 
 sense or decent feeling, and who can be surprised if the 
 whole law is worthy of Bedlam? And worse than the law 
 itself are the muddled ideas that people entertain in re- 
 lation to marriage. Never give in to them, Claire. They're 
 so preposterously absurd, Claire, that they could only 
 ^xist in such an addle-pated country as England." 
 
 And she spoke of what unfortunate wives suffer from 
 cruel husbands; how their minds are ruined, and their 
 bodies destroyed without redress. She spoke of their 
 nerve strain, their depression of spirit, their slowly ac- 
 cumulating despair. It was most wonderful to hear^ — 
 this old maiden lady, who was herself quite outside the 
 circle of pain, saying more than Evan Giles. Nothing of 
 ihe innermost mysteries of marriage was unknown to 
 her. 
 
 Faithful to her promises. Miss Graham took Claire to 
 see a solicitor whose business was largely concerned with 
 matrimonial disputes ; but, sharp and keen as this gentle- 
 man appeared to be, he was really no more helpful than 
 Mr. Collie. He saw no immediate prospect of success. 
 He thought it was a case in which a waiting game would 
 pay best. If, as seemed probable, Captain Vaughan went 
 from bad to worse, he might eventually become very bad 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 255 
 
 ini ed; and then things would be quite easy. A divorce 
 wc Id be the most satisfactory conclusion. 
 
 - nd this was the advice of a high expert. Miss Graham 
 lef I his office trembling with anger. Claire was to go back 
 to ler slavery, with no better hope than a tardy freedom 
 to >e won by further pain. She had tried all her friends 
 an allies; and it seemed that only Time itself was able 
 to lelp her. 
 
 She thought of the law, of what Aunt Agnes had said 
 ab ( ut it — a law for married people made hundreds of 
 ye c rs ago by celibate priests of an alien religion ; of what 
 E an Giles had said about it — a cursed law. And she re- 
 m< nbered those earlier words of his, years and years ago, 
 wli^n they stood for a moment in the embrasure of a win-^ 
 dcr before her marriage. 
 
 '' There's no way out of it, Claire — no way that you 
 wo aid ever find." 
 
 Then as if fate and chance were mocking at her pre- 
 dicament, and diverting themselves by the addition of 
 more elements to increase the confused tangle of her 
 thoughts, they sent her old Uncle Derek one afternoon,, 
 so that he might tell her later chapters in the story of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Granville Budleigh. 
 
 The gallant old fellow was dressed in his uniform as a 
 sj)ecial constable and he moved rather stiffly from rheuma- 
 tism contracted on night duty, but he bore himself bravely 
 a > the kind soul he was — ready at all times to give his^ 
 services to the call of duty, whether from friends or 
 ountry. He betrayed a momentary surprise or pertur- 
 b ition at sight of Claire's war serving-maid and the velvet 
 a ad pictures in her drawing-room; but as a well-bred- 
 nan of the world he quickly suppressed all signs of the 
 s!iock caused by poor Claire's queer surroundings, and sat 
 down very comfortably to tell his tale. 
 
 " In all my experience, Claire, it really is the most 
 extraordinary business. It seems as if one could never 
 
256 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 get to the end of it. However, it must end now, and I 
 want to ask you to assist us with your influence, if you 
 possibly can. You know, you ha've influence. She spoke 
 of you only the other day. Your opinion, if firmly ex- 
 pressed, will carry weight." 
 
 With this prelude, Derek began the story of latest de- 
 velopments. It seemed that after their family had decided 
 pn the separation the Granvilles had shown an unex- 
 pected reluctance to separate. They made all sorts of 
 absurd excuses for delay; disregarding expostulations, 
 even menaces, they continued to reside together, quar- 
 relling and being talked about just as much as ever. Then, 
 the patience of their family wearing out, it wa« determined 
 to bring them both to reason by the withdrawal of mon- 
 etary supplies from Granville. 
 
 *' And now, my dear Claire," said Derek, opening his 
 kind old eyes widely, " this astounding fact has come to 
 light. They are not married at all. Would you believe 
 such a thing? Never married! Of course, you know, she 
 held the wildest and most advanced views about women's 
 rights and everything else; so the blame may be hers. 
 But Lady Paramont, who is absolutely furious, thinks it 
 is Granville's fault. He gives the lamest possible expla- 
 nation — some childish nonsense about their trying to get 
 married twice, but each time a technical mistake of theirs 
 preventing the registrar from doing it. And after that 
 he says they were afraid to go on with it. Anyhow, there 
 is no doubt of the fact itself. It is unfortunately but 
 too true." 
 
 And Uncle Derek touched on the natural wrath of 
 Lady Paramont and the other matrons of the family. 
 Here you had two young people masquerading as husband 
 and wife for years, moving freely in the best society, 
 staying in the bosom of the most exclusive but quite un- 
 suspecting country houses. Even nowadays, with the 
 universe more than upside down, that really was beyond 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 257 
 
 a >ke. "Sol am sure that you, Claire, will agree with 
 L^ J Paramont — as I do myself most fully — that it must 
 be nded now and at once." 
 
 But, Uncle Derek, what does Lady Paramont pro- 
 
 pc 3?'' 
 
 Why, of course, to get them married without an hour's 
 av idable delay ; " and the kind old man's eyes became 
 ro nd and large again. " What else can be done but reg- 
 ul I rize their position as speedily as possible — and as 
 qi i 3tly, of course ? Anyhow, it has got to be done, and 
 ort can only hope it will escape notice in the general 
 tuimoil, and that there'll be no talk. But, Claire, would 
 ycu^ believe it? they are both showing- reluctance. Now 
 if you could influence her ..." 
 
 When Uncle Derek had gone, Claire sat thinking about 
 it confusedly. 
 
 This, then, was the reading of Mrs. Budleigh's sphinx- 
 like riddle.' One could understand now her enigmatic 
 sriiles, her defiant attitude, her refusal to submit to a 
 husband's control; and it seemed to Claire that Mrs. Bud- 
 le gh had more than hinted at the truth, had even been 
 once or twice on the point of telling it to her. She had 
 ssid things — " Mrs. Vaughan, I wish you would persuade 
 our relations to leave us alone. Jack and I understand 
 e^.ch other perfectly well " — and then she had checked 
 herself, with a smile. 
 
 Most wonderful. They were absolutely free, not bound 
 t(' each other in any way, and yet they hung together. 
 Ihey quarrelled and made it up. They parted and soon 
 n joined. They were like cat and dog, and yet they 
 c )uld not do without each other. One could only explain 
 by supposing that there was no real incompatibility of 
 temper. The squabbles were on the surface, but below 
 t le eddying noise there must be some deep, calm current 
 o " true affection ; at least, even if they did not love, each 
 n ysteriously had need of the other. And Claire, though 
 
258 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 perplexed, thought she could understand. Granville for- 
 gave because there was no real wrong. Mrs. Granville 
 flirted and flaunted, danced gaily through the conventions ; 
 only she was not unvirtuous. Some rule made by herself 
 prevented her from going too far. She was essentially 
 nearly all that a wife need be. But she clung to her free- 
 dom because she refusd to be a slave. 
 
 But their family ? Who could understand them? They 
 were worse than the Gilmours. When they believed that 
 the Budleighs were married, they insisted on dissolving 
 the union. When they knew that the Budleighs were with- 
 out bonds they insisted on flrmly uniting them. Was that 
 rational? Was it not like the behaviour of people whose 
 proper place Is Bedlam.'^ 
 
 And Claire thought of more words of Aunt Agnes. 
 Worse than the law itself are the muddled ideas that 
 people entertain in relation to marriage; so fantastically 
 absurd that they could only be tolerated in such an addle- 
 pated country as England. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 F possible, the darkening of London grew deeper in 
 this fourth winter of the war. The black nights, 
 made more hideous still by the roar of our own guns 
 ad the crash of the enemy's bombs, seemed to be sym- 
 bolic of the whole world going to pieces. One felt reckless, 
 a d yet afraid. The fate of mankind was at stake ; civi- 
 li'ation was going out in darkness; it was a time when 
 a must watch and pray. 
 
 But in the midst of the world-tragedy Claire had no 
 Insure for any thought beyond her own trivial sordid woes. 
 
 They had left the house with the velvet sofas and were 
 occupying a small flat on the top floor of a building in 
 t le Marylebone Road. Its perilous position had enabled 
 Roddy to secure it almost rent-free, and as he so often 
 slept away from home he did not mind the risk. Claire 
 ^ as his servant now, because no real servant would con- 
 sent to stay with them, A charwoman came by daylight 
 to help her with the rougher work. 
 
 And here in this narrowed space, in rooms not much 
 bigger than large cupboards, a new struggle had begun. 
 It was money now. All else seemed comparatively insig- 
 rificant in importance. In the past she had been careless. 
 Tailing to buy his complaisance at any cost, not really 
 iDoking far ahead, although she had spoken sometimes of 
 f .n ominously threatening future. But now her alarm had 
 i uddenly awakened to the nearness of the danger. Roddy 
 >7ould take their all, and then leave her and Gladys naked 
 1o face a shattered world. 
 
 Mr. Collie, useless in other respects, had aroused her 
 
 o a clear understanding of their position. Summoning 
 
 ^ ill her strength to meet the storm, Claire told Roddy that 
 
 259 
 
260 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 he must stay his hand now; she would not ever again 
 consent to his touching their capital. 
 
 The storm came, but she did not break beneath its 
 force, and Roddy, when his first wrath had blown itself 
 out, affected calmness. He adopted sometimes a tone of 
 kindly banter, mingled cajolery with argument. " Poor 
 little woman, afraid that the kid will run short of grub 
 one day ? But that's all bosh. And remember — what I've 
 told you once before — Gladys is my daughter as well as 
 yours." By this echo of an old threat he twice overcame 
 her resistance; squeezing from her another thousand 
 pounds, and still another. 
 
 The cruel fight went on. But Claire was fighting for 
 her child's sake. She could be very brave for Gladys. 
 As she thought of Gladys there lay upon her always the 
 shadow of a great fear. It was a shadow only, because 
 she dared not admit or even think of the fear itself, but 
 its cold dead weight was vast enough to make all other 
 fears seem light. 
 
 She went again to Mr. Collie, and he told her that it was 
 her own money and she could do what she liked with it. 
 He advised her to pull up Captain Vaughan quite short, 
 by cancelling that old arrangemeiit at the bank, by with- 
 drawing the authority for him to sign cheques, by tearing 
 up any papers that he tried to make her sign herself. 
 
 And these things Claire was brave enough to do, bowing 
 to the tempest that they raised, but never breaking. She 
 was fighting for a loved life, and she told Roddy he might 
 kill her, but he should not make her yield. She said that 
 she would cash a cheque every week, give him half its 
 amount and with the other half pay for their 
 household. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " He laughed and blustered. " No two ways 
 about it — dotty on the crumpet. So that's the idea now, 
 what? I am to pose as a pensioner on my lady's bounty. 
 Not much. By " and he fired his best volley of oaths. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 261 
 
 ** 1 ke care, my girl. Don't drive me too far. Look here. 
 Yo 11 just shove on your hat and come down with me 
 to i le bank and put things straight again. And after 
 thai you'll go on by yourself to these damned lawyers 
 of \ 3urs and instruct them to send me a written apology 
 for he insult they've put upon me. Do you hear ? " 
 
 C laire heard, but she would not obey ; and the abomina- 
 ble ight went on. 
 
 1: e bullied, bellowed, and she bore it all. She still stood 
 firii. Sometimes she thought he was about to strike her, 
 ami she never crouched but stood with unaverted eyes, 
 wailing for the blow. Sometimes, when he was living at 
 the flat, they scarcely spoke to each other for days. In 
 frc\7ning silence he ate the food that she had cooked for 
 hirji, with a grunt took a glass from her hand as she 
 wa/:ed on him, or pointed at the mantleshelf when he 
 war.ted the matches to light his pipe. And he would sit 
 smoking and brooding at the table till, with the pipe still 
 in liis mouth, he nodded, drooped, and fell asleep. She 
 sal quietly with Gladj^s; came back into the room from 
 time to time to see if he had awakened and she might 
 clear away the refuse of his meal. 
 
 Sooner or later, after these fits of silence, he would 
 bu 'st out with a roar of anger and renew the fight. 
 
 '' No, by God, I'm not going to stand it. This fooling 
 mv.st cease." He had awakened, or sprung up from the 
 armchair in which he had been lolling and dozing. " Claire, 
 coine here. Where the devil are you.'^ " 
 
 •* It's all right, Roddy. I am coming to you." 
 
 And he would take her by the arm so roughly that his 
 gr Lp made a bruise, bringing his face close to hers, and 
 be ^nning to shout and threaten. If there had been other 
 inhabitants of this top floor they would have complained 
 of the repeated disturbance.. This man's loud voice pen- 
 et 'ated the flimsy partitions, the woman's voice could be 
 he3ird at intervals, and that child of theirs was uttering 
 
262 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 cries of agonized terror in another of the rooms. The 
 desperate fight was going on. 
 
 Then all at once Claire noticed a great difference in his 
 treatment of her. One morning he helped her carry the 
 breakfast tray. He talked to her freely of indifferent 
 things, went in and tried to ingratiate himself with Gladys 
 by giving imitations of all the animals in a farmyard. 
 He offered carelessly but pleasantly to take Claire out to 
 dinner. " Oh, all right, please yourself. I only thought 
 it might save you trouble." And for all that day and 
 the next he was like an old acquaintance who has been 
 absent for a long time and who now seeks to pick up 
 all the severed threads of friendship. But for the doubt 
 and discomfort that it aroused in her, this new manner 
 would have been ludicrous. 
 
 "Have you had time to glance at the paper, Claire? 
 Not much news in it, and what there is none too cheerful. 
 By Jove, it's a hard job to keep up one's spirits nowadays. 
 One wants something to take one out of oneself." And 
 he snapped his coarse fingers and whistled. " Happy 
 thought! Claire, I'll take you to a cinema show — take 
 the kid, too, if you like. Nothing like the moving pictures 
 to cheer you up when you feel down on your luck," 
 
 Claire refused this treat ; she had work to do. But he 
 told her he thought she was wrong to neglect a cheap and 
 gratifying amusement that lay so easily accessible. He 
 returned again and again to this subject of cinema thea- 
 tres, telling her what a big place they would soon take 
 in our national life, and how enormous were the fortunes 
 made by them. 
 
 Gradually then, he let her understand that he had 
 lately fallen in with some very influential men belonging 
 to this wonderful industry, that they had " taken to him," 
 that they seemed disposed to give him a chance of joining 
 them in fresh projects. He affected to take it for granted 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 263 
 
 the she would be cheered by his tidings, and he reported 
 to ! ar from time to time how matters stood. 
 
 * They pledge themselves to nothing, Claire, so far; 
 bui they show no sign of wanting to turn me down." 
 
 . ^ f ter being out he would return to the flat, rub his 
 harls, and beam at her. 
 
 ' Claire, old girl, I've had another long interview with 
 Poi inger — you know — the boss of the whole shoot — and 
 I n ist say it was of a very promising character. Yes, I 
 do :hink things begin to look more hopeful for down- 
 tro den old Roddy." 
 
 tihe knew now, of course, what was coming, and she 
 kn( V instinctively that it would bring a fight more bitter 
 and more cruel than any she had yet passed through. 
 Shi tried to steel herself for the ordeal. But his delay 
 in cpening his attack enervated her. She was conscious 
 of 8, pressure that never ceased, that was always increas- 
 ing, and still he had said nothing of the money he intended 
 to wring from her. In spite of herself he forced her to 
 talk: of his hopes, to give him the semblance of sympathy; 
 and he tacitly implied always that she was to be relied 
 on as an ally and well-wisher. 
 
 ' ' Glorious if it comes off, won't it be, Claire ? " 
 
 \nd he had not even vaguely indicated yet what " it '* 
 was. 
 
 Then all at once, he announced in the most natural 
 ma nner, that to this extent at least " it " had come off. 
 Pottinger was ready to take him into the new stunt as 
 ha f-partner. For the partnership Roddy would have to 
 put down five thousand pounds: in other words, nearly 
 half of their remaining capital. 
 
 '^ So there you are, Claire. It's to take or leave. Stop. 
 D( n't say anything now. I haven't time. I must change 
 m things. I am going back to them." 
 
 A.nd he did what he had not done for a long time; he 
 dr 3ssed for dinner. When he came back into the sitting- 
 
264» FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 room presently in his broad shirt front and rather dirty 
 white waistcoat, she saw that his eyes were bright with 
 excitement, and that he had shaken off something of the 
 lazy heaviness of carriage that for so long had been 
 habitual. The vision of wide gains was bringing him to 
 life again. He stretched himself and stood quite erect, 
 while she helped him on with his overcoat. 
 
 " Thanks. Now are you going to live up to your repu- 
 tation and show your pluck? It's now or never, Claire. 
 I feel this is my last chance, and it's not coming again." 
 
 " Roddy, I can't do it. Surely you must see that I 
 can't do it." 
 
 " I know what you mean. You're worrying about the 
 kid, and what might happen to her if it went down. But 
 it isn't going down. It's going to turn up trumps. Think 
 what that would mean to her. Why, our Gladys might 
 be the biggest heiress in England. No rot — I mean it. 
 This film racket is fairyland. It's colossal ; it staggers 
 the imagination. Pottinger will tell you so. He's coming 
 to see you to-morrow, to try to interest you in it. I've 
 told him I can't force you — and don't intend to." He 
 was talking volubly, eagerly, almost as he used to do 
 before the war. " If you say No, it's a wash-out. But 
 don't say No till you've made up your mind. Think it 
 over quietly. Ta-ta. I'm late." And he hurreid out of 
 the tiny hall and down the steep flight of stone stairs. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger came panting up them on the following 
 afternoon, to increase the pressure. 
 
 He was middle-aged and very large, with a fat, freckled 
 face that creased itself into ugly smiles. The rims of his 
 pale blue eyes seemed to be permanently inflamed, and 
 they had no eyelashes. His sandy hair grew long round 
 the bald crown of his head, and there was a reddish fluff 
 of it on the backs of his hands and reaching to the knuckle 
 joints of his stubby fingers. These hairy hands drew a 
 fascinated attention as he trifled with a massive gold 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 265 
 
 wat i-chain. In speech he was slow and yet ghb, mouthing 
 the i ig words in an un-English fashion. Claire surmised 
 tha he was a citizen of the world rather than belonging 
 to . ly iSxed nationahty. Also, something in his way of 
 tall ig of pretty film actresses and his manner of look- 
 ing it her herself stirred subtle feminine instincts and 
 mac her guess, too, while trying to stifle the thought, 
 thai he was a man who at one period of his life had been 
 crut to women, and perhaps even grown fat upon the 
 pro* ?eds of their shame. She dreaded him, and hated 
 him while she sat listening with her daughter's small, 
 tren Jing hand in hers. 
 
 A\ inordinate length he told her all about his schemes. 
 
 " ]^ow your husband, Mrs. Vaughan, would be my rep- 
 rese tative on the other side. There has been a tendency 
 because of its novelty to allow this industry to drop into 
 the hands of vulgar, illiterate people; and prejudice has 
 beer; the result. We need cultivated, high-bred gentlemen 
 of t le calibre of your husband to combat that prejudice.'^ 
 And s, - . 
 
 The ^ essure continued. In the evening they forced 
 Claire to go to dinner with them at a small Italian res- 
 tau) ant in the Euston Road ; and here, in an evil-smelling 
 bad: room, with so low a ceiling that Mr. Pottinger was 
 able to reach it with his heavy hand and sweep from its 
 cracked paper groups of hibernating flies, Roddy and his 
 new friends ate greasy Italian stews and drank Chianti 
 wim of the fierce, common sort that makes already fiery 
 pea.^ants stab each other in the warm darkness of olive 
 groves and vineyards on summer nights. Seated among 
 thei 1, Claire, pale and watchful, looked like a person who 
 has been cornered by a confidence-trick gang, who rec- 
 ognizes them all as accomplices, but who tries to conceal 
 any signs of apprehension and vainly searches for a speedy 
 mea is of escape. 
 
 1 here was another middle-aged man, who echoed every- 
 
266 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 thing that Mr, Pottinger said, and corroborated all his 
 statements regarding the El Dorado of the " movies.'* 
 There were two women ; one mature and haggard, described 
 indifferently as Mr. Pottinger's secretary and housekeeper; 
 the other quite young and very small, spoken of by Mr. 
 Pottinger as his protegee. He also said that this girl 
 was a bundle of talents, that he proposed to make her a 
 world-famous film star before he had finished with her, 
 and that her diminutive stature was an asset of considera- 
 ble value. " A woman," he declared, " may be very beau- 
 tiful, with perfect features and a voluptuous figure; but 
 if she is reaUy large-built, she will prove a deception every 
 time you throw her on the screen." 
 
 The coarse, strong wine eventually showed its effect on 
 aU the party. Both the ladies were flushed, and they 
 babbled of sovereigns and dollars ; Roddy tapped the table 
 with a fork and gave his imitation of a bam-door fowl; 
 for a little while the thin gentleman was troubled by hic- 
 coughs and could only corroborate his chieftain with an 
 ugly little gulp. Mr. Pottinger himself preserved his 
 yellowish-white complexion unchanged, and his slow but 
 fluent utterance unthickened. Only the Chianti made him 
 boastful. 
 
 He said that he meant getting there all the time. If 
 people stood in his light he brushed them out of the way, 
 just as he had served those flies on the ceiling. Then he 
 talked of the relations of the two sexes, saying that for a 
 thousand reasons women could never boss the partnership. 
 Nature had given her her place, and she must keep in it. 
 
 The mean little room had an atrocious atmosphere by 
 now, laden with the odours of the greasy food, the fumes 
 from fla-ring gas-jets, and full of tobacco smoke; and 
 the little band of people looked sinister and dangerous, 
 as they sat there surrounding the pale and silent stranger 
 that they had somehow lured and caught. 
 
 Mr. Pottinger kept his lidless eyes fixed on Claire's 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 267 
 
 face waving away the cloud of smoke when it obscured 
 his ew of her, and he talked on interminably about men 
 and romen. 
 
 I might shock certain susceptibilities, but he enter- 
 tain 1 no doubt that corporal punishment was efficacious 
 in t 3 training of young artistes. And a great truth lay 
 behiid that. Women bowed to strength and determina- 
 tion. They liked to feel that the man they loved and 
 resj * cted could make himself feared, too. What did 
 Wil am the Conqueror do when courting Matilda? He 
 gav? her a good hiding, and she liked him all the better 
 for t. That was a long time ago. " But if I was the 
 husband of a woman who opposed her will to mine, 
 
 well What's that memo you're scribbling, Mrs. 
 
 Vau^jhan.? " 
 
 Claire had written something on an envelope and was 
 trying to get Roddy to read it. 
 
 '' Your wife is making signals to you, Vaughan," said 
 Mr. Pottinger. 
 
 " Eh, what.? " Then Roddy examined Claire's message: 
 
 " It is very late. I must go back to the flat. I am 
 afraid of leaving Gladys alone any longer." 
 
 ^' Oh, all right," and he rose from the table, with a 
 sur y air. " The missus wants to go home, and think it 
 over." 
 
 ' Really?" said Mr. Pottinger. "Surely not? Mrs. 
 Vaughan will hardly break us up like this, with nothing 
 setMed." His manner had changed. " I understood this 
 me ting was to fix it definitely. Stay, Mrs. Vaughan." 
 
 But Claire had moved round the table quickly and was 
 halfway to the door. "Stop her, Vaughan." And with 
 Ro idy by her side she stood at the opened door. " Say 
 no^ ^ Mrs. Vaughan. It seems to me, with your husband's 
 ap )roval, I best wait on you some time to-morrow, and 
 
268 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 put things straight before you, so's there'll be no further 
 mistake." 
 
 And that night Roddy was violent again. He said they 
 must have the money. 
 
 Next day he went out before the arrival of Pottinger, 
 and said he would return again after the interview. It 
 was at dusk when she heard the visitor's footstep on the 
 ^tone stairs, and in the pause before he rang the bell she 
 turned on all the electric light throughout the flat. The 
 thought arose that on this deserted upper floor there was 
 nobody within call. She received him alone in the sitting- 
 room, with Gladys hidden in the next room, and as she led 
 him through the hall her heart beat fast. A sense of 
 defencelessness came full upon her as he closed the door 
 behind them. This man was wicked, dangerous, and per- 
 haps desperate. 
 
 But he began very quietly, his hands playing with the 
 gold watch-chain, his face creased in smiles. 
 
 " Now Fd like to say to you at once, Mrs. Vaughan, 
 that I sympathize with you in your embarrassment; but 
 I am placed in a very considerable embarrassment myself. 
 If I could help you, I would do it. But the question is, 
 haven't things gone too far? Isn't it too late, any way, 
 for you to back out? " 
 
 " I am not backing out," said Claire. She had meant 
 to speak strongly and firmly, but her voice was scarcely 
 louder than a whisper. " I have had nothing to do with it." 
 
 The man smiled at her. 
 
 *' I assure you " — and Claire's voice gathered tone — " I 
 have not made a single promise." 
 
 He raised his hand as if begging her to say no more. 
 
 " Mrs. Vaughan, accepting for a moment your view of 
 the situation — that is, that you and your husband are 
 acting independently — just see my embarrassment ; " and 
 he brought out a bulging pocket-book and held it on his 
 knee. " I have in here his letters representing himself 
 
FOR. BETTER, FOR WORSE 26^ 
 
 IS a man of capital, whereas I am now to understand he 
 s a man of straw. But / have acted on the strength of 
 hose letters. Now it appears it is you who are in truth 
 :he capitalist. I do not know all the intricacies of your 
 aws. I am more acquainted with the code on the other 
 dde. But aren't we up against a difficult proposition, 
 inyhow ? If jou withdraw, how does Mr. Vaughan figure ? 
 Mrs. Vaughan, I can assure you I have gone a long way 
 ihead on the promises I have received. Why, see now, I 
 3an prove that to you. I have paid passage money for 
 Mr. Vaughan to New York. I have surmounted all the 
 passport difficulties and got his papers right through. No 
 easy matter. He will sail with us on the 20th instant — 
 or thereabouts. Unless — unless you want him arrested 
 'tween now and then for obtaining money under false 
 pretences." 
 
 " I — I'll pay you back the passage money." 
 
 He waved his hand and smiled. " That's a very small 
 matter — mentioned by me merely as proof of my words. 
 It's not the hundredth part of his obligation." 
 
 " Then — then I can't help it. He must take the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " Mrs. Vaughan, that strikes me as a harsh thing to^ 
 say. Your husband would judge it so, if I repeated it 
 to him. But I shan't do that. No, no. Mrs. Vaughan, 
 I have made a pretty shrewd guess at the friction between 
 you and yoxxr husband, and what you would have to expect 
 from him if " 
 
 He had moved from his chair and Claire moved too. 
 Every time he moved she changed her position, so as to 
 keep the same distance between them. He brought a chair 
 now to a table near the middle of the room, sat down, and 
 while he talked spread out some bits of paper on the table. 
 
 " I have with me here bills of different dates for the 
 necessary amounts. Your husband concurs that this will 
 be the simplest method, as it gives time for the realization 
 
270 FOR BETTER, FOR- WORSE 
 
 of your securities. Now I feel pretty sure, Mrs. Vaughan, 
 that before I quit, you are going to sign them." 
 
 " No," said Claire faintly. " I won't sign them." 
 
 " If I leave them your husband will make you sign 
 them." 
 
 " If you leave them I shall burn them." 
 
 " You're a brave and stiff-lipped little lady, but is it 
 wise to bring trouble on yeurself .? As I read your husband, 
 he's a man of strong feelings. If I report to him I've 
 failed, he's likely, as I judge, to make things very very 
 hard for you." 
 
 " That's my concern, not yours." 
 
 " Just so. But see now, Mrs. Vaughan, he has pledged 
 your credit and he means you to make good. If I know 
 human nature, you've got to give in. True, there's no 
 tremendous hurry. It's ten days from now to the 20th. 
 You may have a lot to go through in less than ten days. 
 .Why not give in now and save yourself? " 
 
 " I have given you your answer." 
 
 " I am to go and tell him you refuse, and send him 
 back to you at that.? " 
 
 " Yes," whispered Claire. 
 
 " He'll be wild — mighty wild." The man was putting 
 the bits of stamped paper back in his wallet, and Clarie 
 watched his slightest movements. " Ten days to change 
 your mind — to have to change your mind, eh? Well, if 
 you mean it, there's not much more to be said." 
 
 " There's nothing more to be said." Claire's eyes never 
 left his face. " So, so you can go, if you please, now." 
 
 He moved, with hairy hand outstretched; and Claire 
 retreating round the small room, opened the door in pass- 
 ing. When he stopped moving she stood still, her eyes 
 on his face, and pointed to the open door. 
 
 " If you want to shake hands, it is unnecessary. Go, 
 if you please." 
 
 And to her inexpressible relief he obeyed her. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 271 
 
 " You and I will meet again, Mrs. Vaughan." He said 
 1 is as he passed through the doorway. Directly she 
 ] 2ard the closing of the hall door she rushed to it and 
 y )lted it. Then she came back, all white and shaking, 
 I ilf hysterical, and went to Gladys to console her for 
 i 3r long seclusion. It was time for the child to go to bed. 
 ( laire undressed her, sat by her bed and read aloud ; tried 
 t) get her comfortably asleep in this space of time while 
 she herself was waiting, listening for the return of 
 1 loddy. 
 
 " Roddy, are you alone ? " It was an hour later and 
 J he was speaking through the hall door, 
 
 " Yes, of course I am.'* 
 
 Then she unbolted the door and let him in. He came 
 in, kicked the door to with his foot, and uttered a curse 
 is she followed him into the sitting-room. 
 
 " Roddy," she said wildly, " I used to ask you not to 
 swear at me, but I don't mind now. I — I'd rather you 
 bully me yourself, than send other men. That wasn't 
 kind, Roddy — not, not worthy. He, he threatened for 
 you. Why don't you hit me yourself? " 
 
 He had gone to the fireplace; and as he turned upon 
 her she took his hand and clung to him, speaking with 
 hysterical intensity, 
 
 " Roddy, listen to me. This is my last appeal. Be 
 merciful. Give me my freedom. Listen — only listen. I 
 am very unhappy — about Gladys, too, as well as myself. 
 The doctors say there's something wrong with her. I 
 don't know — I pray not — if I think of it I feel I'm going 
 mad. I don't know if it's my fault or your fault. I 
 thought it was your fault — but I won't think it if you'll 
 let me go. I want to be safe with her where I can take 
 care of her. Roddy, have mercy on us — your poor little 
 child and me. Have mercy and let us go." 
 
 He looked at her blankly. Her face was streaming with 
 
272 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tears, her features were twitching in a paroxysm of prayer 
 and entreaty. 
 
 " Roddy, dear, be kind — ^be generous. We belong to 
 jou. We're so utterly in your power. If you'll only 
 think. What harm have I ever done you.? Why should 
 you go on torturing me? You don't want me any longer. 
 You have your other women — you, you can't want me. 
 Let me go. I'll think kindly of you again — forget every- 
 thing — ^when you've set me free. Let me get a judicial 
 separation — don't oppose it, help me to get free. A deed 
 is no use. I must feel safe — or Roddy, I shall go 
 mad. 
 
 " I'll give you the money. Half of all that is left. Not 
 for this speculation. But I'll settle it on you — so that 
 you may always have something and I shall know you 
 can't starve. Collies can arrange that ; — provided we are 
 separated by law. Then I'll be able to work and earn 
 money. I won't be afraid of having to work for Gladys. 
 I — I shall have no more fears — when she and I are 
 alone. 
 
 But it was all without avail. That he felt contrition, 
 perhaps even shame, was evident; for he spoke to her 
 quite gently. Yet though soft of voice he was obdurate 
 in purpose. 
 
 " Don't go on in this abject way. It gets on my 
 nerves ; " and he held her with his arm round her waist. 
 ^' To see you crying and howling, one would think — There, 
 I can't reopen all that talk of separation. I told you it's 
 not to be thought of." 
 
 He went into the bedroom, and presently came out again 
 in his shirt sleeves. 
 
 " Now the kid's crying. Quiet her down, and bring me 
 out my coat. Claire, I'm sorry about the money." He 
 muttered this, as if to himself. " On my honour, I'm 
 sorry, but I don't see that I can give up the chance now. 
 If it's any comfort to you, you are taking all my pleasure 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 273 
 
 ut of it. If I listened to you, you'd make me feel like 
 . common thief — and just when I was getting back my 
 lope of pulling things right for both of us." 
 
 Then soon he went out again, saying that he would re- 
 urn early to-night, anyhow, by ten-thirty at latest. 
 
 " Get yourself some grub, Claire. And try to cheer 
 ip. Let bygones be bygones. It absolutely upset me, 
 vvhat you said about not wanting you. Of course I'm as 
 fond of you as ever — only I've been so damnably down 
 on my luck. You must make excuses if I give you the 
 rough side of my tongue sometimes." 
 
 Claire stood listening and thinking. It was about eight 
 o'clock now; she had at least two hours to herself before 
 his return. 
 
 Next minute she had pulled out her boxes, was opening 
 wardrobe drawers and throwing garments on the floor. 
 
 " It's all right, Gladys, darling. Mummy is packing up, 
 and Gladys must help her by being very quiet and good. 
 Soon she must get up again and be dressed. Fun, Gladys, 
 isn't it, to do things like this at night? " 
 
 Her luggage was reduced to manageable size nowadays, 
 and packing was a much easier task than in the far-off 
 times, when Pope took half a day to fill those huge trunks 
 that used to stand in the corridor of the Piccadilly 
 Hotel. 
 
 In an hour all was ready, and Gladys fully dressed sat 
 upon one of the boxes and promised to be very patient 
 while her mother ran down into the Marylebone Road to 
 hunt for a taxi-cab. It was half an hour before Claire 
 came upon an empty cab, and then to her despair, the 
 offered job was refused. Then after another ten minutes 
 a policeman outside the Great Central Railway Station 
 proved a friend in need, and a little before ten o'clock 
 she was back at the flat and helping her cabdriver to carry 
 the boxes down the steep stairs. 
 
 In feverish haste she had scribbled a note for Roddy 
 
274 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 and put it in a conspicuous position on the mantelshelf 
 between the matches and one of his pipes. 
 
 " I have gone, and you will never see me again. Please 
 apply to Messrs. Collie for your weekly money. I shall 
 not tell them or anyone else where I have gone to. Good- 
 bye. Claire." 
 
 Thus, for the second time in her life, Claire ran away 
 from home. 
 
 She drove first to her old lodgings near the Edgware 
 Road; but Mrs. Morris had the house full and could not 
 take them in. On Mrs. Morris's recommendation she 
 went to a Mrs. Hume at Maida Vale. Mrs. Hume was 
 sorry not to be able to oblige a friend of Mrs. Morris, 
 and she gave Claire two likely addresses at Camden Town 
 — " good, nice rooms, and respectable houses both of them, 
 very particular. Mention my name." And at the second 
 of these addresses Claire found a shelter and a resting- 
 place. Mrs. Grove, the landlady, accepted the introduc- 
 tion of Mrs. Hume in spite of the suspiciously late hour. 
 ** I am very particular, I am," she said confidentially, as 
 she led Claire and Gladys upwards to her top story. 
 " Such times as we're living through. Young man and 
 young woman scrape acquaintance at a theatre and come 
 straight to me to take lodgings, without so much as a 
 bandbox for luggage between them. I ask you! But 
 you have your luggage, and the young lady is another 
 testimonial." 
 
 Mrs. Grove's accommodation was all that Claire desired 
 < — a small front sitting-room, a bedroom opening out of 
 it, and at the back of the bedroom a large alcove with 
 another bed in it, the very thing for Gladys. 
 
 Soon the cabdriver, unaided, had brought up the last 
 box; and having done so he sat down in the front room 
 and grinned at Claire affably. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 275 
 
 " Now I^m wondering what I'm to be paid for this stunt. 
 ] 'unny little game I bin helpin' you to play to-night, 
 I aven't I? As far as I can see, I shall be asked a nice 
 1 )t of questions about it before I'm done." 
 
 Compared with the typical blackguards who drove cabs 
 
 ; t this late period of the war, he was quite a pleasant 
 
 ^ ;ood-natured fellow. He had no idea of turning profiteer ; 
 
 lie only wanted to take advantage of the ordinary oppor- 
 
 unities afforded by his profession. 
 
 Claire gave him a one-pound note for his labours and 
 mother in exchange for a promise that he would answer 
 10 questions, should any be asked. 
 
 Here in this small fastness under the tiles, in an obscure 
 road of an outlying district, Claire lay comfortably hidden 
 and felt almost safe. She would have felt safer if she 
 had been able to conceal her name, but that had been im- 
 possible. Her feUow lodgers knew her as Mrs. Vaughan, 
 and spoke to her, some of them, as she passed them on 
 the stairs when going out for cautious walks with Gladys ; 
 but they were not the sort of people to wonder who she 
 was or waste their time in trying to discover her previous 
 history. 
 
 On the floor below there was an officer apparently honey- 
 mooning with a tall girl, who had very yellow hair and 
 very high heels. They possessed a gramophone whose 
 varied music throbbed through the house at all hours ; and 
 they entertained hospitably of an evening, collecting other 
 light-hearted people to enjoy the gramophone, play cards, 
 and even to dance. Below this couple, there were two 
 elderly ladies who objected to the honeymooners' parties, 
 and a big sombre man who did not mind. He was a worker 
 at a neighbouring Y.M.C.A. hostel, and when he came 
 back to his room he was so tired that nothing disturbed 
 his sleep. 
 
 Claire intended to stay during the week for which she 
 
276 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 had taken her rooms and then go away to the depths of 
 the country or to a seaside town. She could not decide 
 ^hich would be safer. 
 
 Quite late in the evening, her landlady used to come up 
 uninvited and sit with her for a little while, plaintively 
 philosophizing. She was a kindly soul, and the notion of 
 Claire's being lonely seemed to prey upon her mind. " You 
 don't get much enjoyment out of life, not for your age,'* 
 she said reflectively. " But then you're wrapped up in your 
 little girl, aren't you.'^ Anxious about her, too. She looks 
 but poorly." 
 
 One night when she paid her visit Claire was already 
 going to bed. But she tapped softly at the door of the 
 bedroom and asked permission to come in and sit there. 
 
 " Don't take any notice of me. Go on brushing your 
 hair, and let me talk. I didn't like not to see you after 
 all this long day. Missie's all right in there — likes her 
 bed? I shan't rouse her. I'm never a loud talker. I'm 
 not intruding, am I?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Claire. Indeed, companionship of this 
 strange kind was now not unpleasant to her. 
 
 " What pretty hair ^'^ou've got — and how you do keep 
 brushing it. Like to feel it's all had the bristles through 
 it? You aren't one of the bird's-nest sort. It's wigs 
 mostly nowadays, or on the frame — and dye. I ask you! 
 I could see you were a lady by the sound of your voice as 
 soon as ever you spoke to me. And you've been through 
 better times in your time, I know that. What times we're 
 going through now. I don't care when the war ends, not 
 me. It's all artificial, the good trade and the high prices. 
 I'd sooner be back at the old level. Robbing Peter to 
 pay Paul — that's about what it is. What you put into 
 one pocket, the Government takes out of your other pockets 
 And the taxes ! I ask you ! " 
 
 Then another night when Claire was undressing, she 
 heard footsteps and the sound of a match being struck to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 27T 
 
 li '•ht the gas. Next moment came soft taps on the door 
 ; mels; and she unlocked and opened the door at once, 
 > .ying, " Is that you, Mrs. Grove? Come in." 
 
 But it was not Mrs. Grove to-night. It was Roddy. 
 
 He had traced the fugitives with the greatest ease, and 
 ii t his leisure. It occurred to him that in her essential 
 i ^orance of London, Claire would naturally drift towards 
 t be only places where she had lived before, and his first call 
 : f inquiry was at the lodgings by the Edgware Road. 
 
 He drew her towards him from the doorway, and looked 
 iX her dully and heavily. 
 
 " I am not going to argue with you to-night, Claire. 
 .- am too tired. We'll have it all out in the morning. I 
 vant to get to bed now. Stand out of the light and let 
 :ne take in this kit-bag." 
 
 " Roddy, you must go away. You can't sleep here." 
 
 " Rot. Where else am I to sleep? I have shut up the 
 flat, and given 'em the key. Don't play the fool." 
 
 " In — any — case, you couldn't, because Gladys is in 
 there — the same room — only a curtain between. It — it 
 wouldn't be decent." She was barring the way, and he 
 tried to push her aside while she talked to him in a gasping 
 whisper. "But apart from that, it's over — all done with 
 between you and me. Nothing on earth would make me 
 begin, again." 
 
 Then quietly, with not the least unnecessary violence, 
 he seized her bodily, with one hand on her bare white 
 neck, and the other behind her back, gripping a naked 
 arm; and she fought with him, physically this time, as 
 he drove her backwards to the open door. 
 
 " No, I won't. I won't. Let me go. Don't you see 
 that I'd rather kill myself? Don't you feel that I hate 
 you and loathe you — that the touch of your hands sickens 
 me. Roddy, I'll scream out if you don't stop ! Roddy ! " 
 
 She stretched her free arm towards the lintel of 
 the door, tried to cling to it as he pushed her across 
 
278 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 the threshold. Then suddenly she cried aloud for help. 
 
 " Hush — damn you. Are you mad.?' " 
 
 He put his hand over her mouth, but she wrenched her 
 head away, and in the struggle the buttons on his coat 
 sleeve cut her lip. Then, nonplussed by her ferocity, or 
 hoping to keep her quiet by doing so, he let her go. And 
 she ran out to the landing and halfway down the stairs, 
 calling for help again. 
 
 The first people up the stairs were the young soldier 
 and the yellow-haired girl from the first floor, but they 
 were quickly followed by the other young folk that com- 
 posed their evening party. The two elderly ladies came 
 up next; and last of all the landlady with the Y.M.C.A. 
 worker. She had been into his room to wake him. Claire 
 retreated before them into the sitting-room, and they filled 
 the landing, looking into the room as if it had been a 
 scene on the stage. 
 
 Indeed it was a curious scene: Claire half dressed, her 
 hair all tumbled loose seeming black against her white 
 face, the red trickle of blood from the cut lip staining the 
 whiteness of chin and bosom; Gladys in her night-dress 
 sobbing with arms round her mother ; and Roddy seated on 
 the end of the horse-hair sofa with his hands in his pockets, 
 looking moodily at the unopened kit-bag. 
 
 " Well, what the devil do you all want? '' he asked, in 
 a dull unemotional tone. " Look here, my wife and I have 
 had a bit of a dispute, but it's all right. Just leave us 
 alone.'' 
 
 " This man is my husband," said Claire ; " but he has 
 no right here. I have ordered him to go — and, and he 
 still tries to stay." 
 
 " Yes, and he's been knocking her about, too," said the 
 yellow-haired girl. ^* That's a dirty shame, anyhow." 
 
 " She's answered him," said another girl, " and he's 
 given her a back-hander across the mouth. Why doesn't 
 somebody send for the police .'^ " 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 279 
 
 " Don't you ever do that, certainly not," said the land- 
 i tdy. 
 
 " If he was an officer," said the young married man, " I 
 ' riould know what to do with him. I should put him under 
 ; rrest." 
 
 " I am an officer," said Roddy wearily. ^ 
 
 " I don't believe you. If I did believe you, I should tell 
 70M to consider yourself under arrest." 
 
 " You leave him alone, Tony, or he'll assault you next." 
 
 And as usual on such occasions all talked at the same 
 time. 
 
 " She wants him outside, she says so. Let's go for the 
 blighter and pitch him out." . . . " I thought this was a 
 respectable house. Such doings and noise when one wants 
 to be quiet in one's bed." ..." That's enough of it. 
 You can all go to the devil." ..." Comes in and tells my 
 girl he's expected, pushes by her, and straight up the 
 stairs with his bag in his hand, and makes this shindy. 
 I ask you ! " 
 
 Finally the big sombre man from the Y.M.C.A. hut took 
 control of the situation, and persuaded all to descend 
 again except himself and the landlady. He said this sort 
 of disturbance was in his line, and he always acted on 
 the maxim of doing the best in the circumstances. 
 
 The best in these particular circumstances, both to his 
 judgment and that of Mrs. Grove, was to accept Roddy's 
 word of honour as a gentleman not to interfere any more 
 with Claire and her daughter, to see them both safely 
 locked in the bedroom, to allow Roddy to sleep on the 
 sofa, and, as a last touch of genuine Y.M.C.A. kindness, 
 to supply two blankets from downstairs. 
 
 In the morning Roddy went out to wash at a public 
 lavatory, came back to breakfast, and after breakfast he 
 and Claire had the talk that he had spoken of last night. 
 
 " You might have waited, Claire. You might have given 
 me a chance. I am going to relieve you of my presence 
 
280 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 for six months anyhow. I've wanted to get across to the 
 States for ages, and I'm going now — ^whatever happens. 
 Claire, don't be hard on me. I'm pretty near down and 
 out." 
 
 And he spoke of the offer she had made him of half 
 her remaining capital. He said it was a sporting offer, 
 and he would accept it if she would abandon the settlement 
 plan and let him have it in cash. If she consented to this, 
 he would solemnly undertake never to molest her again — 
 not only at the end of six months, but never. He would 
 go out of her life absolutely and for all time. 
 
 Claire consented, making such conditions as were neces- 
 sary. She must have the assurance that he had really 
 left England; and to this end, no money would be given 
 to him until he was actually on the ship at Liverpool, 
 and then only a little. The bulk of the money would 
 be placed to his credit In New York, and he would have 
 to go there to get it. He was to telegraph to her from 
 the ship itself at the moment of departure, since it was 
 unlikely that the authorities would sanction his sending 
 a wireless message to her from the high seas. 
 
 " Done ! You don't trust me ; but I mustn't complain ; " 
 and he looked at her sadly and doubtfully. " When you 
 were so riled with me last night, you said things that I 
 shouldn't like to think you meant — about the touch of 
 my hands and all that. You didn't really mean it, 
 Claire?" 
 
 " Roddy, how do I know what I said — or what you made 
 me say? " 
 
 " But you don't take it back? " And he looked at her 
 searchingly and wonderingly, " Does it mean that you've 
 turned against me so utterly as all that? But it's very 
 sudden, isn't it? All right. We've made our bargain. 
 But answer this one question. Does it mean that you have 
 found somebody else.? . . . Ah, that's brought the colour 
 to your cheeks. You can't answer me, what? " 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 281 
 
 " A last insult, Roddy. But what does it matter? Why 
 s lould I feel either indignation or surprise? You shall 
 1 ive your answer. No, there is nobody else, and there 
 r 3ver will be/' 
 
 Then he asked her to kiss him. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then ta-ta. Good luck.'' And he shrugged his shoul- 
 c ers, picked up his bag, and went down the stairs. 
 
 A few days later she received the telegram for which 
 s lie had stipulated. " Good-bye. — ^Roddy." 
 
 He had gone. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE cruel time was over: he had really gone. Claire, 
 physically and mentally exhausted, took her little 
 girl far away from the vast ugliness of London, and 
 they stayed for long peaceful weeks in a cottage on the 
 shore of one of the river estuaries of South Devon. 
 
 Here one could forget the war and all other violences 
 in looking at things that they had never touched — white- 
 headed old fishermen mending nets on the cobble stones by 
 the little pier, the curved flight of seagulls traced against 
 a blue sky, the broad face of red fields that grew sad 
 only because clouds were passing and smiled all day when 
 the sky was clear. Gladys was happy and well in this 
 soft bland climate. The people were Devonshire people, 
 and that is but another way of saying that they were 
 kind and good people. Claire was at peace. She slept 
 without nightmare dreams; she woke without any dread 
 of the dawning day. 
 
 She felt weary and weak ; but gradually that marvellous 
 medicine, the tyrant's absence, gave tone to her nerves and 
 richness to her blood. Her youth was asserting itself. 
 Her appetite returned, her footsteps grew lighter and 
 yet firmer; she was rapidly getting strong. All round 
 them the signs of advancing spring gave their sweet 
 messages of life and hope; nature, calmly triumphant, 
 was unfolding its yearly lesson. There is no death, no 
 destruction, only change. Gladys enjoyed the epoch- 
 marking adventures of childhood ; saw a cow milked, heard 
 the blackbird's pipe and the woodpecker's drill, sought 
 through the banks of deep-set lanes, with unsnobbish 
 ardour, to meet her first Lords and Ladies. When she 
 and her mother laughed there was no fear of the sound 
 
 282 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 283 
 
 c lusing offence. Sometimes, forgetful of the proverb, they 
 s ing as they dressed before breakfast. 
 
 Then came the news of reverses to our armies in France, 
 1 ews so big with danger to the great cause that they 
 > aook one, no matter how far one had crept from the 
 1 oisy centre of things. Claire in her peaceful retreat was 
 J gitated by the sombre tidings of these heavy days ; but 
 Ihis, too, was good for her, breaking the dull chain of 
 i labit which binds even the most unselfish people and com- 
 l)els them to think only of themselves when for a long 
 ' ime they have borne a ceaseless discomfort. Claire was 
 if ted out of herself, and felt again the wider thought- 
 :ension of the world. 
 
 But the fishermen daubing their mended nets, said that 
 :hings would come all right at long last ; the red fields were 
 changing to green, pierced by millions of tiny spears; 
 dark clouds came biUowing overhead ; then a shaft of sim^- 
 light leaped down upon the water, and the flashing bow 
 of promise lay stretched across the sky. 
 
 Claire came back to London in the early summer; and 
 it seemed as if fate, tired of tormenting her, was now 
 pleased to accept her as its most favoured child. Every- 
 body was kind to her; everything went well with her. 
 Astounding lucky chances helped in all that she tried to 
 do. For instance, when she went to see if she could get 
 rooms at Mrs. Morris's house, lodgers unexpectedly 
 called away had just vacated the very rooms that suited 
 in cost and arrangement. Mrs. Morris said it was little 
 short of a miracle. The rooms had been only empty 
 an hour, and they would most certainly have been snapped 
 up before nightfall. 
 
 Claire was extremely grateful for the lucky chance, be- 
 cause she had some happy memories of this house as well 
 as sad ones. And another surprisingly good turn of 
 luck — a larger miracle! You could now get real hot 
 water. 
 
284. FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " No one more surprised than myself," said Mrs. Mor- 
 ris. " Without a word of warning the landlord sends 
 them in to fix a new range and a fresh system. I can 
 only suppose he's made his. fortune by now, same as 
 everybody else except me.'' 
 
 Then l?ope, her sometime maid, came back to her. Pope 
 was Mrs, Dent now, a wife of six years' standing, with a 
 husband fighting in the war, but she begged Claire still to 
 call her by her maiden name. She had lost a baby son, 
 and she wept when she spoke of him, but out of her dis- 
 appointment and grief had come a great love of children, 
 other people's children if she might not have any of her 
 own, and she proved an invaluable friend and guardian 
 to Gladys, Indeed, she was altogether a softened and more 
 yielding Pope than the resilient tightly-laced young 
 woman of the past; she expressed an affection for her 
 late mistress which she had always felt but had not been 
 always able to show, and between them there was a pre- 
 liminary contest of generosity and good feeling before the 
 terms of the new engagement were settled. Claire wanted 
 Pope, but could not afford her; and Pope insisted on giv- 
 ing her services without payment. She had her separation 
 allowance, and with bed and board provided, she declared 
 that she would be in clover until her man came home. So 
 insistent was she that scruples were overcome; and Claire, 
 determined to make it up to Pope somehow, expressed a 
 very real gratitude and drew a great comfort from the 
 presence of this faithful servant, the sight of whose familiar 
 face reminded her of long-gone days and made her feel 
 younger and happier every time she met its smiles. 
 
 The smiles were always there after Pope had eased her 
 conscience by a very tearful confession. No effort of 
 Claire's could stop her when she began to explain how 
 and why she had first deserted her mistress. It was the 
 master^s cruel pestering that had compelled her to depart 
 from Sedginoor Street so obdurately, when the kindest of 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 285 
 
 I dstresses was lying ill in bed. And Pope went on to 
 I ewail her fault in having taken money from Roddy as a 
 1 ribe to abet him in his clandestine courtship of her inno- 
 ( ent young lady. 
 
 " It wasn't a lot of money, ma'am ; and at the time I 
 { wear to heaven I thought I was helping things all for the 
 1 »est. I was fairly took in by him, though more than old 
 < nough to see through such a sham. But afterwards I 
 ;ould have cut my hand off with shame and sorrow when 
 ; witnessed the sequel, and had to watch how he acted 
 :owards you. . . . No, ma'am, I won't speak of it again, 
 lever. Only I had to tell you and ask for your forgive- 
 less.'* 
 
 Claire said there was nothing to forgive ; nothing done 
 by Pope had made any difference, and Pope was to banish 
 this old story from her mind. Then Pope, feehng shrived, 
 was able to smile steadily as she bustled about her tasks. 
 
 In the morning Claire used to work with Gladys at her 
 lessons, pleased if her httle girl showed the slightest prog- 
 ress, resolutely shutting her eyes to any signs which might 
 suggest that the pupil was less capable of learning than 
 a normal child of the same age; and for the rest of the 
 day she could treat time as her own, if she cared to leave 
 Gladys in charge of the admirable Pope. She knew that 
 she could do so safely. She began then to look about for 
 employment in order to earn a little money. But soon 
 she made the discovery that, ridiculously small as her 
 means were, they were more than sufficient. She had 
 amassed large savings in Devonshire, and here in London 
 these savings remained intact. Notwithstanding the com- 
 paratively high rent paid to Mrs. Morris for her smallest 
 and least desirable rooms, in spite of the superlatively 
 high cost of food, raiment, and every other necessity, these 
 two women and the child were able to live comfortably 
 and well on a veritable pittance. The explanation was 
 simple enough. The vast insatiable male appetite had 
 
286 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 been eliminated from the domestic problem. Hundreds 
 of thousands of women had made and were making Claire^s 
 discovery. 
 
 With no dark thought for the household books, content 
 in the hour, heedless of to-morrow, Claire walked with 
 light footfall through the long summer days. The weight 
 was lifted from her shoulders, she could carry her head 
 high and dream of noble things. She thought almost 
 continuously of the war — the titanic struggle, the fight 
 between the powers of light and darkness, that she had 
 almost forgotten while locked in the prison-house of per- 
 sonal woes. Surely the righteous cause must triumph. 
 However dark the immediate prospect, the end must come 
 in a burst of dazzling light. God would not permit this 
 deluge of blood to continue indefinitely : His bow was in the 
 sky. 
 
 Indeed, already there was more hopeful talk on the 
 lips of men. The enemy had made their last tremendous 
 thrust and failed. Amiens was not to fall; the open 
 road to Paris had been closed once more with a gate of 
 fire. 
 
 Claire was working for Aunt Agnes at a women's guild, 
 and now she again wore her Red Cross uniform and went 
 on two or three afternoons in the week to Lady Pevensea's 
 hospital in Arlington Street. 
 
 One saw the war here under its gentlest and most aristo- 
 cratic aspect. The grand house, stripped bare except for 
 the magnificent pictures and here and there a piece of 
 furniture, had preserved its essential stateliness ; the metal 
 beds stood widely spaced along the parquetry floor of the 
 great reception rooms, and through windows so tall that 
 they seemed narrow one looked out on the trees and the 
 grass of the park. 
 
 Her bed — or rather Miss Verinder's bed — ^was at the end 
 of the dining-room, on the ground floor, and Claire's task 
 wa^ to attend to its occupant when Miss Verinder went 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 287 
 
 c it of an afternoon for her prescribed exercise and fresh 
 a r. The occupant of the bed now was a new arrival, a 
 ( olonel Basil Everett who had been rather badly gassed. 
 ''. 'hat first afternoon he was sleeping when Claire came on 
 c aty. 
 
 " Is he blinded? " she whispered. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Miss Verinder cheerfully, " but they'll 
 1 ave to keep the light from his eyes for some time. He'll 
 I e quite all right, they say. Greatly distinguished him- 
 .'elf, it seems. Done grandly." She was a jolly, capable 
 i ort of girl, and she gave Claire directions in a business- 
 like manner, eager for her walk. " Talk to him. It'll do 
 iiim good. If he complains of pain in his eyes, drench 
 :he under bandage with this." 
 
 Claire looked at some books on the small table by the 
 oed and saw that her beloved Thackeray was represented 
 among their authors ! then she sat down and watched the 
 sleeper. 
 
 He was a man of about thirty-five, tall and thin, and 
 he lay on his back motionless with hands folded on his 
 breast. He was clean-shaven, and the bandage allowed 
 one to see that he had a broad, intellectual forehead and 
 a long, high-bridged nose. His mouth was fine, unsen- 
 sual; and Claire noticed a tremor on the lips from time 
 to time that meant pain or the memory of pain. 
 
 Then all at once he woke, and Claire asked if he would 
 like her to read to him. He did not want to be read to, 
 but he seemed to enjoy talking and they were soon launched 
 in a discussion about books. His voice was a little husky, 
 and yet one felt the natural pleasantness of its tone. He 
 had the frank abruptness which is common to men who 
 are quite sure of their position in the world, and which 
 sounds to a stranger almost gracious sometimes because 
 it implies at once confidence and equality. But he shocked 
 Claire by speaking ill of Thackeray; saying he was an 
 
288 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 old twaddler, and forcing her to defend the characters 
 in The Newcomes one by one. 
 
 However, they agreed better on other points, and it was 
 altogether an entertaining conversation ; so much so that 
 the time passed very easily. 
 
 She was interested in him, and a few days later she 
 heard more about him. An elderly cousin of his had 
 come to see him, and this lady took an opportunity of 
 thanking Claire for her kindness. 
 
 " You have no idea how much he appreciates it. He 
 finds in you what is so rare nowadays, someone who can 
 understand what he calls the realm of thought. He is 
 very clever, you know." And she continued to sing her 
 cousin's praises; telling Claire that he belonged to the 
 Foreign Office, that famous statesmen thought highly of 
 him, as certain to make a big career. " Directly the war 
 broke out he threw over everything at once. Of course, 
 
 he could not do otherwise ; and yet " She sighed, and 
 
 left the sentence unfinished. " And he has done sc splen- 
 didly out there.'* She sighed again. " He will go out 
 directly they let him. He longs to be back. I hope he 
 may win through." 
 
 The following afternoon Colonel Everett greeted Claire 
 quite excitedly. 
 
 " I have made an astounding discovery since yesterday. 
 You are Mrs. Vaughan. When they said that, it meant 
 nothing to me; but you are the Mrs. Vaughan who was 
 Miss Gilmour." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then, Mrs. Vaughan, I am an old friend and not a 
 stranger. I have been at your house. Don't you remem- 
 ber me — Basil Everett? I talked to you a lot at an eve- 
 ning party." 
 
 Claire was obliged to confess that she did not re- 
 member. 
 
 " How humiliating ! Not even heard me spoken of by 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 289 
 
 y ur relations? Mrs. Vaughan, I was at your wedding. 
 A id what's more, I gave you a wedding present." 
 
 " You make me ashamed." 
 
 " You wrote me a charming letter of thanks, and said 
 y )u liked the little books — two volumes of Tennyson — 
 J ^aud and Enoch Arden.*^ 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad." And Claire explained that by cir- 
 c imstances over which she had no control nearly all her 
 •^ edding presents had disappeared. " We were obliged to 
 
 s 3nd them to a warehouse — and then Anyhow, I kept 
 
 tiose two books — my favourite poet — and in that lovely 
 binding; and I have them still quite safe. You know, 
 ('olonel Everett, you didn't write your name in them, 
 l^ou ought to have." 
 
 " I will now." 
 
 " I'll bring them to-morrow." 
 
 It all seemed to her mysterious, wonderful, and very, 
 A'ery pleasant. He was reaUy and truly an old friend. 
 And those books ! What a strange and happy chance 
 that she had not lost them. 
 
 They talked that afternoon about her family. 
 
 " The wedding — what an immense time ago," he said 
 musingly. " How long? " 
 
 " Nine years." 
 
 " But still you are very young. You were only a child 
 then." 
 
 "I am nearly thirty." 
 
 " Your sister — Mrs. Joyce ! She used to snub me hor- 
 ribly. That nice aunt of yours. Miss Graham, introduced 
 me to you all. She has always been extraordinarily kind 
 to me." 
 
 " She is kind to everybody," said Claire. 
 
 " Joyce, your brother-in-law! A barrister, wasn't he? " 
 
 " No, he's a solicitor. He has been knighted." 
 
 " Knighted ! How on earth did he put his foot in it and 
 let such a thing as that happen? " 
 
290 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire laughed. " If Emily heard you speak like that 
 she would be very angry. She is very proud and pleased 
 about it.'^' 
 
 " Have any other members of the family got into trou- 
 ble?" 
 
 Claire, laughing, said yes, her brother John had been 
 made a baronet; but that was always expected. 
 
 " So it didn't come as a blow? And that nice old chap, 
 le pere noble, who gave you away ? " 
 
 " Uncle Derek ! Oh, he's very well," and she told how 
 he had been a special constable from the beginning of the 
 war, out in all weathers and never complaining, although 
 over seventy. 
 
 " They'll knight him too, if he isn't careful," said 
 Colonel Everett. 
 
 She talked with absolute freedom, in sympathy with 
 him, trusting him instinctively and fully. She felt the 
 pleasure of a freedom that she had not enjoyed for all 
 these long years. In all her married life there had not 
 been one friend of Roddy's with whom she could laugh 
 and talk like this, without constraint, on a perfect equality 
 of sentiment, confidently and at ease. To use the brutal 
 word, there had not been one gentleman. 
 
 Colonel Everett sent his love to Miss Graham, and 
 wanted to see her. But she was out of London for a few 
 days. Claire, however, promised to write to her. And 
 one afternoon Aunt Agnes made her appearance at the 
 hospital. 
 
 Afterwards she praised Basil Everett more enthusias- 
 tically even than his own cousin. She had known him 
 since he was a boy, and had always admired him ; " even 
 had dreams about him at one time, Claire — I mean, ideas 
 of how his life might be arranged for him." He belonged 
 to an old family, and had no brother, but one sister, to 
 whom he had been so greatly devoted that soon after com- 
 ing of age he gave her his estate and nearly all his money, 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 291 
 
 keo )ing only a small farm for himself. " People don't 
 do things like that unless they are a little out of the 
 CO]] mon run, do they, Claire? " The sister was married 
 ar( ungrateful. But when he spoke of her no one would 
 gv:< ss. " Has she been to see him, Claire? " 
 , ' No, I don't think so." 
 
 ' • A selfish cat," said Miss Graham. 
 Vt this period an epidemic of marriage had broken out 
 an ong the amiable and attractive young nurses collected 
 by Lady Pevensea, and during a little while the hospital 
 fc]' the first time in its history found itself short-handed. 
 Miss Verinder escaped the contagion, but she was promoted 
 temporarily to higher oiBce ; thus the chance came to Claire 
 of being really useful. For a whole week she received 
 rt,|ular employment, working from midday to midnight; 
 SLXid then, through no fault of their own, but owing to the 
 return of several of the newly-wed, Miss Verinder was re- 
 duced in rank again and Claire fell back to her position of 
 visiting assistant. 
 
 Colonel Everett chaffingly complained that she had 
 neglected him during this time of stress, although, in fact, 
 she had given him as much attention as was possible ; and 
 he welcomed her renewed leisure as propitious to his con- 
 valescence. " Of course," he said, " the better I get, the 
 ciuUer I feel." 
 
 He was doing remarkably well. That huskiness had gone 
 from his voice ; soon a green shade would take the place of 
 ihe bandages, and he would be allowed to use his eyes a 
 -ittle every day. 
 
 He used to talk about the sensations of blind men and 
 :he sharpening of the other senses that are supposed to 
 result from the loss of sight. " I think that must be bosh," 
 ae said. " I haven't developed any Sherlock Holmes 
 faculties." And smilingly he added that he almost 
 dreaded seeing Claire again, lest he should find her greatly 
 changed. 
 
292 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " I remember you so well. You had dark hair, and dark 
 eyes. Now you'll want to murder me when I tell you this. 
 Before I knew who you were — at the very beginning — I 
 thought you were quite young, absurdly young. I built up 
 the picture of somebody, well, quite different from what 
 you are ; a rather dumpy little person with fair, even sandy 
 hair, freckles — and eye-glasses. Mrs. Vaughan, I was sure 
 you had eye-glasses. But, good gracious, after all, have 
 you? '' 
 
 " No," said Claire, with her pretty, low-toned laugh 
 sounding exactly as it used to do at Hague House. " How 
 dreadfully silly you are about it ! " 
 
 " That's all right. I breathe again. Of course, I should 
 have heard the glasses falling with a click against your 
 belt." 
 
 Why was it that he could say these things, implying 
 some memory of good looks, of something about her worthy 
 of admiration, and yet neither embarrass her nor make 
 her in the least angry? It was because of the perfectly 
 frank tone, the lightness and yet the solid weight that are 
 at once the attributes of friendship. She thought of knock- 
 down compliments dealt her by some of Roddy's pals, and 
 of her disgust and annoyance as she evaded any opening 
 for further assaults. 
 
 " Do tell me about your daughter," said Basil Everett. 
 " Is she like you? " 
 
 " No, I don't think so," and there was sudden sadness 
 in Claire's tone. " They say she is like a sister of mine — 
 who died." It had always made her wince when her mother 
 and Emily harped on this fancied resemblance, saying: 
 " She is more and more like poor Angela." 
 
 " I hope," said Everett, " that you'll let me make the 
 acquaintance of Miss Claire." 
 
 " Her name is not Claire. We called her Gladys." 
 
 " Oh, what a pity! Why was that? Claire is such an 
 awfully pretty name." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 293 
 
 * I had a superstitious fancy that it wasn't a lucky 
 or ?.'' 
 
 '' Oh, that was the reason.'' 
 
 And she felt certain that he understood as clearly as if 
 si] 3 had said : " My married life was not a happy one.'' 
 Ir his brief silence he conveyed to her a sympathy more 
 re fretful and sincere than if he had openly expressed comt- 
 ni seration. He could never have heard anything about 
 h(r troubles, she had had no intention of hinting at them, 
 biit she was glad that he knew the truth. 
 
 At last the time came when the bandage was removed, 
 a J id he peeped at a brilliantly illuminated universe from 
 beneath a large green shade. "I have had it right off 
 f (►r five minutes this morning," he told her g^ily ; " and I 
 ii'iver saw better in my life. I may have it oif for another 
 two minutes this afternoon. I can see you now, you know. 
 \ ou are taller than I remembered." And presently he 
 3*aised himself in bed, and said that he would have the 
 i^o minutes without any further delay. " It's no good 
 hoarding it up. They may give me another two, if I spend 
 these promptly." 
 
 "You are sure it's all right? Don't look towards the 
 window." 
 
 " No, I want to look at you." 
 
 He had pushed the shade up above his forehead, and 
 tiis rather deep-set eyes examined her with a grave 
 scrutiny. She, too, was studying attentively, never till now 
 having known the natural aspect of his face. Only his 
 mouth had been really familiar to her. He seemed 
 stronger, more serious and reserved than she had imagined. 
 
 " Well," she asked, " am I very different from what you 
 remembered? " 
 
 "Yes," he said, smiling at her gravely and kindly; 
 " very much indeed." 
 
 She smiled back at him, without the least self- 
 consciousness. 
 
294. FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Of course you were a girl, and now you are a woman, 
 I can only think of that extremely hackneyed phrase: 
 Something has gone from you, and something has been 
 given to you. But let me hasten to add that you have 
 gained on balance." 
 
 She stood with his watch in her hand counting the 
 seconds — ^while he went on talking, about the room and a 
 picture at the far end over one of the marble chimney- 
 pieces. 
 
 " Five more seconds," said Claire. ..." Now." 
 
 And he covered his eyes, and lay down again. 
 
 " Has it made your eyes ache ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. Oh, if they'd only let me get up, I should 
 be as right as rain. My chest is absolutely clear. I think 
 it's old-womanish nonsense keeping me here when I ought 
 to be out and getting fit as fast as I can." 
 
 " They'll soon let you go out now. Miss Verinder said so." 
 
 She always remembered that afternoon, because it was 
 the one on which he talked to her about the war. She had 
 asked him if he ever doubted. 
 
 " You never doubt, either," he said. " No, I am sure 
 you don't." 
 
 And he went on to speak of the certainty of victory, 
 and the wonderful work to be done in the reconstruction 
 of the world after the war. He said how at this time one 
 felt that only the future of our race counted, and that the 
 fate of the individual was nothing. He said it was dreadful 
 to hear politicians still urging people to forget themselves 
 and do their duty in the cause of humanity, because truly 
 there was no need, there never had been any need, for such 
 goading eloquence. One might try to think of oneself, 
 one's own small griefs or cares, but one could not do it. 
 One lost oneself in the colossal agony, the supreme hope. 
 
 " Mrs. Vaughan, you know what I mean, though I say it 
 so feebly. It is wonderful to live in such a period — or to 
 die in it either. You know that thing of Julia Ward 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 296 
 
 H »we's. I always think of one line. * He hath sounded 
 fo th the trumpet that shall never call retreat.' The men 
 ±h ;mselves feel it — they can't help feeling it. They are 
 lii ced out of themselves — they are marching to the glory, 
 ai d they are content, though it is a glory they may never 
 sc %" 
 
 And Claire, sitting by the open window and listening, 
 f e t that she, too, was content, no matter what happened 
 tc her. He talked in his usual quiet voice, without any 
 ef'ort after rhetoric, not choosing words or trying to give 
 tl em emphasis, but with intense conviction, and the words 
 ni3ved her to her depths. 
 
 " What work to do — what work for every living man 
 and woman on the earth!" And he spoke again of the 
 fresh clean world to be built up from the blood-stained 
 luins of the world that had gone. 
 
 Claire, with her back to the quiet, peaceful room, looked 
 out of the window, at the open park, men and women and 
 children sauntering along the paths, the dipping line of 
 trees with the white houses of Piccadilly seen here and there 
 e.bove their topmost branches ; and even this common town 
 \fas beautiful in the glory of the warm summer light. She 
 felt that she was looking at the beauty of the world which 
 nothing can destroy, and that her heart was beating calmly 
 to the rhythm of eternal hopes. Westward across the 
 f tretch of grass the people in the far distance seemed to 
 l>e hurrying towards a golden haze — the vision of splendour 
 ind victory. 
 
 She had been lifted out of herself. She thought, " This 
 s how one ought to feel; these things are what I have 
 craved to hear said." If she never saw him again, she would 
 )e grateful to him for putting into plain words the highest 
 md finest thoughts of the passing hour. 
 
 Going home, she wondered if he had done it with a 
 purpose — especially all that he had said about the in- 
 significance of the individual — in order to help her. 
 
CHAPTER XXni 
 
 THIS friendship continued after he left the hospital, 
 and they met often at Aunt Agnes's house in Hans 
 Place. One day they all went to tea with him at 
 his rooms in a new block of buildings near St. James's 
 Square. He was delightfully kind to little Gladys, and he 
 astounded his older visitors by the amount of sugar and 
 sugary cakes that, despite of severe food regulations, he 
 had somehow contrived to obtain. It was a gay and 
 happy party. 
 
 He had been before a medical board; soon he would go 
 before another, and in this vacant time of unemployment 
 he put himself at the service of Miss Graham and Claire. 
 For a week or ten days he had a motor-car at his disposal, 
 and he took them for some pleasant drives ; after that he 
 was always inventing little treats or amusements which 
 Claire, no longer wanted by the hospital, greatly enjoyed; 
 when they refused an excursion, he offered to fetch or 
 carry for them, to make himself useful to them in any 
 possible way. 
 
 Aunt Agnes raved about his unselfishness. She said he 
 had strayed among them from another century ; he was a 
 knight errant, a very perfect knight indeed. " I mean it, 
 Claire. If all men were like him, I should have no quarrel 
 with the sex. But it is the exception that proves the rule." 
 
 Claire, naturally comparing him with other men and 
 allowing for characteristic exaggeration, found him almost 
 all that her aunt said. She was touched by his unfailing 
 kindness to Gladys. He had insisted that Gladys should 
 be taken with them for those expeditions, and the child 
 had given her small heart to him completely. Claire felt 
 strong indignation when she thought of that callous, un- 
 
 296 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 297 
 
 g ateful sister who had accepted so much and given noth- 
 13 g in exchange. 
 
 She was surprised that such a man should seem now so 
 / iendless and alone ; she could not believe that his time 
 ' as so little mortgaged to the claims of others as to 
 T. ake him really free to waste it without limit on Aunt 
 . gnes and herself ; but he said always that he had noth- 
 1 ig else to do and no one else that he wanted to see. He 
 t >ld her in effect that his friends were few, but very dear 
 t J him. The men of whom he was fond were all on active 
 service. He hated his clubs. He was quite at a loose 
 end. 
 
 He knew the Bedminsters, and went with Miss Graham 
 i.nd her niece to the wedding of Cyril. It was a solemn 
 f^nd rather austere gathering at St. Margaret's, West- 
 minster; the intimate friends of both families did not fill 
 a quarter of the big church; and as there were no form- 
 ings up of soldiers at the door, no excesses of floral decora- 
 tion, no inviting paths of red cloth to attract public 
 notice, very few wanderers came in from the streets. 
 
 Cyril had developed in body as well as mind during the 
 war ; he looked very big round the chest as he stood stiffly 
 to attention ; his expression was proud and staid, while the 
 loftiness of his changed views, the disregard of all the 
 pretty toys of life, was well exemplified by a total absence 
 of care as to what happened to his new red hat with its 
 shining gold lace and black peak. Abandoned as a bauble, 
 it rolled and faintly clattered on the stone pavement. 
 But Cyril did not move a muscle or blink an eye. 
 
 " Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to 
 live together after God*s ordmmice in the holy estate of 
 Matrimony? '* 
 
 Claire, kneeling while others stood, listened to the por- 
 tentous words, and prayed that Cyril might be happy with 
 his serious lady. 
 
 There was no reception, because of the war; the high- 
 
298 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 minded Bedministers considering even tea and biscuits Im- 
 proper at such a time. But, balked of a party, the guests 
 lingered about the porch making there an informal assem- 
 bly. One saw Emily and heard her, loud and jovial, ac- 
 cepting congratulatory compliments on her elevation to 
 the titled classes. " Well," said Emily, " it is a recog- 
 nition of what Leonard has done. That's why I value it." 
 Uncle Derek, in a frock-coat and white waistcoat, was 
 very busy introducing old-fashioned nobles to the Gilmour 
 clan. Mrs. Gilmour, very grand, placid, and absent- 
 minded, threaded the throng and sent people on errands 
 to find the parasol that she had left in the front pew and 
 the glove that she fancied she had dropped in the vestry. 
 
 " Claire," she said, " I am glad to see you, but Roddy 
 should have been here, too. He should have come back 
 from America on purpose, if necessary," and she became 
 severe. " Claire, I do not like this long absence of his ; 
 and, what is more, I do not understand it." 
 
 It was immediately after this apotheosis of her adoredl 
 Cyril that poor Mrs. Gilmour suffered from one of those 
 mishaps to which she had been peculiarly subject all her 
 life. The news ran round the family that mother's lease- 
 hold houses had been demolished during the last air raid; 
 and that owing to mother's forgetfulness, in spite of the 
 most urgent warnings and entreaties from old Mr. Collie, 
 she had omitted to insure the houses against war risks. 
 Now the unlucky leaseholder would have to rebuild the 
 whole of these tenements at her own charge and hand them 
 over to the ground landlord all new and spic and span in 
 two years from now. Of course, it was wicked of Mr. 
 Collie, knowing what mother was, not to have insured the 
 things himself on his own responsibility. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour announced to the world that she would 
 have to give up Hague House; and she wrote to Claire 
 asking if she could have a bed-sitting-room at Mrs. 
 Morris's lodgings ; " for I am both homeless and ruined." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 299 
 
 But it was not as bad as everybody anticipated. One 
 s )n learned that Mrs. Gilmour had misread one letter and 
 I t opened another ; and that a visit to the property had 
 s; own that only the corner house had been destroyed. 
 '^ le blow was, so to speak, heavy, but by no means a 
 1 lock-out. Although still further crippled in her re- 
 f^ urces, Mrs. Gilmour would not be bereft of all visible 
 1 eans of subsistence. For the present, at least, she and 
 [ elton would remain at Hague House. 
 
 Claire, greatly relieved by a note from her mother can- 
 
 I illing her recent booking of apartments, felt very happy 
 M^ain. Indeed, at this time she was almost inexplicably 
 iiappy. More and more, it seemed to her that hope was 
 
 II the air; an unreasoned optimism now filled one's heart; 
 s Doner than experts dared predict peace was coming to a 
 tortured world. 
 
 But then of a sudden she was shaken by a gust of grief. 
 One morning she read in the newspaper of the accidental 
 death of Evan Giles. He had fallen from a high cliff in 
 Cornwall, and his mutilated body had been found by fisher- 
 men on the rocks below. There would be an inquest, al- 
 though no one could doubt that the deceased had lost his 
 life by an accident. 
 
 Claire sat staring at the newspaper and trembling. It 
 seemed to her as if she had read the paragraph years ago, 
 she knew its wording 6o well, or that the sad news itself 
 was the fulfilment of an ugly dream. Then at once she 
 knew that there had been no accident. She was again in 
 that littered, dusty room; she could hear his voice, as he 
 spoke of going quietly, without any loud song of Nunc 
 Dvmttis. But he had said that he did not mean it. He 
 had said that when people talked like that they never 
 meant it. 
 
 The evening papers had obituary notices, and as Claire 
 read them she could hear his voice once more. Every 
 phrase sounded as an echo. " Unaccountably surrendered 
 
300 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 or let slip a prominent place in the world of letters. . . . 
 Disappointed critics and readers alike by his failure to 
 fulfil this early promise. . . . Almost forgotten by the 
 novel-reading public." How pitifully true his forecast 
 had been. How cruelly well he knew what they would say 
 of him. 
 
 At the inquest, briefly reported two days later, the evi- 
 dence supported the theory of a very usual kind of acci- 
 dent and rendered only one verdict possible. The deceased 
 had nothing whatever on his mind. His daughter had been 
 lately married with his full approval. His son had just 
 secured a coveted decoration for gallantry in the field. 
 The deceased had expressed great satisfaction at both of 
 these auspicious events. 
 
 But Claire knew ; and the sadness of it made her heart 
 ache. She mourned for him with a genuine grief, and the 
 sorrowful truth which she could not impart to others lay 
 heavy in her thoughts. 
 
 It spoilt much of her pleasure in a second tea-party at 
 Basil Everett's rooms. They had been looking forward to 
 tliis treat so gaily ; for their host said he was going to sur- 
 pass himself in the way of cakes, and he had promised to 
 show Claire some of his prints and original editions. Miss 
 Graham declared that she loved going to this part of the 
 town, because it was so entirely masculine and one saw 
 there such monumental proof of men's selfish greed for 
 luxury and their incompetence even to make themselves de- 
 cently comfortable. 
 
 " These clubs and chambers, Claire, without a woman's 
 shop visible. Isn't it all hideous and disgusting? I won- 
 der-Basil can consent to live among so much hate- 
 fulness." 
 
 They passed out of St. James's Square, round a corner, 
 and into a narrow side street, in which the building they 
 sought stood facing a restaurant and a hosier's. The 
 echoing footsteps of a porter rang loud in the stone hall, 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 301 
 
 a id he himself presently carried them aloft in a lift that 
 li id not even a bench to sit down on. 
 
 " Could anything be more inconvenient or worse ar- 
 ringed?" murmured Miss Graham, so sweetly that the 
 T orter thought she was thanking him. 
 
 " Don't mention it," he said. " The colonel warned me 
 [ e was expecting ladies. 'Tis the door facing you at the 
 € ad of the corridor." 
 
 Claire would have guessed that he was a soldier who 
 liad done his duty even if she had not noticed the two 
 ^ round stripes on the sleeve of his apple-green coat, and 
 {he smiled at him kindly. 
 
 Everett^s rooms were truly very comfortable, handsome 
 :oo, in a certain style, and their tenant stoutly defended 
 :hem against Miss Graham's damaging criticism. He said 
 tie had occupied them for many years, and nothing would 
 ever make him desert them. The whole house, he further 
 maintained, was admirably managed. There was a kitchen 
 from which, if you wished, you could have a meal sent up 
 to you at any hour and on the shortest notice; the house 
 servants were attentive without being obtrusive ; there was 
 a tradesmen's entrance at the back, giving into another 
 street, so you never saw any carts or errand boys at the 
 front door. 
 
 " It isn't Hans Place," he said gaily ; " but, short of 
 that, I don't know what one could ask for more." 
 
 He showed them pictures and photographs of countries 
 through which he had travelled on political missions, and 
 then while he and Claire wandered round his bookshelves. 
 Miss Graham and Gladys sat in the window seat and en- 
 joyed the fascinating depth of view into the street. 
 
 Claire had not looked at many books before she began 
 to talk to Everett of Evan Giles. He was sympathetic 
 directly he heard that the dead man had been a friend of 
 hers ; but already there had been time for him to make a 
 disparaging remark about the author's later work. 
 
302 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 *' Oh, don't say that. He was a great artist.'* 
 
 " Yes," he said cordially, " I do agree with you. Those 
 first books were very fine. I know I have some of them 
 here ; " and he searched in one of the book-cases, came 
 back to her, and put a copy of Blind Purposes into her 
 hands. 
 
 She turned the pages with tender reverence, thinking of 
 the diligent and weary hand that had stiffened and grown 
 cold, and tears for a moment filled her eyes as she spoke 
 again of the lost friend. 
 
 " He was so kind to me always. I am so sorry — so 
 dreadfully sorry that he is gone," 
 
 The sunlight from the window, warm and bright and 
 vivifying, lit up her face even in its sadness. The curve 
 of her cheek was fuUer now; the profile, no less delicate, 
 had a greater dignity ; her pose, graceful as ever, had the 
 charm that comes from perfect health. As she stood there 
 in the completeness of her slowly matured beauty, with the 
 sunlight full upon her. Aunt Agnes thought that she was 
 indeed a dazzlingly attractive woman. 
 
 " Yes, dear Gladys," said Miss Graham ; " as you say, 
 isn't it a very, very long way down there.? " 
 
 Then again she looked back at the others, thinking 
 now what a handsome couple they made standing there so 
 tall and straight by the rows of old books. She thought 
 of what one of them had said of the other years and years 
 ago; how in his boyish enthusiasm he had vowed that she 
 was different from other girls, finer and fairer, more like 
 the girls that one sees only in one's dreams. When pres- 
 ently he came across to the tea-table, Miss Graham studied 
 him with her shrewd old eyes, and felt convinced that he 
 was pretty much of the same opinion now as then. 
 
 As if to bear out his vindication of the house, an ex- 
 cellent tea was brought up to them with the fruit and 
 cakes and dainties that no one nowadays was allowed to 
 buy. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 30S 
 
 " How IS it done, Basil? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Graham, ask no questions. We be- 
 I Lghted bachelors wave a wand or make a sign, and the 
 ichanted banquet rises through the floor. Obviously it 
 ^ ould be impossible if a housekeeper and six parlour- 
 1 laids were running about and asking each other 
 ''ho had rung the bell, instead of doing any- 
 hing."- 
 
 Again it was a pleasant meal. Aunt Agnes benignly 
 dipped and munched. Gladys was hungry and joyful. 
 Claire forgot her sadness and was glad. 
 
 They sat there talking contentedly till the child was 
 overcome with sudden fatigue. Basil Everett was the 
 jirst to notice this. 
 
 " Is enough as good as a feast, Gladys ? " he asked 
 j^ently. " I think she is tired, Mrs. Vaughan." 
 
 " Yes, I'm very, very tired," said the child. 
 
 More than anything else, it was Gladys that drew them 
 nearer and nearer together. Claire was grateful to him 
 because, having easily won the child's afi^ection, he seemed 
 to value it as something precious. His voice had a special 
 tone when he spoke to the child, even when he was laugh- 
 ing and playing with her, a tone so gently protective that 
 it stirred and thrilled in the mother's heart. But there 
 was a look in his eyes, too, that Claire had observ^ed once 
 or twice ; a look that, although she did not fathom it, gave 
 her exquisite pain. 
 
 One August afternoon at the house in Hans Place, Aunt 
 Agnes was taking Gladys out of the room to show her 
 things upstairs, and he stood at the door as they went out. 
 His eyes watched and followed the child. Then when he 
 turned from the door Claire saw this look plainly, and 
 understood it in the swift moment of its vanishing. It 
 was pity. ^ 
 
 Greatly moved, she said something to him. 
 , Sitting down beside her again he talked to her, saying 
 
304 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 things that she could scarcely bear, that she certainly 
 would not have borne from anyone else. 
 
 " But, Mrs. Vaughan, this is only what you think your- 
 self." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it fills me with terrible fear. I carCt 
 think of it." 
 
 He put his hand on her arm, and she saw the look again 
 — pity for herself now. 
 
 " But, Mrs. Vaughan, one must not fear. Fear is the 
 one emotion that one must not allow; it paralyses, it 
 makes one do selfish things. With those we love we often 
 worry ourselves needlessly. But it is better to 'know. 
 There might be things to be done — ^now — that won't allow 
 of delay — for Gladys' sake." 
 
 And he talked to her of a specialist, not known to him 
 personally, but of whom the doctors in France had spoken 
 with the highest praise. 
 
 " I would like you to consult him. I could easily ar- 
 range it. My cousin would take you — or Miss Graham, 
 of course. I would like to go with you myself, but per- 
 haps " 
 
 " If I went at all, I would like to go with you. But I 
 think not yet." She was wringing her hands, and her voice 
 grew weak. " I — ^I think he would only echo what other 
 doctors have said." 
 
 " Very well. But if ever I could be of use, you would 
 let me, wouldn't you? " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 " You promise. You won't forget ? " 
 
 " No, I have not so many friends to turn to that I 
 should be likely to forget." 
 
 A few days after this he came to her lodgings and took 
 her and Gladys out to luncheon. After luncheon he drove 
 them back to the Marble Arch, and they sat on a bench 
 in the park. It was a glorious dreamlike afternoon, with 
 the light of full summer streaming through every crevice 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 305 
 
 ii the heavy foliage of the trees. Gladys, dancing about 
 11 'on the chequered surface of the path, soon grew tired 
 v>.: d drowsy. She came back to them, to sit by Basil 
 
 . li verett, and fell asleep. He had put his arm round her 
 
 f a id she slept on while they talked. 
 
 He told Claire that at last they had passed him as fit. 
 3 e was going out in a week. 
 
 Claire listening thought of him as the perfect knight, 
 a 5 gentle as he was brave, as wise as good. And, listen- 
 ing, she grew sad. Now soon he would go away, and per- 
 haps give his splendid life in all its purity and force as 
 i • it was a worn-out garment for which he had no further 
 - se. She thought : " The sun will shine ; the cause will 
 r riumph ; and perhaps our victory will be sung by millions 
 cf coarse voices while his kind voice is still. It will be 
 as if he had never been — not only to me, but to others 
 who know him so much better than I, who love him; for 
 none who have the right could know him really well and 
 yet not love him." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 ^'^HAT was the end of her good time. The shadow 
 fell upon her, blotting out all the light. 
 On the morning after that walk and sleep in the 
 sunny park Gladys complained of a violent headache* 
 She felt sick and giddy, and by the evening her mother 
 knew that she was really ill. Then, rapid and terrible, far 
 worse than the onslaught of the pneumonia years ago, 
 the illness announced itself as desperately grave. The 
 doctor hastily summoned by Pope said he would at once 
 send in a nurse, suggested a consultation, and without ex- 
 pressing a definite opinion, spoke of diseases the mere 
 name of which seem heavy with the sound of doom — menin- 
 gitis, cerebro-spinal fever, tubercular meningitis. 
 
 Claire rushed out to the post office and telephoned to 
 Ba^il Everett calling for help. When she got back to 
 the lodgings Miss Graham had already arrived, had told 
 Mrs. Morris that money was no object, had taken pos- 
 session of a sitting-room on the floor below Claire's rooms, 
 and had ordered that a camp bedstead should be put into 
 it. She had established herself, and she told Claire 
 that she meant to stay. Soon then Basil Everett ap-. 
 peared. The man of whom he had spoken to Claire was at 
 a hospital near Egham, but Everett had been able to get 
 through to him on the telephone. He would be here in 
 two hours. His name was Rice-Wilcox. And Everett 
 went out again to inform the other doctor that the great 
 man was coming. 
 
 Thus on the evening of this second day they waited for 
 
 the words of fate — words to be spoken by the lips of a 
 
 small, grey, insignificant-looking man, coming swiftly to 
 
 them now through the pleasant summer night ; two beams 
 
 306 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 30f 
 
 c white radiance piercing the darkness of tree-shaded 
 
 I ids, as his car swept him along nearer and nearer; a 
 
 I I rob, a vibration of mere mechanic power, with a human 
 1 nd carried in its train; spinning wheels, lamp-light, two 
 ii sects flying slowly under the measureless void, on the 
 ( rand of a Destiny in whose sight things are neither great 
 ^1 )r small because all things are indifferent. 
 
 Everett stood listening at the door of Miss Graham's. 
 s tting-room; the general practitioner sat at the table 
 :*3ading the newspaper; Miss Graham was coming down 
 *: le stairs again. She said Pope was in the sick-room with 
 wlaire and the nurse. Mrs. Morris had taken up some 
 lore ice. 
 
 " Well, he ought to be here by now," said the doctor, 
 laying down the paper. " No news of any importance 
 io-night.*' 
 
 Miss Graham and Basil Everett both looked at him. 
 News? What did he mean? For the moment the world- 
 war was as nothing. Millions more men might die in it; 
 but they wanted to hear now that one little child was to 
 live. 
 
 " That's the car," said Everett, and he hurried down- 
 stairs to open the front door. 
 
 With scarce a word of preliminary politeness, they went; 
 straight upstairs to the top floor; Everett leading the 
 way, the two doctors following. Mrs. Morris, on the top 
 landing, tapped at the door of the sick-room and Pope 
 came out, then Claire. 
 
 Her eyes seemed pretematurally large; her face had a 
 withered whiteness. 
 
 " Nobody in the room with us, please, except the nurse," 
 said Dr. Wilcox, with a quiet tone of authority. 
 
 But Claire suddenly clung to Everett as if for pro- 
 tection. 
 
 " Basil, don't let them keep me out of the room. I must 
 be with her. When she comes to herself, she'll look for me 
 — and be frightened if I'm not there." 
 
308 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 '^ Colonel Vaughan," said Dr. Wilcox, in the same tone, 
 *' you had better take your wife downstairs. We may be 
 some considerable time." 
 
 " Yes, dear Claire," said Miss Graham. " Come down 
 and wait with me." 
 
 The doctors had gone into the room, had closed the 
 door behind them, and Claire began to tremble as if smit- 
 ten with ague. " Gladys — Gladys is unconscious," she 
 moaned; " in — in a sort of stupor." 
 
 Basil Everett had put his arm round her waist, and had 
 held her firmly from the moment that she came to him. 
 Now he gently drew her further from the door and led her 
 down to the sitting-room. 
 
 And they waited there, through the intolerable ordeal of 
 suspense, till the doctors came down to them. Claire sat 
 silent, and motionless except for the trembling that never 
 ceased ; and Everett and Miss Graham watched her, wrung 
 with pity, suffering a torture of helplessness. She sprang 
 up at sight of Dr. Wilcox, seized his hand, and spoke to 
 him in a rapid, high-pitched, breathless voice that was 
 quite unlike her own. 
 
 " You can save her, can't you.'^ Is she very bad? Have 
 you thought of all the things to do, to make her well 
 again .'^ Don't be afraid to tell me. With those we love 
 it's best to know.'' 
 
 " My friend and I are going to discuss the treatment,'* 
 said Dr. Wilcox. " Now, won't you go upstairs and sit 
 quietly with your daughter ? " And he asked Miss 
 Graham if he and Dr. Draper might be left alone in the 
 sitting-room for a few minutes. 
 
 When the others had left them they talked of the case. 
 In the opinion of both it was hopeless; but, of course, a 
 good fight must be made. Dr. Wilcox asked questions 
 about its history, questions that Dr. Draper was unable 
 to answer. 
 
 " Very sad," said Dr. Wilcox, looking at his watch. 
 " I am very sorry for them.'* 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 309 
 
 '' Don't you think," said Dr. Draper, " that it will 
 re illy be a happy release, and that they will be saved from 
 pj in that might be worse later on? " 
 
 " Yes, I do think so," said Dr. Wilcox ; " but they 
 V >n't think so. I am afraid you'll have trouble with that 
 P"or lady. I didn't care for her look, or her manner, 
 either. I'm afraid you may have her breaking down 
 b{.dly. The husband is all right. He's as firm as a 
 K ck." 
 
 " That's not her husband. I meant to tell you just 
 I now." 
 < « Oh, really? Her brother? " 
 
 " No, only a friend." 
 
 *' Then who do you think I had better talk to now ? To 
 lilm or to the mother? " 
 
 " It's not her mother, either. It's her aunt. Miss 
 Graham is very sensible." 
 
 " Oh, I see. Well, let me talk to both of them." 
 
 Mrs. Morris and Pope had both noticed the doctor^s 
 misapprehension when they heard him address Colonel 
 Everett as Colonel Vaughan, and Pope afterwards said 
 'vith deep meaning, " I only wish he wa^ her husband." 
 
 " I quite agree," said Mrs. Morris. " He's a very dif- 
 ferent style of gentleman from the real one." 
 
 The end came towards dawn of the day on which Basil 
 Everett went back to duty in France. He had been at the 
 house all through the night. For hours he had been wait- 
 ing outside the sick-room door, and the dim white light 
 showed his haggard expectant face when Dr. Draper came 
 out of the room to say that all was over. He said he 
 wanted to get Claire away from the bed, and he asked 
 Everett to help. 
 
 " She knows," said the doctor ; " but she tries not to 
 believe. It is painful." 
 
 Truly it was painful. Claire was dreadful to see; her 
 
310 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 eyes wild and distraught, her whole body writhing, her 
 arms outstretched with hands that seemed to seek in the 
 air for the small hands that had slipped away from hers. 
 Outside the door, with Everett's arms about her, she began 
 to struggle; and the violence of such a gentle yielding 
 creature was more poignantly significant than all the rest. 
 
 " Oh, no, certainly not,'' she cried, in that high-pitched 
 voice the tone of which had sounded ominous to an expert's 
 ear. " I must be with my child. She's an only child. Do 
 they know that.? Then why do they keep me from her.J^ 
 I have stood a great deal — ^but I warned him I'd never 
 stand that. Basil, help me. You said you would. Re- 
 member our promise "... And she began to whisper 
 hoarsely and rapidly. " This is a trick of Roddy's. He 
 has lied to me — he swore he'd leave us alone. Gladys and 
 I were to be together. It was an agreement. I paid him. 
 Don't let him cheat me again." And she called her daugh- 
 ter by name, loudly. "Gladys, wake. Gladys, come to 
 me." Then in a moment she was limp and drooping, the 
 fierce strength gone as if all the inward springs of life 
 had snapped, and her tears began to fall. " Basil, are 
 you, too, unkind to me? You are all the same. But no 
 one can hurt me any more — not even God. Because I am 
 quite alone." 
 
 Miss Graham took her from his arms, and he murmured 
 incoherent entreaties, scarcely knowing what he said. 
 
 " Be good to her. Be kind to her. Take care of her. 
 Don't let harm come to her.'* 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Miss Graham, " I'll take care of her. 
 I'll guard her from harm. Go now — and don't get killed 
 if you can help it. There — I'll write and tell you how 
 she is.'* 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 "^ ' T was the spring of another year. 
 
 . 1 The war had ended and all the world was gay. Ease 
 
 f after labour ; pleasure after pain ; food, wine, and love 
 
 — all that men arid women had foregone they might now 
 
 er joy without a word of censure or a conscientious qualm. 
 
 The astounding London crowd seemed greater than ever; 
 
 I it filled the pavements and overflowed into the roadways ; 
 
 e^.ii a purposeless tide, ebbing and flooding through the 
 
 hours, it had shown this sea of vacantly contented faces 
 
 jince the flags, now torn and smoke-stained, first fluttered 
 
 in their joyful brightness on the day the armistice was 
 
 signed. Idle, good-humoured soldiers, too happy to salute, 
 
 loo tired to wear their belts, formed slow eddies round 
 
 <:ach house of entertainment, and by their multitudinous 
 
 presence made even the oldest and safest civilians thrill 
 
 :o their supreme satisfaction. To be alive! What more 
 
 ihould one ask, and what more had they hoped for? The 
 
 rapture of life itself was the force that pushed and dragged 
 
 this ever-moving human tide. 
 
 But Claire walked through the crowded streets as if 
 they had belonged to a city of the dead, and as if she 
 herself had been a ghost. 
 
 In all these months no one had seen her and very few had 
 heard news of her. It was understood that Miss Graham 
 and her niece were together somewhere in the depths of 
 the country. The house in Hans Place had stood close- 
 shuttered, silent, forlorn; but now its white eyes had 
 blinked in the pale March sunshine and opened to the fresh 
 March winds. Emily, driving past in her car, clutched 
 Sir Leonard's arm, " Aunt Agnes must be back again ! 
 
 311 
 
312 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 To-morrow I'll run round and see if poor Claire is with 
 her." 
 
 Claire was there, thin and white in her sad black dress, 
 with dark circles round her eyes, and such a smile as you 
 see on the lips of nuns when noisy, exuberant visitors come 
 and chatter to them in the convent parlour. " Leonard," 
 said her ladyship that evening in her room, " I never was 
 so shocked in my life. She has lost her good looks 
 absolutely. Aunt Agnes affects not to notice it. You 
 know her way. But it's startling. So thin — and simply 
 colourless^* And Emily with unanalysed pleasure glanced 
 at her own ample figure in the looking-glass and saw the 
 complexion that surmounted it, richly glowing as a red 
 sunset viewed across billowing downs. 
 
 Now, on this sparklingly bright afternoon, Claire walked 
 slowly along Piccadilly to keep an appointment at the 
 railway station in Dover Street. She was going to meet 
 her husband there. He had written to say that he wanted 
 to see her and to tell her how deeply he sympathized with 
 her in her grief. Because of his kindly phrases it seemed 
 impossible to disregard his wish, and, in spite of protests 
 from Miss Graham, she had replied that she would be at 
 the appointed place. Certainly Miss Graham would not 
 have allowed her to go unaccompanied if Roddy had 
 omitted to state in the letter that he had no wish to alter 
 the covenant existing between himself and his wife. " But 
 the mere sight of him will upset you," said Aunt Agnes, 
 *^ and remind you." 
 
 Claire, however, felt no more emotion than if she had 
 been going to meet a stranger ; and when she saw him there 
 was no other mental trouble than a slight difficulty in 
 identification. That big, common-looking man in a blue 
 serge suit and very new brown boots, with a soft grey hat 
 on the back of his head — yes, no ; yes, surely it must be 
 Roddy. 
 
 " Claire ! " He had thrown away a cigarette and was 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 315 
 
 < lasping her hand. " It's good of you to come like this, 
 
 hope it isn't wrong for you to be out. You look 
 wretchedly ill." 
 
 He, too, was shocked by the deterioration of her 
 ippearance. 
 
 " I am quite well again now, Roddy." 
 
 " Then come on, and we'll get somewhere for a cup of 
 :ea and a quiet talk." 
 
 Avoiding the thronged tea-shops he took her to a 
 restaurant in Jermyn Street, where a drowsing waiter 
 grudgingly cleared a table that was already laid for 
 dinner. 
 
 " You see we are empty at this hour," said the waiter^ 
 " We don't expect people for tea." 
 
 " No, that's why I've come here," said Roddy, very 
 much in his old style. " Two teas, my friend, and sharp's 
 the word — or send the proprietor to me and I'll find out 
 the reason why." 
 
 But though he spoke so briskly to the waiter, there was^ 
 an unremembered kindness in his tone as he spoke to Claire. 
 He looked across the table at her commiseratingly. 
 
 " No two words about it. You show what you have 
 suffered, Claire." 
 
 Externally he was altered most by the disappearance of 
 his moustache ; the open view of his mouth seemed to have 
 permanently unveiled the sensual characteristics that used 
 always to show in moments of passion. There were new 
 lines of care about his eyes, which themselves had a 
 clearer, healthier aspect than during that period of swift 
 degradation before his departure from London. In the 
 keen air of America he had shaken off his sloth — perhaps 
 from dire necessity — and he was still awake. He said he 
 had seen some hardships, and this was probably true. The 
 hair on each side of his temples had began to turn grey. 
 
 " Yes, Claire, that man Pottinger was a crook. It came 
 out directly we got across, and I had the greatest difficulty 
 
314 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 to extricate myself — and a part of the cash. However, 
 after a bit, I was doing really well, and would have done 
 better still, if only the war had lasted. Claire, no one 
 can be blamed for not seeing how soon the end would come. 
 But all at once the armistice was on us, and everything 
 petered out." Then he said that he was over here only 
 pro tem.y just looking about him. He would return to the 
 States in the autumn. " But that's more than enough 
 of me. It's 7/ou I want to hear of. Tell me 
 about yourself." 
 
 " What can I tell you? " said Claire, sitting with her 
 hands folded on her lap. " Roddy, I have been down in 
 deep waters. I thought I was going mad. I was mad 
 for a little while." 
 
 " Poor old girl. And you don't touch your bread and 
 butter. No appetite? Well, well. What can I say to 
 make you know how I sympathized — ^how sorry I was for 
 you — when I heard?" He looked at her hollow cheeks, 
 at those large eyes from which all the lustre had gone, at 
 the slender, too slender, shoulders, feeling a sincere and 
 painful regret; and it seemed to him that quite a noble 
 thought arose within him and forced the utterance of his 
 further words. " Claire, I'll set you free for ever, if you 
 still wish it. I'll let you divorce me, as you asked so 
 often." 
 
 And again she had that cloistral smile, like the flicker 
 of wintry sunlight fighting the shadows on stone walls. 
 
 " No one can want me now- — not you, Roddy, or any- 
 body else." 
 
 " Oh, don't say such things as that," he said kindly and 
 encouragingly. " You're under the weather now, but you'll 
 soon pick up again — yes, and be your fascinating self 
 again, too, making peopld look round at you in the street 
 as they used to do, what ! " And he smiled at her very 
 kindly. " In my opinion what you want is sea air — 
 Doctor Brighton, eh? " And he became thoughtful for a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 315 
 
 i w moments. " You know, Claire, I'm boimd by the 
 { romise I gave you — but I want to do more. There's 
 I othing I wouldn't do for you to make you easier in your 
 I lind. It was the idea of absolute freedom that you always 
 1 ankered after — the dissolution of the marriage. Well, 
 J say again, you shall have it." 
 
 He spoke firmly, conscious the while of a massive glow 
 ( f magnanimous feeUng ; and yet, so wonderful and rapid 
 {.re our processes of thought, he had automatically re- 
 viewed the whole situation from material points of view 
 < ven in the moment of speaking. He did not really want 
 :ier — she had hit the right nail on the head. It would be 
 18 much to his advantage as to hers to secure freedom. 
 Even without looking for them, fair chances of marrying 
 igain might come to him in a world now full of rich war 
 sridows. With half the boys killed oif, a still attractive 
 i[ian of mature age might be anyone's fancy. 
 
 Claire, for her part, was thinking dully and slowly. It 
 was all too late. It did not matter, either way. Nothing 
 mattered now. 
 
 But Aunt Agnes, when she heard of Roddy's offer, con- 
 sidered that it was of most tremendous importance. She 
 said they must close with it at once, lest for some cruel 
 freak he should withdraw it. " He is as dangerous to 
 you as ever, Claire. Take my word for it, he will always 
 be dangerous until you have legally cut yourself loose from 
 him. I don't for a moment believe that in his hateful 
 heart he means any better to you than he ever did. You 
 should dread him most when he speaks kindly. The 
 leopard does not change its spots." 
 
 With eagerness then she urged her niece to be punctual 
 in keeping a second appointment two days after the first. 
 Roddy had said that he would take forty-eight hours to 
 think things over and decide exactly what should be 
 done. 
 
 This time they met in Hyde Park, near the Achilles 
 
316 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Statue, and the day being mild and the grass fairly dry 
 they sat on chairs' at a little distance from the path with 
 its passers-by, where, as Roddy pointed out, no long-eared 
 donkeys would be gaping at them. 
 
 He said at once that he felt assured a divorce would be 
 the best thing for Claire's future peace and comfort. He 
 would therefore gladly agree to it — on certain conditions. 
 Then he began to talk about money. He confessed that 
 hard times had again fallen on him, owing to the dis- 
 appointment about the duration of the war. He said he 
 knew that Claire was now reduced to a low ebb herself, 
 and he hated the idea of further curtailing her small in- 
 come ; but he hinted that, since the little one was gone, the 
 demands on Claire's purse were naturally much less than in 
 the past. 
 
 " No," she said listlessly. " I have little need for money 
 now, Roddy." And she looked far away across the grass 
 and through the bare trees, as far as her gaze could reach 
 northwards towards the Marble Arch, to paths so often 
 trodden by herself and the child a year ago. " How much 
 do you want, Roddy? " 
 
 Roddy thought that a third of all she still possessed, 
 say two thousand, would do him grandly, as the very last 
 dollop for which he could ever touch her. That would 
 be handsome, and it should not really bring her down too 
 low. 
 
 " After all," he said cheerily, " Mrs. Gilmour, Miss 
 Graham, and the others would never let you run really 
 short." 
 
 Claire consented. 
 
 Then he told her that the money transaction must be 
 a close secret between them. There should be no letter- 
 writing, not even any cheque-writing. She had better get 
 the money as soon as she could, drawing it from the bank 
 in notes and quietly handing the notes to him. One could 
 not be too careful. You had to be very slim directly you 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 317 
 
 egan to play with the law. " If there was a suspicion 
 f collusion, Claire, we should be carted." 
 
 Claire said she would do what he asked. 
 
 " Right-o ! Your word's as good as your bond. Very 
 rell, then ; " and though he did not snap his fingers, he had 
 ;he same exultant tone that always used to come to him 
 with the prospect of a good piece of business. " I trust 
 you. And you can go straight ahead. Instruct your 
 solicitors to-morrow — that old ass Collie, I suppose. Any- 
 how, the sooner the better. Count my desertion as 
 beginning from when I went to America, and let Collie 
 know I'll provide him with everything else he wants. The 
 whole thing will be as easy as tumbling off a house. So 
 there you are, Claire. You get your wish — and there goes 
 the end of an old song." 
 
 And he began almost at once to speak of himself senti- 
 mentally and musingly. " If I had my life to live again, 
 Claire, Fd set to work on another plan. I see so plainly 
 where I failed. Things were against me, of course — my 
 bringing up, that old devil who defrauded me. I got the 
 feeling even as a kid that if I didn't assert myself, I should 
 be trodden on by everybody. Yet I wasn't a bad sort, 
 really, Claire ; " and his voice became quite wistful. " I 
 meant well. Another thing I've thought of these last days. 
 Love isn't everything in marriage." He said this as if 
 wondering how it might strike her, as an entirely new dis- 
 covery. " I did love you, Claire — yes, and felt proud, and 
 grateful to you. But love isn't enough. I blame myself 
 for not understanding that. I seemed to get on your 
 nerves sometimes, and I may have been unjust to you from 
 thinking that you looked down on many of my ideas and 
 weren't trying to help me as you might have done. That's 
 all my justification," he said gently. " I don't attempt 
 to shirk the blame." 
 
 And because of the gentleness and seeming kindness of 
 his tone, Claire told him that perhaps she was as much 
 
318 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 to blame as he. Her i:ash, ill-considered marriage had not 
 in it even the germs of happiness. She had been too 
 ignorant of the world, too unfitted to take up the duties 
 of a wife. Then, under the impulse of the native and un- 
 quenchable generosity of her spirit, she paraphrased the 
 words of Evan Giles and said that if Roddy had found 
 a different sort of woman he might have been a good 
 husband and a better man. 
 
 The soft mild air was on her face. All round them 
 nature was again working her miracle; even here, in the 
 midst of a city park, one could feel that the sleep that 
 is so like death was passing away, and that awakened life 
 was busy. The light itself was alive, active, searching, 
 with tremulous effort seeking to warm and brighton all 
 things that it touched. And it was as if Claire's frozen 
 heart suddenly thawed; and she began to speak of the 
 dead child. 
 
 " At first I had a belief that the weakness came from 
 my state before her birth. You had made me — well, I had 
 been unhappy at that time. And, Roddy, while I con- 
 tinued to think so I traced the fault to you, and laid it 
 at your door. After that I tortured myself by thinking 
 it was all my own fault — that I had not taken enough 
 care of myself — that I had done foolish reckless things, — 
 wearing myself out with fatigue. Those long walks ! And 
 do you remember that night when I worked for you? But 
 I know now that it wasn't any fault of yours." 
 
 ^^ My dear old girl, I should think not. I never saw a 
 bonnier baby. Why, she was almost as heavy — they all 
 said — as if you had run the full course." 
 
 *' And it was not my fault either. It was inevitable. 
 Nothing could have altered it, nothing could have pre- 
 vented it Roddy, I should have died if I had not come 
 to understand and believe this. After she had gone I 
 wanted to die — and people thought that I would not re- 
 cover. But then a friend wrote to me." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 31^ 
 
 " And what did she say? '* 
 
 " It wasn't a woman ; it was a man — a man I have a 
 . reat respect for, because I know he is the soul of honour 
 ■o ad would never trifle with the truth. He was out in 
 1 ranee, in command of his battalion — Colonel Everett — 
 i nd he wrote." 
 
 " Yes ? " said Roddy, putting a large hand over his 
 ^ baved mouth to conceal an incipient yawn. " Well, what 
 c id he say.? '* 
 
 " He told me what the two doctors had told him ; and 
 1 e got them both to write to me. One was Doctor Rice- 
 Wilcox, a famous physician. They both said they were 
 ( onvinced that Gladys had been saved from great pain and 
 suffering — that it would have been certain — that even her 
 intelhgence would have become darkened. And out of that 
 thought, Roddy, will come the only consolation that I can 
 (jver know. For — for, if it was best for Gladys, how— 
 ]iow can I think of myself.? " 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ^^'V *T EVER, with my consent," said Mrs. Gilmour 
 
 I ^^ firmly. 
 
 " No, I thought that would be your decision," 
 said Emily Joyce, who had come bustling round to 
 Hague House to talk things over with her mother. 
 ^^ Although I must say, from what Leonard tells me, he 
 has treated her very badly. I always suspected it. But 
 what else could one anticipate? You know how I detested 
 him from the beginning. He was only after her money." 
 
 " It must be two years ago," said Mrs. Gilmour, " when 
 she told me the whole story, alleging that he made her so 
 uncomfortable she desired a separation. I reasoned with 
 her" — and Mrs. Gilmour made a gesture seeming to imply 
 that she had yet to meet the person who could stand up 
 to her in argument for five minutes — " I reasoned with 
 her; and seeing that they had settled down together again 
 and no more was ever said, I hoped and believed that she 
 had abandoned the idea. It was separation then. Now 
 we are asked to face a divorce. Oh, no ; " and Mrs. 
 Gilmour shut her eyes as if she had seen something very 
 ugly indeed. " At such a time, too^ — ^when she is in deep 
 mourning, and after a severe illness. Moreover, from 
 Tier own point of view, and strictly between ourselves, what 
 has she to gain by it? To all intents and purposes they 
 are separated. Did you know that throughout that time 
 when he was in America and she was over here in England 
 they were not living together? " 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; " and Emily gave her hard laugh, 
 ^' That's pretty obvious, isn't it? " 
 
 " I meant more than the obvious fact," said Mrs. Gil- 
 mour with dignity. " I meant that there was some tacit 
 
 320 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 321 
 
 anderstanding between them that they intended to live 
 apart. It was something I did not like, but I refrained 
 from probing into it. Still, if necessary now, I would 
 sooner condone the continuance of the arrangement than 
 set people talking by attempting to bring them together 
 prematurely. So long as Claire remains in Hans Place 
 it is easy to explain that in that small house there simply 
 is not room for Roddy as a staying visitor. As Claire is in 
 mourning she will not be going to dinner-parties, so no one 
 will wonder at her being unaccompanied. Should the direct 
 question be asked : * Where is Captain Vaughan ? ' one can 
 reply that he is out of London." 
 
 " So he is, too," said Emily. " Leonard has heard 
 that he is following every race-meeting in the kingdom." 
 
 " Very well, then ; " and Mrs. Gilmour again repeated 
 her determination. The divorce proposal was to be ruled 
 out absolutely. 
 
 " Mother, have you written to John about it? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear. But John is supine. He always was." 
 
 '^Does Cyril know?" 
 
 " Yes. He has been to see her." 
 
 ** Did he find her obstinately set on it ? " 
 
 " No. He thinks it is your Aunt Agnes who is egging 
 her on." 
 
 What had happened so far was that Miss Graham had 
 been to Mr. Collie and instructed him to institute pro- 
 ceedings for divorce on Claire's behalf. As Roddy was now 
 a consenting party there would be no difficulties and in- 
 tricacies for Mr. Collie to make a mess of; she thought, 
 therefore, that he might do as well as anybody else, and 
 she felt that it might on the whole be convenient to have 
 the matter dealt with by the family firm. But old Mr. 
 Collie, knowing that he was on the black books of Mrs. 
 Gilmour and feehng timorous of further offending her, 
 considered it incumbent upon him to acquaint Hague 
 House immediately as to the instructions he had received. 
 
322 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Thus Mrs. Gilmour heard the dreadful word divorce 
 before there had been time for Miss Graham gently to 
 prepare her sister's mind. Thus, too, Claire and her affairs 
 were thrown back into the hands of her family, and the 
 family took possession of her. Once more it seemed that 
 she belonged to them. 
 
 She would have yielded to their pressure and renounced 
 all effort at once. But not so Aunt Agnes. Cyril had 
 correctly surmised that it was his aunt who really meant 
 business. Miss Graham was ready for opposition, and 
 would have set about surmounting it in her own quiet way 
 if the idiotic Mr. Collie had allowed her leisure; but now 
 that he had forced her hand she came out for battle, to 
 fight the family one by one or all together, just as they 
 preferred. 
 
 If she did not entirely defeat Cyril in a first encounter, 
 at least she drove him from the field. 
 
 Cyril was now accepted candidate for a constituency in 
 which a by-election might occur at any minute, and he 
 naturally felt that he should be guarded from the slightest 
 echo of dubious-sounding words. He said he must appeal 
 to Claire's heart if her head did not show her the peril 
 iti which she was placing him. On this second visit to 
 Hans Place he brought his bride with him, and fortune 
 favouring the attack they got Claire all to themselves in 
 the room on the ground floor. 
 
 " I am your sister, Claire," said Lady Esther. " Is it 
 not so ? " 
 
 Claire said she hoped It was so. 
 
 " Then when a sister speaks, you will listen to her voice 
 and not mind what love prompts her to say as well as duty ? 
 Sisters are very near, Claire. More, even than a bruwer." 
 
 Lady Esther was like a large old-fashioned picture 
 painted in subdued colours. Her russet toque seemed to 
 shade off Into the tints of her sandy hair and complexion ; 
 her mouse- velvet frock joined the shadows In hollows about 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 323 
 
 >r neck, which was exposed by the low-cut collar as much 
 
 5 fashion ordained without risking a suspicion of im- 
 
 odesty ; her eyes were slightly prominent, and from them 
 
 i lere shone palely a quite unaffected sense of virtue and 
 
 i ood Intention. 
 
 Cyril, looking massive and solemn, but with an oc- 
 ( asional petulance reminiscent of his unregenerate days, 
 J tood on the hearth-rug admiring Lady Esther and feeling 
 ]>roud of her. Only her bad relapse into the lisp from 
 ^/hich he had been trying to cure her for nearly twelve 
 months was irritating to him. He attributed it to nervous- 
 jiess. But if she went on like this she would be worse than 
 iseless on a political platform. 
 
 " Anuwer objection, Claire — have you weighed it? — 
 :he religious one. The voice of conscience cannot be smuv- 
 Tered, whatever people say. It is in ourselves that we have 
 to decide. My muvver never " 
 
 " Yes, yes, that's all right, Esther," said Cyril, inter- 
 rupting with perceptible irritation. " Look here, Claire, 
 Fm very sorry and all that ; but you really must drop it." 
 
 And it was just then that Aunt Agnes, having returned 
 to the house, came quickly into the room. 
 
 "What is it that Claire is to drop.?" she asked pres- 
 ently, after exchanging civilities with her new niece. 
 
 " This divorce," said Cyril. " We are both appealing 
 to her to give it up." 
 
 "Oh, but why?" asked Aunt Agnes brightly. "For 
 ^our sake, Cyril? " 
 
 " You can put it like that, if you like. For all our 
 sakes.'' 
 
 " Oh, but I should speak for yt}urself alone," said Miss 
 Graham. " Because naturally you carry the greatest 
 weight. You have such tremendous claims on Claire's 
 obedience to any wish of yours ; " and she turned to Lady 
 Esther with great sweetness. " Dear Cyril always sub- 
 ordinated his life to others ; but his unselfish devotion to 
 
324t FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Claire has been really too beautiful for words. In all things 
 he bowed to her judgment or mere inclination. Fond as 
 he is of you, dear Esther, he did not venture to propose 
 for your hand until he had first been to Claire and secured 
 her consent." 
 
 This oblique narration was too much for Cyril al- 
 together. His still bronzed cheeks glowed in a crimson 
 indignation, and he cut short Miss Graham with boyish 
 protests. He had not come there to have his leg pulled; 
 a joke was a joke; and so on. Besides, in sober truth, 
 the matter had nothing to do with Aunt Agnes. 
 
 " What's it got to do with anybody except Claire her- 
 self ? " she retorted, unusually warm and incisive in tone. 
 " Fiddle-de-de. You go into parliament, Cyril, and talk 
 your nonsense there. Don't come bothering us with it." 
 
 And she did not escort her young relatives past the 
 latticed book-cases and through the small paved hall, as 
 was her usual habit with visitors. 
 
 " Bless you, Claire ! " she said fondly, when the door 
 had closed upon them. " Don't let yourself he upset by 
 such twaddle. Now here's a good piece of news. Derek 
 Harpington is on our side. You see. The rest will follow 
 like sheep. For once in his life he'll be leading them in a 
 sensible direction. Not that he or any of them matter 
 really." 
 
 Nevertheless Miss Graham felt that Uncle Derek was a 
 great and invaluable ally, and she had put herself to pains 
 in securing him. Pretending a respect for Derek's in- 
 telligence which she was far indeed from feeling, she asked 
 him to advise as to what he thought would be best for 
 Claire in all the circumstances. Then in the most humble 
 manner she put the circumstances before him. Then still 
 further to gratify Derek, she said she confided in him as 
 well as respected him. Quite apart from the fact that 
 Claire was still young and with fair prospects of marrying 
 again if made free to do so, there was another reason, a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 325 
 
 V ry cogent reason known only to Miss Graham herself, 
 >v ly the divorce should be obtained. 
 
 She told Uncle Derek this strictly confidential reason; 
 a id he was so much impressed by it that if he had not 
 a ready allowed Miss Graham to make up his mind for him 
 Ii 3 now felt able to make it up for himself. He decided for 
 t le divorce. 
 
 The failure of Claire's marriage was a disappointment. 
 He was not conscious of any slackness or shirking in the 
 ? ork he had put in when bringing it about; but it would 
 le very pleasant if by taking further trouble he could 
 :et Claire the happiness he had always desired for her. 
 jle would then look back on it all as a bit of work that 
 promised well, went wrong, but came right in the end. 
 Nothing could please him more. And fortunately the kind 
 old fellow was free at the moment to throw himself heart 
 and soul into this delicate little affair. Since taking off 
 ]iis uniform as a special constable and carrying to a suc- 
 cessful issue the secret wedding of those queer young 
 people, the Granville Budleighs, he had been set to no real 
 task by any of his friends. 
 
 He began his round at once, calling in the course of a 
 single afternoon on Emily Joyce, the Bedminsters, Cyril, 
 and winding up for tea with Mrs. Gilmour. There, in 
 Hague House, as Derek well knew, lay the nut that had 
 to be cracked before any substantial progress could be 
 made. Very insidiously then old Derek began the 
 operation. As Emily said, her mother simply didn't know 
 what he was " getting at ; " and herself impatient, she 
 hurried things by blurting out an explanation. 
 
 Emily was excited now ; she enjoyed all the talk, and the 
 doubt and confusion thrown into one's mind by Derek's 
 unexpected attitude made it so delightfully complex. 
 When you are all agreed, discussion falls to the ground. 
 But here was a real stinging subject for debate in which' 
 sides could be taken, hot words and even insults exchanged. 
 
326 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Not for many years had there been anything like it in the 
 family. It was still a profound secret, of course — only 
 to be spoken of in whispers outside the family circle. 
 
 And the talk went on. Cyril was moody, speaking of 
 Uncle Derek as he used to do in the dim and almost for- 
 gotten past. " Who dragged that old ass into it ? Surely 
 he could have been kept out of it." Mrs. Gilmour walked 
 immense distances as well as talking. Emily and Lady 
 Esther offended each other somehow and no longer could 
 talk comfortably together. Then, quite unexpectedly. Sir 
 Leonard began to talk; and his own true Emily listening 
 learnt in amazement that, without consulting her, he had 
 gone over to the other side. 
 
 " I'm with Uncle Derek," said Leonard resolutely. " I 
 think it's a dashed shame not to back up Claire in every 
 way we can." 
 
 Meanwhile, one day. Miss Graham rang up Mr. Collie 
 to ask him how he had got on, and was almost driven mad 
 by his replies. He had done nothing at all. No, he said, 
 he had been waiting to have his instructions confirmed. 
 He had understood that this was the intention. He had 
 quite thought that Miss Graham and Mrs. Gilmour were 
 putting their heads together, thrashing the thing out, and 
 so forth, and that he was not to move in the matter until 
 he heard from her again. 
 
 Miss Graham then said things to Mr. Collie on the 
 telephone which Claire hoped that Mr. Collie would not 
 be able to hear. Yet that seemed unlikely ; because every- 
 body in Hans Place could have heard them. 
 
 This telephonic conversation and Uncle Derek's un- 
 flagging efforts soon bore fruit in a queer assembly at 
 Mr. Collie's Gray's Inn office. Here Derek personally con- 
 ducted Mrs. Gilmour for the purpose of meeting Claire, 
 Miss Graham, and representatives of other interests, she 
 having promised to weigh all considerations " and see what 
 could be done." The time was early in the afternoon. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 327 
 
 JKi rallying-place was Mr. Collie's own room — a fine big 
 xoc n with three high windows and deep window-seats 
 th' 'ein. 
 
 < 'laire sat in one of the window-seats, Miss Graham in 
 ar ( ther ; Mr. Collie, Senior, occupied his customary seat 
 at his large writing-table; a leather armchair had been 
 pi' ced immediately on his right hand for the accommo- 
 dj ion of Mrs. Gilmour, but she made little use of it; 
 L?mard Joyce, possibly in some dim symbolism of his 
 re ( ently gained equestrian rank, sat cross-legged on a 
 cl lir, and held the back of it as if it had been a pulhng 
 horse that wanted to get away with him; Uncle Derek, 
 Lidy Esther, and Mr. Collie, Junior, just drifted, resting 
 tli3mselves now here now there, then floating about again 
 as the debate continued. 
 
 Cyril would have been here, but he was required in the 
 coastituency ; so he had sent his wife. She knew his views. 
 Einily fully intended to come until she heard of this 
 arrangement; it was a deprivation to her to keep away, but 
 she had not yet made it up with Lady Esther. 
 
 Old Mr. Collie began rather garrulously, perhaps ren- 
 idered a little nervous by Mrs. Gilmour's severe stare. He 
 said that they had never had a divorce suit in their oiBce 
 before, and but for the merciful fact that his son was 
 row restored to him he might have felt doubts whether he 
 v^as competent to undertake it. Mercifully, as he had said, 
 lis son — his son over there by the fireplace — ^had passed 
 through all those appalling dangers, and escaped and 
 remained alive. 
 
 " Let's hope he's more alive than his father," murmured 
 ' Vunt Agnes, but so gently that only Claire, in the next 
 >nndow-seat, caught it. 
 
 Then, after a brooding pause, a statuesque silence that 
 
 :aade everybody uncomfortable, Mrs. Gilmour rose and 
 
 liscoursed. There were many things she wished to say, 
 
 nany &he wished to learn; and under her control and 
 
328 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 stimulation a truly remarkable discussion ensued. It 
 trended more and more towards the abstract and the 
 academic, leaving the concrete case of Claire further and 
 further behind. She herself sat in her window and was 
 the only one who took no part in the talk. But from time" 
 to time when speakers lost the thread of their arguments 
 the}'^ abruptly addressed her, as if turning to her for help 
 either to pull themselves together or to cover their con- 
 fusion of ideas. 
 
 " Does Claire really want to proceed with her action ? '^ 
 
 " Of course she does," said Miss Graham, answering for 
 her. " She is proceeding with it." 
 
 " Very good. Now you were saying, Uncle Derek, that 
 the most thoughtful people agree that the grounds of 
 divorce should be made equal for both sexes." 
 
 " No, it was I who said that, Joyce. I was telling you 
 how, out in the trenches, we used to chat over " 
 
 " Yes, but I wanted to put a point to Mr. Harp- 
 ington." 
 
 " I expect you discussesd most things in those trenches, 
 Dick. Go on, Dick, I am listening to you." 
 
 " Mr. Collie, you knew her father. Do you pretend 
 that if he had been with us he would have moved with the 
 times so far as to say that it is no consequence to a family 
 what is said of one member of the family? Can you con- 
 scientiously avow that the disgrace attaching does not 
 spread " 
 
 " Where's the disgrace of an innocent person getting 
 rid—" 
 
 " I don't think the uvver party ever escapes the 
 diswepute frown upon her by the guilty party. Cyril and 
 muwer and faver " 
 
 " Esther, I am going straight on to see your father when 
 we have finished here." 
 
 B«t would they ever finish? Suddenly, to the surprise 
 of everyone, Mrs. Gilmour announced that she had made a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 329 
 
 ;reat advance from where she started. So far, she said, 
 he had been at work on a main head. This head might be 
 ummed up by the broad question: " Is divorce ever justifi- 
 ible? " Well, she had now satisfied herself that she was 
 dlling to answer that question affirmatively. 
 
 " Bravo," said old Derek, beaming and rubbing his hands 
 is if it was all over. 
 
 But Mrs. Gilmour passed now to another head ; a second 
 question : " Is it feasible ? " 
 
 " What the dickens do you mean by that? '- said Leonard 
 rather rudely. " Do you mean does divorce exist .'^ Can 
 people in England get divorced? " 
 
 " No, Leonard," said Mrs. Gilmour severely. " I mean, 
 is it feasible in Claire's peculiar position? " 
 
 " Of course it is." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, Leonard. I shall be glad 
 to be satisfied that it is." 
 
 Then, this head disposed of, Mrs. Gilmour came slowly 
 to her biggest and most businesslike question. Could a 
 divorce be obtained for Claire without the mention of any 
 names, or the appearance of a word concerning the case 
 in the newspapers ? 
 
 A really brisk chat ensued. Both the Collies took a 
 favourable view. They said that, although the war was 
 over, peace had not been signed, and the newspapers, still 
 restricted in size, were crowded with public news. The 
 pressure on their space was enormous, and reports of 
 much more important things than divorce cases had to be 
 left out. Besides, at no period would an undefended action 
 of this character have attracted notice. Such a case 
 slipped through the courts in an hour, or an hour and a 
 half, quite unobserved. There was nothing in it to arouse 
 curiosity or conjecture. Its name, seen previously in the 
 list, would also escape attention and seem quite meaning- 
 less. Why should anyone give a thought to it — the parties 
 themselves being practically unknown, not important 
 
330 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 personages, not prominent members of society, or in any 
 way illustrious? 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour did not, however, quite like that part of 
 Mr. Collie's explanation, and he had to take it back. 
 The Gilmour family did not occupy such an ex- 
 tremely small place in the world as those solicitors im- 
 agined. 
 
 Then old Derek put forward the idea that, to make as- 
 surance doubly sure, it might be just as well to " square 
 the Press." 
 
 Leonard opined that this would be dangerous, if not 
 impossible, and the younger Collie related an anecdote 
 that he had heard in the trenches about a managing clerk, 
 a Press man, and a box of cigars. 
 
 " Ah, but that method was too direct," said Uncle Derek. 
 *' Diplomacy, tact ! There are always ways of getting 
 round things." And without mentioning names, he cited a 
 Tery apposite case, in which he had been largely concerned. 
 A young couple had to be taken before a registrar and 
 married, without anyone getting wind of the transaction. 
 All the relatives felt a morbid dread of publicity. Refer- 
 ences in the papers would have almost killed some of them. 
 But the thing was got through without a whisper, without 
 a soul outside the family ever suspecting that it had 
 happened. 
 
 " Well, how did you contrive on that occasion? " 
 
 " I did nothing at all," said old Derek simply. " It 
 worked out just as you hope it may in this case. Nobody 
 appeared to take any notice." 
 
 " Exactly," said Mr. Collie. " Nevertheless, you may 
 rest assured, Mrs. Gilmour, that we will not run any risks 
 or neglect any precautions. We shall leave nothing to 
 chance. My son will see to that side of it, and will know 
 how to deal with the representatives of the Press, if it 
 seems desirable to tell them that mum's the word." And he 
 added in a whisper that Dick had his head well screwed 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 331 
 
 his shoulders, and had forgotten none of the tricks of 
 ti e trade during his long war service. 
 
 So then, finally, Mrs. Gilmour said that, subject to her 
 
 1 ? oviso of absolute silence, she was prepared, as supreme 
 ]. ad of the family in the absence of her sons John and 
 ( jrril, to give consent. 
 
 At this moment a diversion was caused by the entrance 
 (> a boy carrying a tray, with a smoking breakfast cup 
 «' id a large slice of cake. It was Mr. Collie's afternoon 
 i i a. No one had realized how time was passing, and all 
 ( : :pressed surprise. Soon they left Mr. Collie, Senior, to 
 1 1 s tea, and went down the carved oak staircase, escorted 
 by Mr. Collie, Junior. 
 
 But the die had been csist. Claire was to be allowed 
 ]iar divorce. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 HER family had now completely readopted Claire, 
 and more and more she became subject to their 
 control. Having agreed to the divorce, they could 
 no longer allow it to remain altogether in Miss Graham's 
 hands. It belonged to all of them, not only as a subject 
 of conversation, but as a real family game, in which every 
 move must be closely followed, since each player was 
 playing for the side, and all were equally keen to win. 
 
 The first move in the game was for Claire to establish 
 the fact of Roddy's desertion. And to do this satis- 
 factorily she must apply to the courts for an " order for 
 the restitution of conjugal rights." Thus, Claire, like 
 other wives in her unfortunate position, was forced to lend 
 herself to the humiliating chicanery that is rendered neces- 
 sary by the existing state of our divorce law and its ad- 
 ministration. Though all the happiness of her life de- 
 pended on her husband's absence, her legal advisers com- 
 pelled her deliberately to give the false impression that she 
 desired him to return ; fully satisfied that death was prefer- 
 able to ever being more to him than a wife in name, she 
 had to beg him to let her be once more a wife in fact. 
 
 Her reluctance to follow these unworthy though usual 
 methods became revolt when she was called upon, as a pre- 
 liminary, to send Roddy a letter which in the most affecting 
 terms implored him to grant her the solace of renewed 
 marital relations. 
 
 " No," she said firmly ; " nothing will make me say 
 that." 
 
 " Of course," said Leonard Joyce, " any expressions 
 
 you dislike can be altered. But in substance we all thought 
 
 it such a good letter." 
 
 332 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 333 
 
 " Thundering good letter," said young Mr. Collie, with 
 c ithusiasm. " I think Eaton has done it splendidly. It 
 < Dvera the ground so well." 
 
 Leonard had brought Claire down to Messrs. Collie's 
 ( ffice to polish off this preliminary piece of business, and 
 1 hey now explained to her that counsel's opinion had been 
 ( btained about the letter. It had, in fact, been drafted 
 l»y Mr. Eaton, one of the cleverest juniors practising in 
 " he divorce court. 
 
 " Let me read it to you again," said Dick Collie. He 
 vsis keen and alert, setting about thin gs in good style; he 
 lad made a very favourable impression upon Leonard 
 Joyce as really wide awake and not rusty from all that 
 >oldiering. As he read aloud now he threw much pathos 
 into certain phrases, either unconsciously or trying to do 
 them full justice. This, however, added to Claire's disgust. 
 
 " * What possible grievance can you nourish against 
 me? ' " read Collie. " Puts him in the wrong straight 
 away. ^ I have always made your home comfortable for 
 you, and am only wishful to do it again.' Covering the 
 ground, don't you see ? * You cannot say that I have ever 
 encouraged the attentions of other gentlemen ' " 
 
 " I should say ' men,' " interposed Leonard. " I think 
 men sounds better than gentlemen. Of course, you can 
 say which you like, Claire." 
 
 " I won't say either," said Claire. 
 
 " Let me go on," said Dick Collie. " Then you can 
 think it over. ^ Oh, my husband ! ' " — he read this with 
 tremendous feeling — " ' Oh, my husband ! Come back to 
 me '" 
 
 " Stop," said Claire. 
 
 They had a hard struggle with her ; but at last they per- 
 suaded her that the law being what it is, and her desire 
 being to obtain relief under the law, she must conform to 
 recognized and approved procedure. A letter, modified in 
 phraseology but unchanged in import, was eventually con- 
 
334 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 <»cted; and they made her write it out in her own hand 
 before they would let her go. 
 
 But young Collie said that since she had proved rather 
 unmanageable at the very kick-off, he advised Joyce to get 
 her in hand, and begged that he would accompany her on 
 all the future occasions when they wanted her at the office. 
 Thus Leonard, as active ally to the Collies and inter- 
 mediary between them and their client, came into the case 
 almost as completely as if his own firm were managing it. 
 
 " Quite all right, my dear Claire," he used to say kindly. 
 ^' You trust me. I thoroughly appreciate your feelings 
 about these formalities. The whole thing is a farce. And 
 it is degrading to have to submit to it all. But don't you 
 worry over it. I promise to steer you straight through. 
 Take my advice, and dismiss the thing from your mind — 
 except when I tell you there's anything to do. Go on with 
 your ordinary life as if nothing was happening. Amuse 
 yourself with Aunt A., and come and see Emily and me 
 as often as you will. Amusement will do you good, and 
 you know Emily is nearly always in spirits. I am glad 
 to see that already you're looking so much more like your- 
 self. You were dreadfully run down, weren't you? But 
 now you are picking up again, aren't you? " 
 
 He was very kind to her, and she felt grateful to him 
 for all the trouble he was taking. She submitted herself to 
 his directions and made no more diflSculties. 
 
 Time then glided by, and in due course, under his careful 
 escort, she made her first appearance in the law courts. 
 Her application was heard, and the order for restitution 
 of conjugal rights was made — an order that Roddy must 
 obey within a fortnight. 
 
 Roddy, for his part, duly disobeyed the order; and, 
 playing the game after the manner of a sportsman and a 
 gentleman, he wrote Claire a shockingly curt letter, in 
 which he stated that he had no intention of returning to 
 hfir, and that to save her useless trouble he might as well 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 335 
 
 c )nfess that he had passed a night at a certain named 
 ' 3tel with a certain unnamed lady. 
 
 " Thafs all right," said Leonard Joyce, with great 
 > itisf action. " Now we have got him. He can't play the 
 1 ool with us now. With such a wily bird one could never 
 1 3el quite comfortable, but now the salt is really on his 
 lail." 
 
 Then, again in due course, Claire filed her petition for 
 the dissolution of her marriage, on the grounds of her 
 husband's desertion and adultery. 
 
 It would, of course, be a long time before the case came 
 
 on for hearing, but everything would be done to press it 
 
 orward; and, once in court, as an undefended action, a 
 
 judge would rattle it through without a jury before you 
 
 oould look round. 
 
 So far the game had been played without attracting the 
 ::aintest public interest. Apparently the actual pro- 
 oeedings had been nowhere reported. Mrs. Gilmour^ 
 scanning illustrated and ordinary newspapers with feverish 
 anxiety, could not see a name mentioned — much less a 
 snap-shot picture of the lady who wanted her conjugal 
 rights. Not a whisper of inquiry, not the faintest breath 
 of scandal, disturbed the equanimity of Cyril or Lady 
 Esther. As old Derek said, rather inaptly, " It had all 
 gone as merrily as a marriage bell." 
 
 Meanwhile, Claire herself had now certainly gained 
 much in health, and she was helped by the knowledge that 
 her tardy freedom was coming, although at first the fact 
 had seemed of so little consequence. Miss Graham was 
 always talking about it ; telling her every day, in a dozen 
 different manners, that her life was not over, that she was- 
 still young, and that in youth one must never cease hoping^ 
 She also weighed upon the mental effect that is produced 
 by being immune from any possibility of interference or 
 restraint. Unless one is absolutely one's own mistress, 
 one can neither help oneself nor other people. Gradually, 
 
336 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 then, with slowly returning strength, Claire began to at- 
 tach a higher value to the emancipated status that was to 
 be given to her; she began to long for it, to count the 
 months until it should be hers. 
 
 It was not that as yet she had any hope of real happi- 
 ness; but already she was able to look forward without 
 flinching to the quiet, colourless existence that alone is 
 possible to those who have staked and lost all in one great 
 love. The future was dull and blank as ever, but some 
 painless, calm content perhaps might still be hers. She 
 was moved by what Aunt Agnes said alDOut being useful 
 to other people, and also by her hints concerning the life 
 of the mind. If by study she could improve her own mind, 
 and in a very humble^way do a little good to those about 
 her, she might get through the long journey till this dim 
 light changes to a restful darkness. 
 
 She worked now regularly at that women's league of her 
 aunt's, where everybody was very busy in demobilization. 
 The thousands of girls that these kind ladies had assisted 
 when they were going into the Army required much more 
 assistance now that they were coming out of it. There was 
 a great deal to do on the spiritual as well as the material 
 side, for in the reaction after the universal strain, a new, 
 strange sort of rescue work became increasingly necessary. 
 Claire, working harder than Miss Graham approved, 
 seemed without effort to establish an influence in this 
 direction that all noticed. 
 
 Among old friends there was one that she dreaded 
 meeting. With deep thankfulness of heart she had learnt 
 that Basil Everett lived to see the glorious end of the 
 war; she owed him immense gratitude for the noble in- 
 tuition that had made him send her the one message that 
 had power to give her consoling thoughts in her darkest 
 hour ; and yet her memories of him were so pitifuUy woven 
 with memories of Gladys, that she feared even the sight 
 of his face or the sound of his voice as almost certain to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 337 
 
 1 awaken the intolerable anguish of the night of her child's 
 il ath and bring back something of the distraction and 
 <j <spair that followed it. But she was ashamed of her want 
 <) ' fortitude, and would not purposely avoid him. 
 
 One afternoon, when she had returned from the League 
 fices earlier than her usual time. Aunt Agnes ran out 
 :f the ground-floor room to intercept her in the 
 han. 
 
 " Claire dear, Basil is with me. If you think you would 
 rather not see him " 
 
 Claire did not try to escape from what chance had 
 ( rdained. In a moment her fear had vanished. Without a 
 thought, instinctively, she went into the room with Aunt 
 Agnes; and, greeting her friend, she felt nothing of the 
 <listress that she had morbidly dreaded. She had for- 
 ^jotten herself, and was merely glad to see him. 
 
 As they all three sat talking Aunt Agnes watched the 
 other two, and according to her custom, made swift de- 
 ductions from what she observed. In Basil Everett's eyes, 
 at least, Claire was what she had always been. He saw no 
 change in her ; and for him nothing would ever change her. 
 
 Aunt Agnes, herself talking with gentle sprightliness, 
 admired and loved him for every tone of his voice, every 
 look of his kind, grave eyes, as without a single direct or 
 indirect allusion to the past, he seemed to be able to make 
 Claire understand both his sympathy in her grief and his 
 pleasure at being with her again. 
 
 After this he came to the house whenever he was in 
 liOndon. He was being employed on interesting and im- 
 portant tasks. He had been sent on errands of moment, 
 into the heart of Germany, to Constantinople, to Finland ; 
 and he had much to tell them of his experiences. Not only 
 Aunt Agnes, but many other people, said that great things 
 were in store for Basil. Everybody recognized that he 
 was a marked man; he would have a dazzlingly brilliant 
 career. 
 
338 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " And not a bit spoilt by success, is he, Claire? " 
 
 Certainly he was modest. In his long talks with Claire 
 they dealt nearly always with immaterial things — the 
 characters of historical personages long since dead, or the 
 thoughts of men and women who had lived only within the 
 pages of books — and although Claire, recognizing the 
 extent of his reading and the acuteness of his critical 
 faculty, expressed her views with great diffidence, he treated 
 them always with respect, even when he differed from them, 
 and sometimes subordinated his judgment to hers. More- 
 over, when they spoke of material affairs, he paid her the 
 most subtle of all compliments by frankly asking for and 
 seeming to value her opinion. In a matter nearly con- 
 cerning himself he asked once for her advice. He told her 
 that immediately after the armistice, colonial friends of 
 his had urged him to go out to Australia with them, and, 
 abandoning the Foreign Office, take up the rougher, larger 
 work that lies on the fringes of our Empire. It would have 
 been commercial rather than political work, and after 
 much doubt he had decided to stick to his old trade. 
 
 Claire, compelled to give an opinion, said she thought 
 he had decided wisely. 
 
 ^' You think so ? Better fifty years in Europe than a 
 cycle — anywhere else." And he smiled. " But the 
 countries of to-morrow — and the day after, Mrs. Vaughan ? 
 Great work — if one could do it." 
 
 He had a car of his own now, and during the month of 
 July he took them for some long country drives. There 
 was sadness but no pain to Claire in revisiting places where 
 they had been with him a year ago : the memory of Gladys 
 was holding them together instead of holding them apart. 
 No one had been so good to the child as he. 
 
 Thus Claire's friendship with him was renewed; a 
 trustful, candid intercourse, as pleasant to her as it was 
 comforting; the only friendship of the kind that she had 
 fever known. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 339 
 
 In August Miss Graham took Claire with her to 
 Brighton, and they stayed at a corner house in Schom- 
 burg Square. It was a lodging-house, but Miss Graham 
 bad taken the whole of it ; at first intending to invite some 
 of the more friendless of her League girls to fill un- 
 occupied rooms, and then abandoning the idea, because, 
 as she confessed, she did not feel up to the effort of enter- 
 taining them. She was very tired, and she needed rest 
 and quiet. 
 
 It was so unlike Aunt Agnes to admit as much as this, 
 that Claire felt, if not alarmed, a little anxious. She 
 watched her aunt narrowly, and devoted herself to her 
 entirely, keeping her amused while avoiding all fatigue. 
 To her delight she saw the almost instantaneously good 
 effect of the strong sea air. After a few days Aunt Agnes 
 seemed to have recovered all her habitual energy and live- 
 liness. She enjoyed the gaiety of the crowded sea front 
 as well as the prettiness of the inland country; she was 
 able to detect the weaknesses and make quiet fun of the 
 pretensions of their landlady quite in her old style. 
 
 The landlady was a faded and decayed gentlewoman, 
 who highly approved of Miss Graham's grand way of 
 paying for more accommodation than she used, in order 
 *' to keep to herself." She said, " How well I know your 
 feeling ! One must keep to oneself. But, alas, in my own 
 case, all that sort of thing is over and done with ; " and she 
 showed Miss Graham two very feeble water-colour sketches 
 in the drawing-room, that pallidly represented a church 
 and a country mansion belonging to grandeurs of her past. 
 She also drew attention to pieces of furniture that had 
 known her when she was a girl moving in the best county 
 society. " That book-case downstairs in the dining-room 
 stood in Papa's study at the rectory ; '* and she pointed 
 again to the picture of the church. " I notice that Mrs. 
 Vaughan was quick to examine my little collection of books. 
 I was like her once, an avid reader ; but now " — ^and she 
 
340 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 gave a genteel sigh — " those two girls, May and Alice, 
 take every minute of my day looking after them. I hope 
 that so far you have had no cause to complain of the 
 attendance. I beg you to tell me if it is not what you are 
 accustomed to. I do know so well." 
 
 Aunt Agnes mildly diverted herself too with the maid- 
 servants. May and Alice, asking them how they reconciled 
 it with their consciences to spend so much money on dress 
 instead of saving up for their old age, in case they never 
 found anyone to marry them. May tossed her head and 
 answered cheekily, while Alice slyly smiled and puckered 
 her apron when Miss Graham ventilated this horrible sup- 
 position. It would not be their fault if such a fate befell 
 them; for on alternate evenings each went out dressed in 
 her best, either to prowl with old admirers or hunt for new 
 ones. They were the very commonest sort of girls, al- 
 though their mistress honestly tried to teach them man- 
 ners and make them worthy of the mob caps and em- 
 broidered aprons that she herself provided. Claire dis- 
 liked May a little more than Alice, perhaps only because 
 she saw more of her ; but ultimately she had bitter reason 
 to remember both of them. 
 
 Yet in spite of May's occasionally offensive familiarity 
 and the landlady's genteel meanness and incompetence. 
 Aunt Agnes and Claire were comfortable enough. Care- 
 less of what they eat, not minding a little extra trouble, 
 the nicest sort of women are always easy to satisfy; 
 whereas, on the other hand, the very nicest and noblest 
 of men must be properly fed and waited on. 
 
 Thus Aunt Agnes naturally struck a new note when 
 announcing that she expected a male visitor for the week- 
 end. 
 
 "Claire! That dear fellow Basil is coming to us to- 
 morrow. Won't it be lovely to have him with us? I'll 
 engage the car from Thomas, so that we can take him for 
 5ome big excursions." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 341 
 
 And at once she began a pleasant bustle of preparation ; 
 i which Claire gladly joined. They debated where they 
 s lould put him. There was a large, empty bedroom on 
 t le ground-floor behind the dining-room, and this would be 
 c )nvenient ; but they decided that it was dark and dingy. 
 " 'here was nothing on the drawing-room floor for him, 
 t ecause the three bedrooms there were already swamped 
 } y themselves and Miss Graham's own maid. Claire at this 
 ])oint oifered to vacate her own room for him and move 
 1o the floor above; but Miss Graham would not hear of 
 : t, and on reflection they both agreed that he was so active 
 hat he would not in the least mind mounting as high as 
 :he second-floor. They went straight up to the second- 
 loor bedroom and decided that he would be quite happy 
 there; quiet and undisturbed too, with only the landlady 
 for neighbour, and the house-servants all above him on 
 the top floor. He was not bringing a servant, but Miss 
 Graham's maid declared herself well able to valet him. 
 
 " And we'll put some flowers in his room, Claire. Yes, 
 he has a glimpse of the sea from this window. And, don't 
 forget, Claire, we must tell that old humbug not to play 
 her trick with the electric light." 
 
 The landlady's trick with the electric light — a well- 
 known pleasantry of landladies~-was to switch it off at 
 the meter at eleven p.m. There was gas instead of electric 
 light on the stairs, and sometimes she turned that off too. 
 
 " We shall have to get in some wine, of course. And, 
 Claire, you and I must do a little regular marketing to- 
 morrow morning. If you think of things, tell me." 
 
 So all that day and the morning of the next day passed 
 in cheerful occupations. Claire herself arranged the 
 flowers on the visitor's dressing-table and superintended 
 May in a final tidying of the whole room. She was no 
 less anxious than her aunt to do him honour; she felt a 
 calm elation as she thought of how his presence would 
 brighten all the house for them ; and it was with an active, 
 
342 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 lively pleasure that she looked forward to the long excur- 
 sions of which Miss Graham had spoken. The weather 
 was gloriously fine. 
 
 He arrived soon after luncheon, and that first afternoon 
 was perfect. The hireling car carried them over the downs 
 into pretty, secluded valleys, by the side of slow streams 
 and under hanging woods; they had tea in a farmhouse 
 garden, and when they got back to Brighton Miss Graham 
 insisted on their leaving the car and walking home over 
 the broad lawns of Hove, and through the closest pressure 
 of the holiday crowd. She was as gay and light-hearted 
 as a girl of twenty, and the innocent happiness of the 
 kind old soul communicated itself to her two younger com- 
 panions. 
 
 Basil Everett praised the house, praised the cooking, 
 praised everything. Upstairs in the drawing-room, after 
 dinner, he said that the view from the balcony was as 
 beautiful as anything you could see on the Bosphorus. 
 
 " What rubbish ! *' said Miss Graham, laughing. " Of 
 course you don't mean it." 
 
 " Of course I don't," said Basil, laughing too. " I'm 
 only trying to be complimentary, and allowing for the 
 glamour of night. Really and truly, as soon as Brighton 
 becomes invisible, it's as beautiful as any other place that's 
 hidden by darkness. Come and see for yourself, Mrs. 
 Vaughan." 
 
 He was standing by the open window, looking very tall 
 as he leaned against the landlady's cretonne curtains, 
 the lamplight on his thin, sunburnt face, and the darkness 
 behind him seeming like another curtain, of black velvet. 
 Miss Graham sat smiling at him, admiring him, thinking 
 that he was like a splendid picture by Van Dyk. Claire 
 went across to him, and they stood for a few moments side 
 by side, looking down at the shrubs and trees in the garden 
 of the square, the lighted windows of other lodging houses, 
 and the bright lamps of the King's Road. In truth, the 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 843 
 
 ■^ g amour of night lay over all these common things. After 
 1^ tl e long, hot day a faint, sweet breeze came creeping in- 
 ^ h id from the sea, and one heard its murmuring voice 
 I v/ )en one listened in silence. 
 
 'i " I think you are too severe on Brighton," said Claire. 
 ' *' Especially after all we showed you this afternoon." 
 
 The short evening passed too quickly. They tried to 
 1 ake him talk about himself; and although he would not 
 fl ) that, he talked delightfully on all other subjects. At 
 L ilf-past ten the ladies withdrew. Miss Graham rose with 
 1- regretful sigh, and said she would like to sit chatting 
 Hie that all night, but as she wanted to be in good form 
 to-morrow she had better go to bed. 
 
 " Besides, he has had more than enough of us, Claire. 
 >ro doubt he is dying to go and smoke. Oh, Claire, we 
 liive forgotten to get him any cigars." 
 
 " I am so glad," said Basil Everett, smiling. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " First, because cigars bought by ladies are apt to be 
 <langerous; and secondly, because I don't smoke cigars at 
 all." 
 
 " He has none of the vices, Claire, and every one of the 
 virtues," said Miss Graham fondly. " Good-night, dear 
 Basil ; " and she took his hand and pressed it afFection- 
 itely. " Thank you for having pity on two poor lonely 
 ^vomen." 
 
 " Thank you," said Basil, ^' for having pity on one 
 poor lonely man." 
 
 " Good-night. Sleep well." 
 
 " Of course I shall. The perfume of those lovely flowers 
 wiU make me dream that I am sleeping in a Persian 
 garden." 
 
 Claire, alone presently, had the echo of these words ia 
 ber ears. What a pretty thing to have said ! A Persian 
 garden — that meant a garden of roses. She was glad that 
 she bought those big roses for him, and not anything else. 
 
34* FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Walking about her room instead of at once going to bed, 
 she thought of other things that he had said. How 
 charming he was with Aunt Agnes; so exactly catching 
 her humour; talking to her chaffingly, and yet with a 
 manner that was both protective and deferential. Aunt 
 Agnes adored him, of course. Claire sat in front of her 
 dressing-table and mused on the afternoon's drive. She 
 had enjoyed every minute of it; she had been as happy as 
 she could ever be. Any greater sense of peace would seem 
 a treachery to Gladys. But now, after the quiet contented 
 hours, she began to feel restless. It would be a long while 
 before she slept to-night ; and looking round for her book, 
 she thought she had better go downstairs and fetch an- 
 other gem from the collection of the landlady. There 
 were three or four of the Waverley novels on the bottom 
 shelf of that book-case. 
 
 She went down into the dining-room and turned on the 
 electric light ; and the next instant it went out again. It 
 was the landlady's trick. After all, they had not warned 
 her, and punctual to her usual hour she had doomed the 
 sitting-room to darkness. Claire, groping her way to the 
 book-case, felt annoyed, because the visitor might have 
 wanted to use the room. A bump into the end of the sofa 
 told her she had reached the vicinity of the book-case, and 
 she went upon her knees to feel for the volumes on the 
 bottom shelf. A faint illumination from the street lamp 
 outside the window crept into the room to help her. 
 
 Then somebody else came gropingly through the door- 
 way, and Basil Everett's voice sounded. He had been for 
 a stroll to the beach. 
 
 "Who is it.?" he asked. 
 
 "It is I!" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Vaughan ! Why in the dark.^ Let me turn 
 on the light for you." 
 
 Claire explained that this was impossible. 
 
 " Then I'll get my torch. I left it in the hall." And he 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 34S 
 
 ame back with one of those long electric torches that are 
 ; ke small truncheons, and flashed its strong light. Claire 
 ound her book, and for a little while they stood talking; 
 le telling her how he had this particular torch with him 
 Q the war, and used it as he walked along the trenches on 
 lis nightly round. He asked her to keep the torch. 
 
 " Oh, you are too kind. But I mustn't really." 
 
 " Do, to please me ; " and he flashed it and put it into 
 ^ler hand. 
 
 Claire accepted the gift, and they lingered talking for 
 another few moments. 
 
 Then there came a knock at the door. After the custom 
 of lodging-house servants, both May and Alice were punc- 
 tilious in knocking at the doors of the sitting-rooms before 
 mtering them; and the knocker now was the girl Alice, 
 who had returned from her evening out, and in the low 
 gas light from the hall showed a silhouette of fashionable 
 walking costume. She apologized for disturbing the occu- 
 pants of the room. 
 
 " I fancied I heard voices, but wasn't sure, ma'am." 
 
 Claire said that Alice had not disturbed them, and told 
 her to ask her mistress not to switch off the current to- 
 morrow night. 
 
 Upstairs in her room again, Claire stood looking at the 
 torch as it lay upon her dressing-table, with tender 
 thoughts for the man who had used it, and a determina- 
 tion that as long as she lived she would never part with it* 
 
 Next day opened brightly and happily, and for the 
 better part of it all was well ; but it closed in sadness. 
 
 Miss Graham was full of energy, and while Claire went 
 to church, took a walk with Basil along the sea front. 
 After luncheon they all three went for a lengthy jaunt 
 in the car, had another wayside tea, examined a ruin, and 
 clambered up a rough footpath to enjoy a famous view 
 across the weald of Sussex. Then quite late, when they 
 
B46 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE m^ 
 
 were spinning homeward on the London Road, Claire no- 
 ticed her aunt's pallor and breathlessness. Borne up by 
 her indomitable spirit, the brave old soul had done more 
 than her physical state warranted. But even then she 
 .would not confess that she felt ill. 
 
 In the hall at Schomburg Square she fainted. She re- 
 covered consciousness very quickly, and leaning on Basil 
 Everett's arm, went up to her room. She said she would 
 rest for half an hour and then be all right for dinner. 
 But Claire was alarmed now, as one is always at an 
 unmistakable sign of weakness in a person who has been 
 notoriously strong. Never in the history of the family 
 had Aunt Agnes been known to have a day's real illness. 
 
 They sent for a doctor ; and the doctor proved reassur- 
 ing. He said he anticipated no serious trouble; the old 
 lady had exhausted herself, and that was all. However, 
 one could not be too careful in dealing with people of ad- 
 vanced age. Miss Graham must therefore go to bed and 
 remain there for a day or two, and he thought it would 
 be advisable to have a nurse. If possible, he would get 
 one at once to keep watch during the night. He could 
 not absolutely promise to find a nurse, because they were 
 both scarce and over-worked, but he would do his best; 
 and he added, with considerable wisdom, that the advan- 
 tage of having a nurse would be to let Miss Graham's 
 own maid get her proper night's rest so that she might 
 be fresh and active for the more important work of at- 
 tending to her mistress during the day. 
 
 " But I can sit up with my aunt," said Claire. 
 
 " I think the same applies to you," said the doctor, 
 good-humouredly. " Your aunt will want you more in the 
 daytime." 
 
 About an hour after his departure the nurse arrived — 
 ** straight from the end of another case," as she announced 
 at once. 
 
 "This a night- job too! Just like my luck;" and she 
 
^ FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 34T 
 
 t )ld them she was regularly worked to death ; expected to 
 c 3 without food or sleep either, and to keep going all the 
 t me like an eight-day clock rather than a creature of flesh 
 £ nd blood. " Heart trouble, isn't it ? And an elderly pa- 
 i lent? Well, just let me have a peep into the sick room, 
 ^ 3 as I can get my bearings ; then I'll set my traps ship- 
 siape, and be ready for you. I suppose you can do me 
 £ bit of supper? " 
 
 She made a very unfavourable impression on Claire. 
 She was a woman of about forty who seemed naturally 
 capable and business like enough, but a stupid, muddled 
 bok came into her face every now and then while she 
 egotistically chattered about the hard work at the hospital; 
 i.nd presently Claire felt a suspicion that she had been 
 drinking and was still under the influence of alcohol. 
 Agitated by this horrid thought, Claire got Basil Everett 
 i o come up to the first floor landing and have a little talk 
 with the nurse without allowing her to guess that she was 
 being critically examined. This he did in Claire's presence ; 
 and he was able unhesitatingly to banish the ugly suspi- 
 cion. The woman was absolutely sober, but very tired. 
 And he sensibly suggested that she should be given some 
 food and then be allowed to lie down for an hour or two 
 before she relieved Miss Graham's maid. 
 
 " That's a nice considerate gentleman," said the nurse, 
 going off to her supper; and when she reappeared, to go 
 on duty a little before eleven o'clock, she looked neat, trim, 
 quietly efficient — all that a nurse should be. 
 
 Meanwhile Aunt Agnes was obviously going on well. 
 There was no more breathlessness ; she said she was quite 
 comfortable, and she looked quite comfortable. But it was 
 touching to observe her unselfish wish that the comfort 
 of others should not be interfered with, and her contrition 
 at having caused trouble. 
 
 " I am so dreadfully ashamed of myself, Claire. This 
 sort of thing is out of my line. I don't do such things, 
 
348 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 do I? But now you must prevent everything being spoilt 
 for Basil. Do go down and see that he has his dinner 
 properly. It is very late. And take him for a walk after- 
 wards. It is such a lovely night. Please — please do as 
 I ask. I can't bear to spoil things." 
 
 But of course all things were spoilt. Her insistence was 
 so strong that Claire, very much against her own in- 
 clination, left her once more after their hurried meal. For 
 perhaps twenty minutes she and Basil walked round and 
 round the square, in sight of the house all the time, and all 
 the time talking of Aunt Agnes. 
 
 ^ After the nurse had assumed charge of Miss Graham's 
 room, Claire still sat there for a little while. Aunt Agnes 
 was asleep, breathing easily, showing no sign of discomfort. 
 The nurse whispered, ** She'll do nicely now." 
 
 Then at last Claire left her ; but half an hour later love 
 drew her back to the room. She could not herself go to 
 bed and sleep soundly until she had made sure that all 
 was still going well. So she slipped on her dressing-gown, 
 armed herself with her torch, and went out into the passage. 
 
 She listened at the door, then softly opened it and went 
 into the room. Aunt Agnes had not changed her position. 
 In the faint illumination from a night light that the nurse 
 had set upon the mantleshelf, Claire saw the pale outline 
 of the face against the pillow just as it had been, and 
 stooping over the bed she listened to the breathing. It was 
 easy and regular. Aunt Agnes was sleeping like a weary 
 child. 
 
 But Aunt Agnes was not the only person asleep in the 
 room, as Claire soon discovered. There was a sofa at the 
 foot of the bed, and on this the nurse had subsided into 
 deep and unconcerned slumber. 
 
 Claire, felt a glow of indignation at this breach of trust, 
 and was about to put her hand upon the woman's shoulder 
 to rouse her when a gentler thought checked the impulse. 
 After all, it was a crime of nature — probably not even 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 349 
 
 ]: 'emeditated by the woman herself. The poor over-driven 
 ".^ retch was dead tired, as Basil Everett had seen at a 
 ^ ance ; not a piece of mechanism but a thing of mere flesh 
 a id blood, as she herself had said. So Claire's feeling 
 c langed from instinctive anger to reasoned pity, and she 
 t lought, " Let her sleep for a little while and I will watch 
 f )r her while she sleeps.'* 
 
 Then Claire went to the window and sat there, glancing 
 from moment to moment at the motionless figure on the 
 led and thinking, while the nurse heavily slept on. After 
 she had been there a little time, she fancied that she heard 
 riovements or footsteps outside on the landing, and she 
 T'ent softly to the door and listened. But all became silent 
 a gain, and she went back to her seat by the window. 
 
 There had in truth been somebody passing to and fro 
 C'Utside the door. To-day it was the evening out of the 
 other girl. May ; and May, very grandly attired, had pro- 
 longed her evening to a late hour. She had come up the 
 stairs with a lighted candle in her hand, had noticed that 
 the door of Claire's room was ajar; then, after going on 
 tip-toe up and down the passage and looking into the 
 drawing-room, she did a curiously impertinent thing. She 
 went tip-toeing into Claire's room, and pryed all round 
 and about it. Then still on tip-toe, with her large fashion- 
 able hat casting monstrous shadows in the candle light, 
 she went upstairs to the top floor and her own quarters. 
 
 Claire sat by the window thinking. Hour after hour 
 passed and neither of the sleepers awakened. The nurse 
 changed her attitude; with a somnolent groan subsided 
 still further, and lay stretched at full length in the almost 
 deathlike unconsciousness of supreme fatigue. The patient 
 stirred now and then, sighed faintly once or twice, but never 
 moved to a different posture. 
 
 The summer night was as warm as the daytime ; through 
 the open windows the rhythmic murmur of the sea came 
 soft and low, a vibration filling all the silence of the room ; 
 
350 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 and Claire's vigil lasted till long after the shadows had 
 slowly crept away and the cold morning light had turned 
 to golden fire. 
 
 And throughout the darkness and the dawn her heart 
 was heavy with a burden of sadness — the sadness of life 
 itself; vaster than the sea, more invincible than the tides, 
 more overwhelming, each time that one really thinks of 
 it, than the inconceivable distances that lie between us and 
 the further stars. " Only this one little life, Claire ! " An 
 arrow of light darting into a dark place — like these rays 
 at the side of the window blinds — spreading into coloured 
 radiance, swiftly fading; and then again the darkness! 
 
 When Claire returned to the room at breakfast time 
 Aunt Agnes welcomed her with the good news that she felt 
 quite well again. The nurse for her part announced that 
 Miss had passed an excellent night. 
 
 " She slept like a top," said the nurse cheerfully. " I 
 kept waiting for her to wake up, so as I could give her 
 her medicine; but as she didn't, I wouldn't disturb her." 
 
 Claire looked at the woman coldly and critically, feeling 
 a contempt for her now. She might be excused for the 
 failure in her duty, but there was no excuse for trying to 
 conceal it with such effrontery ; and Claire at once deter- 
 mined that they would get rid of her. She was a person 
 that they could not safely trust. 
 
 The nurse, however, was dismissed for other reasons 
 before the morning was over. Much to Claire's surprise 
 the doctor announced after a little private conversation 
 with his patient that Aunt Agnes was keenly desirous of 
 returning to London that very day, and he saw no reason 
 why she should not safely take the journey. He said she 
 seemed to have the idea that she would be safer in her own 
 house than anywhere else, and he advised Claire not to 
 oppose her wish. 
 
 " It would be easy to me to keep her here and make a 
 case of it," said the doctor, good-humouredly. " But 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 351 
 
 tones tly I don't feel justified in detaining her, since she 
 .ppears to be so set on getting home." 
 Aunt Agnes herself apologized for her whim. 
 " Claire, I'm a selfish wretch to cut short your hoHday* 
 it's a sort of superstitious feeling that makes me do it. 
 Vfter my stupid behaviour of yesterday I shouldn't feel 
 comfortable here. You know, I don't for a moment think 
 ;'m going to begin that sort of thing again; but if by 
 iny chance I should be in for some sort of illness, well, 
 :here's no place like home. And what really decides me is 
 laving Basil here to manage the journey and take care 
 >fus." 
 
 So packing was at once begun, and in the afternoon they 
 travelled back to London without any mishap. Miss 
 Graham seemed quite herself again as she trotted about 
 the familiar rooms in Hans Place. Basil Everett came 
 back to the house for dinner, and they had another pleasant 
 peaceful evening. 
 
 Aunt Agnes was all right for a week, for ten days, and 
 then she had another fit of breathlessness. She did not 
 faint on this occasion, and she recovered as quickly as 
 before. But her London doctor said she must be kept very 
 quiet. He said that for a long time she had 
 been doing too much; now she must really give herself a 
 chance. 
 
 There was no further attack, and as time passed, 
 Claire's anxiety became less and less. She devoted herself 
 altogether to her aunt, letting the League work get on 
 without her aid. The bond between them had become very 
 close, and the tenderness and love that Claire showed in 
 every word and act were instinctive and not merely the 
 conscientious payment ordained by gratitude. 
 
 As they sat together of an evening, Miss Graham talked 
 often of the future ; not only of time near at hand, but of 
 long pleasant years to come. 
 
362 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " If only this divorce business would move a little faster, 
 Claire !'* 
 
 And she said that the dreadful slowness of the Collies, 
 of Leonard Joyce, and of everybody else, was more than 
 irritating, it was maddening. They had promised to do 
 wonders in expediting matters, and it seemed to her that 
 they had not succeeded in doing anything at all. They 
 had assured her that, at the worst, the case would come on 
 for hearing in this next term, and now they began 
 to say that because of the congestion of the 
 courts it might be still further delayed to the following 
 term. 
 
 " That would mean not till after Christmas, Claire — ^not 
 till next year. And after you get your decree it will be 
 another six months before you are really free. Is it not 
 sickening? You are much more philosophical than I am, 
 Claire. The delay Worries me fearfully." 
 
 Claire said she longed to have the case over and done 
 with, but she supposed that they must be patient, and that 
 Mr. Collie and the others were doing all that lay in their 
 power. 
 
 Then one evening. Miss Graham spoke of Claire's using 
 her freedom some day and marrying again. 
 
 " I am not likely to do that," said Claire. 
 
 ^^ Why not ? Of course you'll do it." 
 
 Then Claire spoke of her position after the divorce, 
 asking her aunt many questions. What would the world 
 say of her and think of her? Her own real friends 
 would know the truth ; but to everybody else would she not 
 be a woman under a stigma — the sort of person for whom 
 one feels a half contemptuous pity and with whom one 
 carefully avoids friendship and intimacy ? In the beginning 
 Esther, Emily, everybody had warned her of the disrepute, 
 if not the actual disgrace, that attaches to a divorced wife, 
 whether innocent or guilty; and it must be true, or they 
 could not all of them have said the same thing. How 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 853 
 
 I len could she ever think of involving anyone else in her 
 1 )wered prestige? 
 
 But Aunt Agnes strenuously endeavoured to persuade 
 1 er that all such ideas had long since died out. Besides, 
 : a a case hke this, put through without publicity, in these 
 t till stirring times, the cruel old prejudices, even if existent, 
 < ould never touch her. The man who married her would 
 never suffer under the world's attitude towards his wife. 
 * ' No one will know or care whether you were married before 
 )r not. If they hear you had another husband, they will 
 :ake it for granted that he was killed in the war — as he 
 yaght to have been, and as I only wish he had been.'' 
 
 And almost immediately Aunt Agnes went on to speak 
 Df Basil Everett. 
 
 " Aunt Agnes, please, please don't say these things." 
 
 But Aunt Agnes would not stop; she continued with 
 gentle determination. 
 
 " Claire, I can't hide my great wish. Before I die I want 
 to see you two happily married. You can trust hmiy 
 Claire. I know that he will make up to you for all that 
 you have gone through. Claire dear, he loves you with 
 such a pure and noble love." 
 
 " Aunt Agnes, stop. It is wrong for me even to listen 
 to you. But, believe me — on my word of honour — he has 
 never said anything to hint at more than the simplest 
 friendship." 
 
 " Oh, Claire ! You are not blind. Anyhow, I know." 
 And she told Claire how Basil had admired her as an un- 
 married girl, and how she herself had hoped that they 
 would become engaged. " It would have been all so easy 
 and natural — if only you and he had been given a chance. 
 But then that monster came upon the scene, and that 
 drivelling old man's persecution and the imbecility of your 
 mother drove you into his arms. So dear Basil lost you. 
 Now I'm not pretending that he went away broken- 
 hearted and thought of nothing but you year after year. 
 
364 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 No, not a bit. But he did remember you, Claire — so well, 
 that when he saw you again the old feeling revived and 
 became a thousand times stronger. You're the only woman 
 in the world for him." 
 
 And again Claire begged her aunt to say no more. 
 
 " All right, dear. But you may trust me. Of course 
 he cannot in honour tell you now. But the day the decree 
 nisi is made absolute Basil will claim your hand; and if 
 you refuse him you will make me a very unhappy old 
 
 Was it true that he loved her in this way? In those 
 bright September days during which her aunt remained 
 well and full of hope, Claire gave herself for a little while 
 to the dream of future happiness. 
 
 Yes, it was true. Much, much more than freedom and 
 peace was coming to her. Her candid heart and honest 
 brain, the very soul of her, rejected pretence and went 
 out to meet the innocent truth. For the first time in her 
 life she measured and understood what love between a man 
 and a woman should be. No words had been spoken, but 
 there was no need of words. Spirit had bound them to- 
 gether ; in spirit they were already one. Each needed the 
 other. 
 
 While the dream lasted, she thought of all that life with 
 such a man would mean. Nothing mean or common would 
 mingle with it; always he would be lifting her towards 
 higher things, and passionate love itself would be a flame 
 that purified and did nor sear. In such joy as this there 
 should be no treachery to Gladys. Gladys herself would 
 understand. Gladys herself loved him. 
 
CHAPTER XXVni 
 
 * TT Tf AVE you heard the dreadful news ? " said Emily 
 
 I I Joyce gaspingly to all the friends she met as she 
 hurreid from the darkened house in Hans Place 
 md round the corner into Hague Street. 
 
 "No, what is it?" 
 
 " Aunt Agnes died last night. Is it not dreadful? Only 
 :ook to her bed three days ago. We all thought it was 
 lothing at all. My poor sister was with her. She is in a 
 pitiable condition — such an awful shock! I'm only going 
 bo sit with mother for a few minutes, and then I shall get 
 back to be with her again." 
 
 And on the sunlit pavements of Sloane Street kind and 
 beautifully dressed ladies paused in their shopping to talk 
 of it, both to-day and the days that followed. 
 
 " Did you know that old Miss Graham — ^Mrs. Gilmour's 
 sister — who lived in Hans Place? " 
 
 " Yes — but very slightly." 
 
 " Well, she's dead. Died quite suddenly. Lady Joyce 
 — is dreadfully upset about it." 
 
 " She was a rather queer old soul, wasn't she — I mean 
 eccentric — a socialist or something? " 
 
 " Yes, I rather think she was. But they were all very 
 fond of her. Emily Joyce said her sister — you know, the 
 one who's divorcing her husband — ^Mrs. Vaughan — is 
 heart-broken." 
 
 Thus light tongues sounding in the sunlight spoke of the 
 
 gentle yet courageous heart that had for ever ceased to 
 
 beat in sympathy with the oppressed and in scorn of the 
 
 tyrannical, while Claire wept for her behind the drawn 
 
 blinds of the house that had now become her own. 
 
 Very soon this further news was flashing through the 
 
 355 
 
356 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 family and round the wider circle of their friends. Miss 
 Graham had left Claire the pretty little house in Hans 
 Place and about sixty thousand pounds. 
 
 " All that she died possessed of," said Sir Leonard 
 solem.nly. " Nothing whatever to anybody else," and he 
 glanced at his faithful Emily to see how she was taking 
 it. 
 
 On the whole Emily took it better than might have been 
 expected. Bursting with indignation for a few minutes, 
 she soon calmed down; and before long she declared her- 
 self reconciled to what in her first warm glow she had 
 spoken of as " outrageously unfair." Even in these terrible 
 times, with an income tax and super tax of savage ferocity, 
 she and Leonard had really as much money as they could 
 possibly use; whereas to poor Claire, denuded of every- 
 thing, a modest sixty thousand would make all the differ- 
 ence in the world. 
 
 " Only I must say, it is like Aunt Agnes to do it in a 
 rude manner — leaving one right out in the cold, without 
 so much as a souvenir, not even a piece of plate." Emily 
 said this during the phase of cooling down. " However, 
 it is what I might have expected. She always made prime 
 favourite of Claire, and there was never any love lost 
 between her and me. I was too outspoken for her taste. 
 I let her know my mind, whatever the subject, and no 
 doubt I often touched her on the raw." 
 
 Leonard, remembering the polished sharpness of the poor 
 dead lady's tongue and the redness of dear Emily's face 
 during arguments between them witnessed by himself, 
 doubted whether it was not Aunt Agnes rather than Emily 
 by whom " the raw '* was really touched. But he said 
 nothing. He was genuinely pleased that this legacy had 
 come to Claire, to re-establish her in a state of competence 
 and independence after being brought so low by her rascal 
 of a husband. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour was equally pleased, and for the same 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 357 
 
 r* ason. She said at once, " Now we shall have no more of 
 tl ose dreadful addresses that Claire used to give us. I 
 c nnot exaggerate how painful it was to me throughout 
 t at time when Claire was living first in one set of lodgings 
 n id then in another. Not from any snobbish reasons ; but 
 s mply because it was so impossible to explain when people 
 q lestioned me, and because, although Claire was very brave 
 aaout it, I knew she must really feel it as much as any- 
 b3dy else." Then Mrs. Gilmour expressed surprise at 
 t le amount of money left by her sister. " It is so much 
 more than I should have anticipated. I confess it baffles 
 me. I can only suppose " — and she said this rather plain- 
 tively — " that Agnes must consistently have saved money 
 and somehow or other avoided making unfortunate invest- 
 nents. She was of course childless." 
 
 Cyril took it badly. He thought that it was the sacred 
 duty of the family to support him now that he had not 
 (mly secured a wife who did credit to them all, but was 
 likely at any minute to get into Parliament. He spoke 
 unkindly of Claire, saying that she had failed in her duty 
 by not making Aunt Agnes remember her duty. He had no 
 wii^ to cut Claire out of her inheritance, but he con- 
 sidered that half the estate would have been sufficient for 
 her and that clearly the other half should have come to 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Collie senior took it worst of all. He was seriously 
 oifended because Miss Graham had employed another firm 
 af solicitors to draw her will. This appeared to him a 
 slight. He attended the funeral ; but he had not his usual 
 agreeable funeral manner. He looked glum and huffed. 
 
 He did not, however, make Claire suifer by reason of his 
 natural feeling of resentment. Mrs. Vaughan was not to 
 blame. Indeed he, and others too, showed her now the 
 added deference that is due to ladies of substantial means. 
 She was no longer the one indigent member of a well-to-do 
 family, being re-adopted and rescued by her kind-hearted 
 
368 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 relatives; she was, so to speak, a client standing solidly 
 on her own legs. 
 
 This notion of enhanced importance, or at any rate of 
 increased power, was perhaps unconsciously in the minds of 
 many people as they talked and thought of Claire. - You 
 cannot be poor and then become comparatively rich again 
 without causing friends and well-wishers to wonder about 
 you. Would Claire continue to live in Hans Place, or 
 would she let the house furnished and travel? Would she 
 carry on Miss Graham's work with that league? In a 
 word, how would the money affect Claire herself? 
 
 It was a fresh and very interesting subject of discussion 
 for her family; but, strangely enough, none of them 
 thought of how the money might affect her in one par- 
 ticular direction. 
 
 Then very soon the news flew round. 
 
 Roddy had announced that the divorce proceedings must 
 be stopped. He said that he had changed his mind, and 
 he called upon Claire immediately to withdraw her 
 petition. 
 
 Her advisers could not believe in such baseness — that 
 greed of money should make him go back on his ^bargain 
 in so dastardly a fashion. He had not only consented to 
 the divorce, he had proposed it himself. How could he 
 have the brazen effrontery to attempt to retain the wife 
 he had ruined and deserted, now that she had again become 
 a valuable asset? 
 
 Yet it was so. Having already broken his promise that 
 he would return to America, after living for half a year 
 on the money Claire had given him and anything he could 
 make by betting, he was here in London, large, bold, shame- 
 less, plainly determined to cause trouble. 
 
 But what trouble could he cause? Why should they be 
 afraid of him? His sting had been drawn; his own ad- 
 mission of infidelity and the necessary proofs of it were 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 359 
 
 in their hands ; he was powerless to prevent the divorce. 
 It vas an impudent bluff. It was the most flagrantly vile 
 at empt at blackmail ; and it must be treated with the 
 CO itempt that it deserved. Leonard Joyce and her other 
 Cf« msellors were firm as to this. Claire must utterly re- 
 p J iiate the possibiHty of any further dealings or trafBck- 
 ir<;s with her husband. She must defy him and denounce 
 hill. Not another penny should he ever get from her. 
 lAl ove all, she must show that she was not afraid of 
 
 hilQ. 
 
 Nevertheless, despite of this good advice, he was in fact 
 fiightening her and unnerving her. He wrote her letters; 
 hi demanded to see her. He warned her that he was not 
 to be trifled with, and prophesied that she would be sorry 
 if she refused to fall in with his changed views. 
 
 Then after more family talk it was reluctantly decided 
 tlmt it might be best for Claire to see her husband in the 
 presence of Leonard Joyce; and one afternoon Roddy came 
 by appointment to the house in Hans Place. 
 
 At sight of him, Claire felt an almost superstitious 
 dread. In her new frame of thought, weakened and torn 
 again by recent grief, she felt as if he represented the spirit 
 of evil itself, large and menacing, suddenly arisen before 
 her to block the opened path to peace. 
 
 He had grown fatter; he was loud and flashy as to 
 attire, with a cunning smile on his ugly lips ; not sleepy and 
 dull, but alert — to the extent that the men one sees playing 
 cards in race trains are alert — quick to take advantage 
 cf every opportunity, and watchful for the blunders of 
 their opponents. 
 
 With an affectation of confident friendliness, he con- 
 ^ratulated Claire on her improved appearance. " I told 
 you you'd soon recover your good looks, didn't I? " 
 
 Then tackled by Leonard Joyce, he doggedly repeated 
 that he had changed his mind. Circumstances had 
 ( hanged. After all, the last word was with him. 
 
360 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " No, It isn't," said Leonard angrily. " YouVe had 
 your last word. The word is with Claire now." 
 
 " Then let her speak for herself." 
 
 '' Why don't you say at once that after spending one 
 fortune of Claire's you hope for the chance of spending 
 another.? " 
 
 " You'd better keep a civil tongue in your head, Joyce.'' 
 
 And with raised voices the two men spoke to each other 
 violently. 
 
 Claire's heart turned faint and sick. This noise and 
 violence, to which she had hstened for so many years, was 
 Roddy's very atmosphere; wherever he went he recreated 
 it. His presence here profaned the whole house, soiled 
 the cleanness and prettiness of this room in which every 
 familiar object had felt the touch of the kind dead friend 
 who hated him. It seemed to her that all the old de- 
 gradation was being brought back into her life, and that 
 nothing now would ever really free her from his evil 
 power. 
 
 " What do you suppose you can do ? " asked Leonard,, 
 less loudly but with unabated wrath. 
 
 " To begin with, I can defend the action. There are 
 many things I can do. You'll find out in good time. 
 Perhaps Claire can make some sort of guess already. 
 Anyhow, she knows me — she knows that I don't talk 
 through my hat." 
 
 Presently he swore at Leonard, and there was another 
 noisy altercation. Then he tried to ignore Leonard alto- 
 gether, and would speak to Claire only. Then he shrugged 
 his shoulders and assumed another manner. 
 
 " Look here, Joyce. We are not children. Can't we 
 talk like sensible grown-up people? You must see you 
 make it difficult for me. There are things that I wanted 
 to say to Claire alone." 
 
 ** Yes, but you are not going to be alone with her." 
 
 Roddy shrugged his shoulders again. " All right. Have- 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 361 
 
 it your own way. But at any rate give me a 
 f : ir chance." 
 
 Then he said that it was absurd and childish to assume 
 t at he ought to disregard Claire's change of circum- 
 s mces. When he agreed that a divorce was advisable 
 t ey were so very hard up that a joint household was no 
 lo iger possible. Now that diflSculty at least was removed. 
 If Claire would consent to let bygones be bygones and make 
 a fresh start with him, he would do his best to wipe out 
 tl e memory of past grievances. That was for Claire to 
 d< cide. He would not press her, if she did not feel agree- 
 elile, to begin the experiment at once. But he insisted 
 that she should immediately stay all proceedings for 
 c vorce. Then, when the petition was withdrawn, they 
 could quietly discuss things and arrive at some arrange- 
 icent that would be satisfactory to both of them. 
 
 " Very nice indeed," said Leonard mockingly. 
 ^'Anything else.? Don't stint yourself. Give your 
 orders." 
 
 " Listen to me, Claire. If he won't keep quiet, don't 
 notice what he says. I appeal to you — to your sense of 
 justice too. Do you remember what you told me last 
 time we met? You owned that in our married life you 
 liad been every bit as much to blame as I." 
 
 " I'll swear that Claire never said anything so ridic- 
 olously untrue." 
 
 " Claire, attend to me. Never mind him. Didn't you 
 say it?" 
 
 " Yes, I think perhaps I did. Only " 
 
 " There you are, Joyce. Perhaps that'll make you hold 
 your tongue half a minute." 
 
 " But, Roddy, that was after we had agreed to the 
 divorce. And I didn't for a moment mean what you 
 
 now " 
 
 " You said it and you meant it. And you said more 
 than that. I had confessed my faults. And you said you 
 
362 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 knew that if I had had another sort of woman for my wife 
 I should have had a better chance." 
 
 " But, Roddy " 
 
 " Claire, I ask you to let me have the chance. In my 
 eyes, you are another sort of woman now. You've learnt 
 many lessons — you're much older — more experienced. And 
 I swear that I will be a different sort of man. Anyhow, 
 give me a fair trial. Don't listen to what other people 
 tell you to do. Act for yourself — ^be your own true self ; " 
 and he would have taken her hand, but she recoiled from 
 him. " Don't answer me now. Think it over. I warn 
 
 you " and he gave her a very ugly smile — " I warn you, 
 
 Claire, that if you refuse to consider it, I shall draw my 
 own conclusions. There. Think it over carefully." 
 
 But Leonard said that he answered for her now and at 
 once. Roddy might take her answer away with him. It 
 was an emphatic negative. 
 
 The hateful conversation ended with a renewal of bluster 
 and threats. Roddy threatened Claire with unimaginable 
 reprisals. He gave her a week to withdraw her petition. 
 If she remained obdurate, in a week from now he would 
 take measures to make her sorry for herself. 
 
 And Leonard, again answering for her, told him he 
 might do his damnedest. 
 
 After this interview Claire's nerves were shaken, and 
 in dread lest Roddy should come again and force an 
 entrance to the house, she went to stay with Leonard and 
 Emily for a little while. Leonard told her that by reason 
 of her petition she was legally protected from molestation 
 by Roddy, and talked of getting an order from the Court 
 if Roddy dared to show his nose in Hans Place. He urged 
 Claire to shake off all fears of Roddy; for they were 
 quite baseless. 
 
 But Claire was afraid of Roddy. She knew him better 
 than other people. She wished her advisers to buy him 
 off; she said that since it was her money that he really 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 363 
 
 w.i ited, let him have her money, if only he would leave her 
 in Deace. 
 
 This, of course, was not to be thought of: her friends 
 in 1 3nded that she should have peace and the money too. 
 
 Then it became known that Roddy had successfully 
 ajolied for the removal of the suit to the defended list. 
 Ai d it was further known that the solicitors now acting 
 f c ' Roddy were Messrs. Glover and Stock, a firm exceed- 
 ir;;ly famous for their long-estabhshed and successful con- 
 n"3tion with the divorce courts. 
 
 " Sharp devils," said Mr. Collie junior. " They know 
 til 3 thing from A to Z. So we mustn't let them catch 
 us tripping." 
 
 At this time there was another family assembly at Mr. 
 ColHe's office. Claire, brought there by Leonard and 
 Enily, again suggested that Roddy should be given money, 
 as much money as he wanted, to make him desist from 
 oj)posing the divorce; and she put before them a letter 
 from Roddy, in which he told her it was still open to her 
 to withdraw the petition and advised her so to do before 
 it was too late. 
 
 But no one could patiently contemplate yielding to 
 Roddy's assault. Cave in to such an out-and-out 
 scoundrel? Oh, no. It would be consenting to blackmail. 
 It would be worse — it would be collusion. It would be 
 (conspiring to defeat the ends of justice. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour shook her head as firmly as anybody 
 ^resent. Mrs. Gilmour had been brought here by Uncle 
 Derek, because old Mr. Collie considered it necessary to 
 explain to her that he was now compelled to modify his 
 pledge to carry through everything without names being 
 nentioned. Naturally an undefended case was not the 
 same thing as a hotly contested action. Although it was 
 difficult to see what possible defence Captain Vaughan 
 could set up, nevertheless, if he really meant fighting, some 
 slight publicity seemed inevitable. To shirk this event- 
 
364. FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 uality would, Mr. Collie thought, be playing into the 
 enemy's hands ; for he himself felt convinced that Captain 
 Vaughan, not having a leg to stand on, would soon 
 ignominiously collapse and abandon his defence, whatever 
 it might be. The whole thing, Mr. Collie thought, was 
 done to scare them. He therefore implored Mrs. Gilmour 
 to brace herself against the discomfort of a few mild news- 
 paper notices and to stand firmer than ever. 
 
 Much to the contentment both of Mr. Collie and Leonard 
 Joyce, Mrs. Gilmour rose to the occasion very handsomely. 
 She said that, after all she had now learnt of her son-in- 
 law's shameless duplicity, she would suffer any annoyance 
 rather than bow her neck under his yoke or let Claire bow 
 her neck eithero 
 
 Thus the whole family agreed to stand firm. All were 
 in arms and resolute against the common enemy. 
 
 " It is a very curious thing," said Uncle Derek, every- 
 thing being settled, " and it shows what a truly remarkable 
 woman Agnes was, that she exactly foretold the danger 
 which we are now called to meet. Yes, when she first came 
 to me to point out the desirability of a divorce, she confided 
 her intention of leaving all her property to our dear Claire. 
 And she said the divorce must be pushed through ; because 
 were she to die and Claire come into the money before she 
 got her divorce, Roddy would certainly try to upset the 
 apple-cart. You know her quaint, picturesque way of 
 expressing herself. Now we see " — and old Derek beamed 
 round upon everybody — '' we see how accurate was her 
 forecast. I believe it was her native perspicuity and not 
 any premonition of death that made her so anxious — 
 although she may have guessed at her state and bravely 
 concealed it. But is it not a pity that things should have 
 so fallen out.'^ Claire might be already in a position to 
 laugh at Roddy — you know what I mean, Claire — ^we 
 might all snap our fingers at him, but for these intolerable, 
 these overwhelming delays, these- — j — '^ 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 365 
 
 •* The Law's delays, mj dear sir," said old Collie huffily. 
 ** hope you do not suppose that they have been otherwise 
 t m unavoidable, or in any way attributable to lack of 
 e ergy in this office." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said old Derek, with courteous haste. " Of 
 c; urse not. Just as you say, the Law's delay. There is a 
 clissical quotation to that eflfect, is there not? " 
 
 About this time, too, Claire heard that Basil Everett 
 \ is again in London. They had exchanged a few words on 
 tlie day of the funeral and since then they had written to 
 ( ich other; but although Claire was anxious to see him, 
 a series of unlucky chances had kept them apart. He had 
 called at the house in Hans Place while Claire was staying 
 ^vith the Joyces ; then when she was back at her own house 
 he had gone to look for her at the Joyces'; and once again 
 te had come to Hans Place, only to miss her again. 
 
 Emily had told him everything canceming Roddy's 
 iniquitous change of front, and she reported to Claire that 
 she had never known anybody so indignant. " He looked 
 as if he would like to go away and murder Roddy." She 
 also said that she remembered him as quite a young man, 
 and he was then a most odious prig, but now he was so 
 greatly improved that she began to understand why Aunt 
 Agnes had always made such a fuss about him. " We sat 
 talking for I should think an hour and a half, and I really 
 liked him. If possible, I shall get Leonard to cultivate him. 
 However, there won't be much opportunity if he is sent to 
 Egypt." 
 
 And Emily spoke of something she had read in a news- 
 paper saying that Colonel Everett would probably succeed 
 Lord Ashbury at Cairo when that talented official gave 
 over the diplomatic and military work that he was doing 
 so admirably. 
 
 Now, late one morning, Claire received a telegram from 
 Basil asking if he might call upon her early in the after- 
 
366 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 noon. But once more chance was against her; for her 
 whole afternoon was already engaged. When the telegram 
 arrived she was on the point of going out to meet Uncle 
 Derek. The good old chap, actuated by his usual kind- 
 liness, had persuaded her to let him give her a little treat 
 for the benefit of her health. She was to lunch with him 
 very quietly at one of his innumerable clubs ; then he would 
 take her to see some new war pictures, and after that he 
 would give her tea and escort her home. All this, he de- 
 clared, was a strictly permissible relaxation in spite of 
 her mourning; it would do her good, and if poor Aunt 
 Agnes knew what he proposed he was sure she would 
 wish Claire to say Yes. Claire said Yes. Whatever her 
 own inclinations, she could not have said No without 
 wounding his feelings. 
 
 But now she wished that Uncle Derek had chosen any 
 other day than this. 
 
 She had a special reason, apart from any others, for 
 wanting to see Basil. After vainly searching through her 
 aunt's papers for any memorandum or letter, such as kind 
 people so often leave behind them, expressing sacred, 
 though not legally binding wishes as to gifts to servants 
 or friends, Claire had come upon a packet neatly tied and 
 sealed, with this superscription : " For Basil Everett. To 
 he put into his own ha/nds,^^ and a date. From the size 
 and character of the little parcel she guessed that it con- 
 tained tne of Aunt Agnes's miniatures or a small picture. 
 But Claire was surprised and worried by the date that 
 Aunt Agnes had written beneath the direction. It was so 
 very recent — after their visit to Brighton. Did this mean 
 that when Aunt Agnes packed up her gift or souvenir she 
 knew that her days were numbered? Or was' it merely 
 something that she was putting aside for Basil without 
 any intention that it should be held back till after her 
 death? Perhaps she had meant herself to put it into 
 Basil's hands, and had written those words only to identify 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 367 
 
 t e parcel among all the other things in the drawer where 
 ii lay. Claire was very anxious to set this doubt at rest 
 I) / learning what was really in the parcel and talking to 
 1 asil about her aunt. 
 
 She did not answer the telegram. Suddenly the idea 
 
 id occurred to her that she could easily deliver the packet 
 
 )-day ; so she took it with her, and immediately on her 
 I L^ival at the club she asked Uncle Derek if, after luncheon, 
 i e would mind going with her to Colonel Everett's rooms 
 f or a few minutes on their way to the pictures. Of course 
 the old fellow did not mind. He trotted away to the 
 telephone, and returning presently said that Colonel 
 Jilverett was at his rooms and would expect them at a 
 ([uarter to three. 
 
 " Tell me about him," he said, as they sat down to 
 luncheon. And Claire, willingly enough, talked of this 
 great friend of her aunt's; telling Uncle Derek also of 
 Jiis unfailing kindness to herself. 
 
 Uncle Derek had seen that paragraph about Basil's 
 future appointment, but he said that this would not mean 
 an immediate departure, because according to his own in- 
 formation Lord Ashbury was not Ukely to give up the post 
 till next year. 
 
 At a quarter to three Claire and her elderly escort 
 were approaching the comer out of St. James's Square, 
 and just before reaching the comer Uncle Derek 
 paused. 
 
 " Those pictures, Claire, are at a private gallery in 
 Bond Street ; but before going in to your friend I will just 
 verify the number by consulting my little tablets. My 
 memory is not what it was. Perhaps you would like Colonel 
 Everett to accompany us. By all means ask him if 
 
 you Oh, Claire! Good gracious me. Oh, dear, oh 
 
 dear." 
 
 Uncle Derek, consulting his tablets, had made a terrible 
 discovery. His eyes grew round, and he stared at Claire 
 
368 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 in consternation and then looked wildly across the Square 
 towards the large buildings of Pall Mall. 
 
 At 3 p.m. to-day there was a special gen€ral meeting at 
 another of his clubs, and he had forgotten all about it. He 
 was on the committee too. 
 
 ^ Claire, what can I do ? " he said, after explaining his 
 distress. 
 
 " Why, of course, you must leave me. Uncle Derek, and 
 go to your meeting." 
 
 " Then what will you Ao? " 
 
 Claire hesitated a moment before she answered. " I 
 shall go to see Colonel Everett, and then make my way 
 home." 
 
 " Nay, nay, you must at least let me give you tea. How 
 can you ever forgive me for such a blunder .f' " 
 
 But Claire assured the old chap that it did not matter 
 in the least; and with more profuse apologies he trotted 
 off towards Pall Mall. 
 
 There was nobody in the stone hall, and Claire, turning 
 her back on the lift, had gone half-way up the first flight 
 of stairs when the porter came out and called to her. 
 
 " Lift, miss. Oh, I beg your pardon, ma'am. For the 
 moment I didn't recognize you. You've often been here 
 for the Colonel, haven't you?" 
 
 He wore the same apple-green coat with the two wound 
 stripes, and as he took her up in the lift he talked to her 
 as an old friend. She dreaded lest he should ask for 
 news of her daughter or her aunt. But he did not 
 do so. 
 
 *'There. You know your way, ma'am. The door facing 
 you at the end." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Vaughan, where is Mr. Harpington .'^ " said 
 Basil. He had opened the door himself. " You are not 
 alone, are you.? " 
 
 As she looked at his face, she saw as well as surprise 
 what seemed like a slight embarrassment. She explained 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 369 
 
 XV ly she was unaccompanied; then, as she stood in the 
 11 iddle of the room with the parcel in her hand, she felt 
 tl at she was flushing. She had hesitated just now, thinking 
 i) common and conventional ideas ; but surely he of all 
 r Bople would not entertain a thought that there was any 
 ?] ipropriety in her coming here alone to accomplish this 
 s mple task. She struggled against a stupid and unworthy 
 *3 nbarrassment ; and meeting his eyes with her old candid 
 s :eadiness she saw nothing but the grave kindness that 
 sie knew so well. It was all right. He was himself — 
 ciiFerent from and higher than common men. 
 
 But a fresh and far more painful constraint fell upon 
 Ler as she told him of the packet and, fulfilling l/er duty, 
 ])ut it into his hands. 
 
 " Thank you. How kind of her. How kind of you to 
 bring it. Shall I open it now or wait till after you are 
 l^one ? " 
 
 " I — I don't know. I wanted to ask you — But perhaps 
 you had better wait.'' 
 
 She was thinking of something that had never occurred 
 to her till this moment. Suppose there were matters in 
 the packet that concerned herself? A letter? Suppose 
 that Aunt Agnes had written him a letter — a message to 
 come to him after her death, telling him the things she 
 had said to Claire ; telling him of her great wish ? 
 
 " Just as you like," he said. " I will do whatever you 
 i:ell me." 
 
 " Then open it, please. And if there is a letter I will 
 ask you not to read it now but later on." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 She had spoken firmly, determined to shake off the 
 doubt and the discomfort that oppressed her; and she 
 turned from him and moved away. 
 
 " One moment, Mrs. Vaughan," he said hastily. " Don't 
 sit by the window, please. I'll tell you why directly. Won't 
 you sit here, by the fire? '^ 
 
370 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 While speaking he himself had gone towards the window. 
 He drew back again, and sitting at a table cut the strings 
 of the parcel and threw open its paper wrappings and 
 examined the contents. They were photographs of Claire ; 
 perhaps half a dozen of them — " Claire as a little child," 
 " Claire, aged fourteen." " Claire, aged twenty." The 
 blood mounted to his forehead, his whole face softened and 
 brightened with pleasure; then, glancing shyly at Claire, 
 he refolded the papers. She was not looking at him; in 
 any event, from where she sat she would not have been 
 able to see the photographs. 
 
 " There is no letter," he said. " No business matter at 
 all. It is only some mementoes that your aunt knew I 
 would like to have ; " and he carried the packet across the 
 room and put it in a writing-desk. 
 
 Then he came to the fireplace, and stood there while she 
 looked up at him with questioning eyes. But the sense of 
 constraint was on both of them now, on him more heavily 
 than on her. He could not tell her what she had brought 
 him, and yet obviously she must want to know. She would 
 think his silence unnatural. When she spoke of what 
 Uncle Derek had said, and what she now herself thought, 
 about Aunt Agnes having a premonition of death, he an- 
 swered her nervously, almost inattentively. When she 
 asked a question as to his rumoured appointment, he 
 scarcely knew what he was replying. 
 
 "You would be away for a long time?" she said, in 
 the sweet, deep tone that he loved more than any music 
 he had ever heard ; and he could only say stupidly that he 
 was not gone yet and perhaps would never go. He did 
 not feel keen to go. 
 
 " But it would be splendid work, wouldn't it ? The sort 
 of work you would like? However much your friends may 
 miss you, they cannot wish you not to go." 
 
 He moved abruptly and looked away from her. The 
 sadness in her voice as she said those last words, the droop 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 371 
 
 c; her neck, the submissive gentleness of her whole attitude, 
 ] 3rced his heart with a sweetly burning pain. 
 
 " Everybody is very kind," he murmured. " Yes, it's 
 r lite a good job. Of course I don't know if I shall get it 
 ir the end, but they have told me to prepare myself for it." 
 
 And as though invincibly drawn back, his eyes returned 
 to her face. 
 
 " I will go now ; " and she rose from the low chair. And 
 I ley stood quite still for a moment, looking at each other 
 lialplessly, as if not knowing what more to say, although 
 r 3ading the trouble in each other's breast. 
 
 Indeed there was nothing that he might say to her. He 
 ">^ anted to say that there was no splendid work in all the 
 i^'orld except to love her and to serve her. He wanted to 
 tell her that he had no hope in life except the hope of 
 winning her. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell 
 her that he would never let her go again, that he would 
 not wait upon the caprices of destiny any longer, tliat his 
 love was too great for the law's delay. But all these were 
 things that he could not say and she could not hear. 
 
 Claire watching his face felt suddenly that all her trouble 
 was gone. She had understood. It had been but a mo- 
 mentary pause; and yet, brief as it was, there had been 
 time in it to flood her heart with tranquil trustful 
 happiness. 
 
 " I must go," she said again ; and in the dark softness 
 of her eyes he saw now that it did not really matter whether 
 he spoke or remained silent. 
 
 It was true, as she herself had said in her secret 
 thoughts. Between these two there was no need of words. 
 
 " Mrs. Vaughan, wait a minute before you go." The 
 constraint had gone utterly, and he spoke in his easy 
 pleasant natural manner. " Rather an odd thing has 
 happened to me. But first tell me, did you notice anyone 
 down below when you came in.'' " 
 
 " No, only the porter." 
 
372 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Only the porter." 
 
 He had gone to the window, and, standing behind the 
 Bfiuslin curtain he cautiously looked down into the 
 street. 
 
 " Yes, hang the fellow's impudence, he is there still." 
 
 Then he told her that for the last three days a man 
 had been hanging about the house and evidently watching 
 it ; ^nd that he had seen this same man yesterday at the 
 Army and Navy Stores and later when he left the 
 Travellers' Club after dinner. 
 
 " From which I deduce, Mrs. Vaughan, that the fellow is 
 watching tw^," said Basil smiling. " I am being shadowed,''* 
 
 " But how extraordinary. " and Claire had a shiver of 
 fear. Could it be that Basil was in danger because of all 
 those political missions — ^his journeys into Germany and 
 other comquered territories.'^ An agent sent to dog his 
 steps? An assassin? 
 
 Basil Everett laughed cheerfully when she spoke of such 
 possibilities. 
 
 " Oh, no, you altogether exaggerate my importance. 
 No, he's not an assassin, but he is going to get a kicking 
 if he isn't careful. Only, meanwhile, it struck me that if 
 he saw you come in he need not see you go out. One never 
 knows what annoyance — An unpleasant idea occurred to 
 me. I won't trouble you with that. But, if you don't mind, 
 I think it might be as well for me to take you out by the 
 back door instead of the front door. There's an entrance 
 in the other street, you know." 
 
 They did what he suggested. After reconnoitring, he 
 returned to the room, and then led her down a service stair- 
 case at the back of the building, through a passage past 
 offices and kitchens, and out into the open air. They met 
 no one on the way; and Basil, looking round as they 
 emerged from the other street, saw that no on had ob- 
 served them there. 
 
 " My friend in front," he said, laughing, " probably 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 373 
 
 d sesn't know that I have this bolt-hole available. May 
 I walk with you a little way? " 
 
 " No, I'll say good-bye, I think, now." 
 
 " Have you things to do? " 
 
 " I don't quite know what I am going to do." 
 
 She did not know. She turned eastward ; and presently 
 a a impulse took her into the National Gallery, where she 
 1? andered through the rooms looking at the glorious old 
 J ictures without seeing them. For a long time she sat with 
 folded hands upon a divan, dreaming. She was happier, 
 far happier than she had believed could be ever possible, 
 {.nd she asked herself was it wrong to feel this joy. 
 
 Then, after an hour or so, she had tea at a confectioner's 
 fhop, and as the evening was very fine walked through 
 1:he streets. She was deep in the dream, almost unconscious 
 of surroundings^ walking without sense of direction, but 
 ifeeling that her footsteps to-day and every day to come 
 would lead her surely nearer to the realization of this great 
 hope. Lamplight, darkness, and then again more light — 
 as she sauntered on the voice of dead Aunt Agnes sounded 
 in the dream. " He will make up to you for all that you 
 have gone through. . . . He loves you with such a pure 
 and noble love." 
 
 It was late when she reached home. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 RODDY and those cruelly keen solicitors of his were 
 at work, A whisper reached Leonard Joyce that 
 Roddy's defence would take the form of a counter- 
 attack ; young Collie felt sure that he intended to institute 
 a cross suit ; Mr. Collie senior did not apprehend the like- 
 lihood of this move, in the absence of all possible materials ; 
 Emily, hearing about it, did not understand what was 
 meant and craved for explanations of technical terms. 
 Then, before one could draw breath, the thing was an 
 accomplished fact. 
 
 Roddy had filed a petition praying for the dissolution 
 of his marriage on the grounds of Claire's adultery. He 
 cited Basil Everett as co-respondent, and specified dates 
 for alleged acts of misconduct as having occurred in 
 Brighton and in London. 
 
 After all, it was a well-established move in the game. 
 He was, of course, playing for a stale-mate, which from 
 his point of view meant victory. Although himself guilty, 
 if Claire's conduct were not free from all reproach she 
 would not be entitled to relief ; for the Court closely scru- 
 tinizes the hands held up in prayer before It, and must 
 find them quite clean or it cannot show mercy. So Roddy, 
 while now himself pretending to ask for a divorce, was 
 trying to take the most unscrupulous, the vilest means to 
 render his marriage indissoluble. 
 
 The Gilmour family staggered beneath the violence of 
 the brutal blow. For a little while they were like children 
 who have been hurt and who are holding their breath 
 before they begin to make a noise. Then the indignation 
 burst forth voluminously. Was it conceivable? Did the 
 law really allow it.'* What was libel, what was slander, 
 
 374 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 376 
 
 if such an outrage could be committed with impunity? 
 T ) accuse Claire, of all women in the world — this gentle, 
 lo ig-suffering creature, against whom even in the pride 
 €j her beauty there had never been one whisper; Claire, 
 T lo as a young and ill-treated wife had passed through 
 e^ ery kind of temptation, dignified and calm, not even 
 SLeming to be conscious that she was admired, courted and 
 ci sired; Claire, who from childhood till now had been 
 cliastity personified! What must be her feelings under 
 such a foul and unmerited accusation ! But in truth Claire 
 <liring this first warmth of anger and disgust was tem- 
 ])3rarily almost forgotten. The assault upon her reputa- 
 tion was an assault upon the reputation of the whole 
 family. Every one of them now felt directly implicated, 
 all were burning to avenge the general insult. 
 
 While they talked Basil Everett had acted. He could 
 ]iot remain altogether passive; his anger and scorn were 
 so fiercely strong that he must do something, and the 
 thing that he did was injudicious, although its results were 
 probably of no consequence at all. 
 
 With a soldier's instinct he directly sought out the 
 enemy. In the midst of his rage he could not believe that 
 this fellow Vaughan was such an utterly conscienceless ras- 
 cal as his methods indicated ; he thought that if he could get 
 hold of him as man to man he must be able to make some 
 iippression. Without any difficulty he attained sight and 
 speech of liim ; and alone, face to face with him, in a small 
 back room of that large second-class club to which Roddy 
 had always belonged, Basil swore to the innocence of him- 
 self and Claire, and appealed to Roddy's last faint sense . 
 of decency or manly virtue not to bring shame upon her. 
 
 " Just so," said Roddy, with a scowl. " Then it'll be 
 no trouble to either of you to prove it before a judge and 
 jury." 
 
 " We'll prove it easily enough, but I want her to be 
 saved from so degrading a necessity.'' 
 
376 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " Yes, you want a great deal," said Roddy hotly ; ** you 
 want what you're not gomg to get. Oh, I know all about 
 you, Everett — You're the faithful friend, aren't you? 
 When I was out of the way, you were very useful, weren't 
 you?" 
 
 And at last he plainly showed the character of his mind. 
 
 " Look here," he said brutally. "Perhaps she is inno- 
 cent in deed — ^but she isn't in intention. I've seen the plot 
 clearly enough — for longer too than either of you guessed. 
 If she can get away from me, she is to reward you for 
 your faithfulness and all your dancing attendance on her. 
 Do you deny it? You are to be married as soon as she 
 is free to marry." 
 
 " I swear on my honour that I have never said a word 
 to her to suggest it," 
 
 Roddy grinned contemptuously and shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, you've been too delicate. But she understands all 
 right, doesn't she? She'll be ready for you when the time 
 comes to lead her to the altar. Do you deny that's what 
 you're aiming at? Do you deny it's your full intention? " 
 
 And Basil could not deny. 
 
 " Well, that doesn't suit my book. She's my wife — 
 and I have decided to keep her." 
 
 Then Basil poured out scorn upon him; saying those 
 unpremeditated things that a high-spirited but cultivated 
 man does not anticipate that he would ever be likely to 
 say until he has heard them sounding in his own voice. 
 He had sufficient control of himself still not to pass from 
 words to blows, although every instinct was clamouring for 
 this further lapse and hope whispered that a blow from 
 Roddy might inevitably compel it. But Roddy kept his 
 coarse fists down, and only used his snarling tongue. To 
 any one who heard the two of them it must have sounded 
 like a row on a racecourse between a gentleman punter 
 and a blackguard welsher. At last the gentleman walks 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 377 
 
 B.' SLj With a gesture of contemptj and the tout stands and 
 t] isphemes or threatens more and more loudly as the dis- 
 ti Qce increases f between them. 
 
 The initial preparations of the two suits continued ; and 
 C aire's friends and relatives went on talking. But the 
 fmily talk now was changed from the talk of an easy 
 I .st ; there was no pleasure in the unceasing debates. This 
 1 tie game of Claire's divorce had become deadly serious; 
 tt ey were playing for high stakes. The talkers themselves 
 l:oked different, were, in fact, different. Mrs. Gilmour, 
 a; if awakened from a slumber of years, no longer wandered 
 Icre and there or discoursed at large; she was concen- 
 tiated, eager, speaking strangely to the point; when she 
 srid that she suffered grievously, and must always suffer 
 u.iless her daughter's honour were vindicated, it was quite 
 c*i3viously the fact and not a mere fancy. Even Sir John, 
 the supine baronet, came up from Liverpool to join in 
 tliis new sort of talk. 
 
 It was like the old talk only in one respect, that it led 
 nowhere. " Is there not any way of stopping him.'^ Do 
 you think he himself intends to go on with it ? '* They 
 t^isked one another such questions as these at the beginning 
 of a discussion, and then an hour or two later, at its 
 ond, asked the very same questions. 
 
 " Leonard, what do you think? Will he have the 
 audacity to carry it through? Don't you think that Mr. 
 Collie was right, and that he'll collapse before the 
 :rial?'' 
 
 " I echo your doubt, my dear Emily," said old Derek. 
 ' I only wish we knew for certain exactly what he means 
 :o do." 
 
 But Claire kntew too well what he meant to do, had 
 mown from the day on which she heard of his attack upoa 
 ler good name. He meant to separate her for ever from 
 Jie man she loved. And fatally, irrevocably, he was doing 
 t. 
 
878 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 She could never marry Basil now. To marry him would 
 be to admit the truth of the charge against her, after 
 having refuted it in open court. Once free, and her char- 
 acter cleared, she might marry anybody else alive, but 
 not Basil. The one man on earth who could give her con- 
 solation and wipe out all her pain and grief was lost to 
 her. 
 
 Basil would tell her that she was wrong to believe this, 
 would beg her to brave the opinion of the world, would 
 say that what the world thought was nothing to him. 
 But she knew that she was right. She knew that for his 
 own dear sake she must never change her mind, never, never 
 yield to his pleading. She must say good-bye to this, as she 
 had done in turn to every other hope that had ever filled 
 her heart with transient joy. 
 
 Thinking about it day after day her sadness deepened 
 while her resolution grew stronger. In imagination she 
 could hear people talking about her as Basil Everett's wife. 
 *' Yes," they would say, " don't you remember? He was 
 the co-respondent in the case. The husbai;id failed to 
 prove anything, but their marriage shows how well-founded 
 were his suspicions. . . . Do you suppose Colonel Everett 
 wanted to marry her, or was just caiightf ... I should 
 think it was the last thing a man in his position would 
 want to do, but no doubt he felt he could not do anything 
 else. . . . She could not have been a nice woman — I mean, 
 apart from morality — or she would not have accepted the 
 sacrifice. For she has ruined his career, of course." 
 
 No, that should not happen. Basil must not have that 
 kind of wife. He must go on with his work untrammelled, 
 and live to thank his poor, unhappy Claire for giving 
 him a little pain in order to save him from a great 
 regret. 
 
 One day early in the new year she was invited to Hague 
 House, and went there, not knowing that she was to meet a 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 379 
 
 f nily assembly, gathered together in a manner curiously 
 si iiilar to that long bygone council which considered her 
 f : te when she first engaged herself to Roddy. 
 
 During the last week certain members of the family had 
 |: ven way to panic fear. The talk was so agitating now 
 t! at nerves became unstrung. Every day brought fresh 
 c: sturbing whispers. Mr. Collie junior had said that 
 tj ose people. Glover and Stock, were absolute fiends in 
 g itting up a case ; it was known in Collie's office that they 
 h id " got hold of all those servants at Brighton and other 
 ])laces;" old Collie suddenly expressed gloomy views of 
 I le divorce court itself as an arena. He said he doubted 
 ii you could always be sure of obtaining justice there, 
 lie spoke ominously of the divorce court atmosphere. 
 I^mily was continually learning new facts with regard to 
 the intimacy between Colonel Everett and her sister. She 
 v^'as severely condemnatory as to his thoughtless conduct. 
 ''' I must say, he appears to have hung on in a very com- 
 promising way ; " and so forth. Uncle Derek said he 
 thought that Everett as a man of the world should 
 have been more circumspect. Even Leonard Joyce wav- 
 ered. 
 
 And suppose that Claire — always the most unworldly 
 person^ — had to a certain extent committed herself. 
 Suppose the poor girl had done imprudent things. Suppose 
 she had been really foolish — " You understand what I 
 mean? Leonard knows that I simply hate saying it. But 
 we are faced with such appalling risks now that one can- 
 not hesitate. Suppose " 
 
 " My dear Emily," said old Derek, with benign tolerance. 
 " If so, who could blame her? " 
 
 The family were afraid. Hence its assembly on this 
 dull foggy afternoon ; with Mrs. Gilmour deputed, as the 
 only possible spokeswoman, " to sound poor Claire " for 
 them, and then bring her before them so that they might 
 tell her their latest opinion. 
 
380 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Mrs. Gilraour abhorred her task, but could not recoil 
 from it. She was always affectionate and kind to Claire 
 in these days, and every time they embraced Claire could 
 feel that she was not only kissing her mother, but that 
 the person kissed fully remembered the fact. 
 
 Mrs. Gilmour received her in the morning-room, and 
 without any preamble came to the point. 
 
 She said their advisers considered that Roddy would 
 still be only too glad to stay his hand if Claire would stay 
 hers; and she earnestly appealed to Claire not to go on 
 unless absolutely sure that she was safe. 
 
 " I shall try to understand — I shall understand — if you 
 tell me you went further with Colonel Everett than, of 
 course, you intended. Heaven knows you have excuses. 
 But it would be a thousand times better to stop the whole 
 thing than to let the story be publicly disclosed." 
 
 "Mother!'' 
 
 Claire had been looking at her with large, wondering 
 eyes, and the exclamation came like a cry of pain. It was 
 intolerably bitter to learn that even her nearest relations 
 could doubt her innocence. 
 
 " Mother, don't you believe in me ? " 
 
 " Claire, my dearest girl, I do believe. I have never 
 idone otherwise. Only they made me ask you ; " and she 
 threw her arms round Claire's neck and kissed her with 
 fervent affection. " Forgive me, Claire. I do indeed 
 believe in you." 
 
 Then she led Claire by the hand into the library where 
 the others were waiting for her. 
 
 " She is going on," said Mrs. Gilmour firmly, almost 
 triumphantly. " There is no reason why we should give 
 in. She mtist go on and clear herself." 
 
 And Claire herself told them that nothing on earth 
 would make her withdraw her petition now. How could 
 she, since she was innocent, and withdrawal would imply 
 guilt? As she stood there, tall and straight, with her 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 381 
 
 }i< id high and a proudly gentle smile on her lips while she 
 1 : )ked at one and another of them, it was impossible not 
 t( see, not to know that she was innocent. Indeed, none 
 c ubted her any more. 
 
 Then her eyes clouded and her lips trembled, and 
 si e said something so touching that all were moved 
 1)/ it. 
 
 " If — if I didn't mind for my own sake, I — I couldn't 
 <i > it — for Gladys's sake." 
 
 Uncle Derek brought out a brown silk handkerchief and 
 I> ew his nose; and Sir Leonard came across the room 
 iripulsively and shook her hand. 
 
 " Claire — you're a brick. Don't be afraid. I promise 
 tliat we won't let you down.'* 
 
 He never lost confidence again, and he often spoke of 
 t le impression made upon him by Claire's aspect as she 
 stood facing them that afternoon. He said he relied on 
 iier making a precisely similar impression when she stood 
 in the witness-box. " The jury will hear her and see her, 
 and they won't be hoodwinked." In reply to these assur- 
 ances from Leonard, old Mr. Collie continued to twaddle 
 about the divorce court atmosphere. He even talked of it 
 :o Claire during one of the innumerable interviews at the 
 office, taking quite unnecessary pains to explain exactly 
 what he meant. 
 
 " I do not, of course, mean the stuffiness and want of 
 air. I mean the moral atmosphere. That will be our 
 greatest danger — the tacit presumption that all parties 
 who get there are guilty; the taking it for granted by 
 everybody, judges, counsel, clerks, ushers, specta- 
 tors " 
 
 " Yes, yes — ^but you forget we shall have a jury too,'' 
 said Leonard, cutting him short impatiently. " What's 
 the good of trying to scare her.'^ " 
 
 " That's right, father," said Dick Collie. " You keep 
 up your spirits, Mrs. Vaughan.'* 
 
382 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " By all means," said the old gentleman. " I had not 
 the faintest intention " 
 
 Leonard had told Claire that it would be very inad- 
 visable for her to be seeing Basil Everett, or even to be 
 •writing him letters. Leonard was in close touch with him, 
 and if Claire had any communication to make it should 
 be promptly passed on. But now, as the time for the 
 hearing of the case drew near, she asked Leonard to ar- 
 range a meeting between them. She said that she must 
 see him once more. Leonard was very kind to her in all 
 things, and accordingly, yielding to her wish although 
 disapproving of it, he brought Basil Everett to his own 
 house. Emily kept out of the way with ostentatious care 
 while Claire and the visitor met and conversed for a little 
 while in her front drawing-room. 
 
 It was at this meeting that Basil for the first time spoke 
 to her of his love. He combated that resolution of hers 
 with ardent force. He said that as to spoiling his life, the 
 only real way to spoil it would be by her refusing to 
 marry him. He cared nothing for his career, for the 
 ostracism of diplomatic circles, or the ill-natured gossip 
 of vulgar fools. He said all that she had expected him 
 to say, but he did not in the least convince her that she 
 was wrong. 
 
 " Claire, my dearest, it isn't true that people would fight 
 shy of us." 
 
 " You know it's true, really, Basil." 
 
 " I don't. But if it is true, there are places we could 
 go to where it would not matter." 
 
 " Basil, this is good-bye. Say good-bye to me." 
 
 But he would not say that word, and he vowed there 
 should be no Good-bye between them. 
 
 " Not unless you told me, Claire, you didn't care for me." 
 
 " Why should I tell you that? " And she said how she 
 loved him. " Too much, Basil dear, to be selfish. You are 
 the only unselfish man I have ever known." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 383 
 
 Emily, keeping out of the way, saw him go down the 
 si airs sooner than she had anticipated. She thought, 
 iv. )re strongly than Leonard, that this was very inju- 
 (1 cious ; but she was kind and uncritical to Claire, sobbing 
 I 1 alone in the front drawing-room. 
 
 Everybody was kind to her — kinder and kinder as the 
 titne drew closer. Mrs. Gilmour insisted that she should 
 c )me to stay at Hague House, so that all their friends 
 night see plainly that the family were upholding her 
 c luse. And by the usual means she procured the insertion 
 oc a paragraph in the Morning Post and another paper 
 aanouncing to the whole world that " Mrs. Roderick 
 \aughan is staying with her mother, Mrs. Gilmour, at 
 irague House, Hague Street, S.W." She felt that this 
 weLS like pinning her colours to the mast. Desperate ills 
 need desperate cures. In truth she had travelled far 
 mentally from her position on that afternoon of a year 
 ago when she made her famous proviso: Not a mention 
 of the name in the public press 1 
 
 So Claire slept once more in her own old room, and 
 dreamed of the past as often as of the future. She did not 
 entertain, and indeed had never entertained, a single doubt 
 as to the result of the case. Why should she fear, being 
 innocent.? Only, more and more clearly in all those inter- 
 views at the solicitor's offices, she had come to understand 
 the hatefulness of the ordeal that she was to pass through. 
 And more, perhaps, than almost any woman who had 
 passed through it before her, she dreaded and shrank from 
 its ugliness. 
 
 Two or three days before the end of the delay a final 
 consultation was held at the chambers of her leading 
 counsel. Sir James Holt. In the quiet spacious room there 
 was ample accommodation for all the people gathered there 
 without any sense of crowding. The company comprised 
 Claire and Leonard, together with Emily, who had in- 
 sisted on coming " to keep Claire in countenance ; " both 
 
384 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Mr. Collies, and their managing clerk; Mr. Eaton, that 
 clever junior; and Sir James's devil, a Mr. Blake, who 
 said loudly that there ought to have been many more 
 present, and that he himself would go and see the co- 
 respondent's silk, or bring him there by the ear if Sir 
 James wished. 
 
 The talk was very business-like. Everything was 
 thrashed out. There was much hunting for and examina- 
 tion of weak spots. During these processes Claire seemed 
 for the most part forgotten; and she sat on the outer 
 skirts of the circle, looking at the pleasant view from the 
 windows— the Temple gardens, the mulberry-red brick- 
 work of the old houses, and the river seen through the 
 leafless branches of trees as it flashed bright and gay in 
 the afternoon sunshine. 
 
 Then all at once Sir James Holt invited her to draw in, 
 and gave her a prominent position on the other side of his 
 table. Sir James was large and handsome, with silver- 
 grey hair and penetrating eyes. He had a polished, man- 
 of-the-world manner, and a pleasing voice. He inspired 
 confidence. He said everything was settled, and he only 
 wanted to say a few words about her evidence. He told 
 her presently all about the leader on the other side. 
 
 He said that this Mr. Moberley was of the old school — 
 an old-fashioned style of advocate. " Full of tricks. A 
 regular actor, too. His speech will be pompous, heavy ; '' 
 and he looked round for confirmation. 
 
 " Yes," said Leonard. " Flowery, pompous ass ! " 
 
 " Well, no," said Sir James, " he's not an ass. No, 
 I am afraid we mustn't think of him as an ass. . . . 
 But now, Mrs. Vaughan, it's in cross-examination you and 
 he will make acquaintance. I want to prepare you, if 
 possible, for his manner. He likes to browbeat witnesses. 
 He may shout at you, slap his papers, and all that. But 
 you mustn't let yourself be upset by that. That's a 
 bogey. If you hesitate, he'll try to hustle you. Don't 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 385 
 
 be lustled. Keep perfectly calm and collected. I shall 
 be chere, of course, and I'll do all I can for you." 
 
 Then Sir James, trying to forecast the line of Mr. 
 Mf berley's cross-examination, asked her a great many 
 qi stions — the sort of questions, as well as he could guess, 
 tl ; t he thought she might have to answer. 
 
 iVhen the visitors had all gone he said to his devil, 
 **^ ' that's a fine woman, Blake." 
 
 ' Yes," said Blake. " Good eyes and a pretty chin. 
 B 1 1 she's on the thin side — lacking in those full curves and 
 r<»inded amplitudes that render beauty- " 
 
 " Oh, 3^ou're too gross," said Sir James, laughing. " I 
 dlin't meant what you mean. I wasn't thinking of her 
 It.tjks. I meant she's fine in herself. There's something 
 el(3vated, unusual, about her. Pity she couldn't get a 
 husband who understood her." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IT was a bright March morning, but very little sunshine 
 penetrated into the deep and narrow court. 
 The jury had been sworn and were in the box; all 
 the parties to the case were seated at the solicitors' table ; 
 in the row of seats immediately behind the table the King's 
 Counsel rustled their gowns and trifled with their papers ; 
 behind them sat the junior counsel, and behind them again, 
 in the ascending rows of benches, sat jurymen summoned 
 but not employed, witnesses, hangers-on, and favoured 
 members of the public. In the gallery high over head at 
 the back there was room for more sightseers. All were 
 ready, waiting to begin; only the judgment seat remained 
 empty. 
 
 People said that the judge was sitting with the Lord 
 Chief Justice taking ex "parte motions, but he would be 
 here directly. At ten minutes past ten he had made a 
 tantalizing appearance, passing behind his desk and van- 
 ishing through a door. Then one saw him no more, and 
 the hands of the big clock moved slowly on. 
 
 People talked to pass the time. In the little knots of 
 men by both doors and along those rearward benches one 
 heard a buzz of conversation. 
 
 " I'm nearer fifty than forty, yes, I am. Forty-six '* 
 . . . " Oh, I'm fifty-five. Married twenty-three years " 
 . . . ** Well, I can beat you there. I was married at 
 twenty." And another voice said proudly, " I can beat 
 you both." 
 
 Unemployed special jurymen, together with curious 
 friends who had come to see the fun, listened respectfully 
 as idle habitual visitors to the court chatted with knowl- 
 edge and authority on legal matters. 
 
 386 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 387 
 
 See that big man? That's Moberley, K.C. He's a 
 fa: • caution, he is. He can shake 'em up when he likes. 
 Hi's awful on the witnesses — bullies 'em sometliing fear- 
 f i. ." 
 
 ^What's this case that's coming on now? Anything 
 in it? " 
 
 ' No. Shouldn't think so " ... " Society people, 
 aren't they?'* . . . "Both of 'em up to their necks 
 in it. Six of one and a half a dozen of the other '' . . . 
 *' jro and spend six or seven thousand pounds when they 
 m ght just as well have settled it out o' court" . . . 
 *' A.11 right for the lawyers, eh? " And on this particular 
 bench the talk flickered out in yawns. 
 
 It was a long and enervating wait. 
 
 After an hour a juryman in the box got up and called 
 *' Time ! ^ Everybody in court rose, thinking that the 
 judge had entered. But it was only a false alarm. The 
 juryman said " Time " again very loudly; and then, when 
 everybody had sat down and he found himself standing all 
 alone, he was stricken with shyness and self-consciousness. 
 Unable to carry things through properly, he muttered his 
 protests in a low voice. " Here we are. I point out. 
 Doing nothing. Our work going on — or standing still." 
 ... An usher went to him and remonstrated. All 
 :his created a little diversion. People were growing very 
 weary. 
 
 But the interminable pause gave Claire an opportunity 
 Df gradually becoming accustomed to her surroundings. 
 It was not the court in which she had appeared when 
 praying Roddy to return to her. It was deeper, greyer, 
 darker than that other place. Its general aspect re- 
 minded one of a library, or perhaps the meeting-place of 
 some new religion, with its bookcases, wood-carving, desks, 
 and pulpit-like enclosures. She was sitting between 
 Leonard Joyce and Dick Collie, who had masses of papers 
 and kept bringing still more from a bag between his knees ; 
 
388 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 maps too, and tracings, until a barrier of documents built 
 itself on the table in front of her. Beyond Leonard, on 
 her right, there was a man who belonged to the co-respond- 
 ent ; and beyond him, the co-respondent himself. He had 
 smiled at her and spoken to her just now; and she could 
 see his side-face, strong, clear-cut — the face of a soldier 
 among all these soft, mobile faces of the men of law. Far 
 away on her left, sat Roddy with his aiders and abetters. 
 She could see his side-face too — heavy and ugly, the grey 
 hair shewing above a fat ear. 
 
 She could hear immediately behind her the voice of Sir 
 James Holt, her champion in chief. He touched her on the 
 shoulder once, said something to her, and then resumed his 
 conversation with Mr. Moberley, the leader for the enemy. 
 This fraternizing between the hostile forces surprised her. 
 
 Leonard asked her if she really understood the pro- 
 cedure; and by way of killing time told her all about it 
 again. Her suit would be heard first ; and since the deser- 
 tion and mis-conduct were admitted, it would be mere 
 formalities. It would take no time at all. Directly it was 
 over the husband's suit would start. The jury would not 
 at that point be asked to give their answers on the first 
 suit; all the questions would be left to them to answer 
 together when both suits were finished. 
 
 Then Leonard got up to stretch himself and knocked 
 down most of Collie's documents. Collie was getting 
 through the time with a blue and a red pencil. " Sorry,'* 
 said Leonard. " I am looking for your mother, Claire — • 
 and Emily. They are right at the back. . . . Now I've 
 got them. Your mother is wearing a lot of black ostrich 
 feathers in her hat, isn't she? . . . Oh, Emily is stand- 
 ing up. I wish she wouldn't do that. Makes her so con- 
 spicuous," and Leonard himself sat down. 
 
 The hands of the big clock moved slower and slower. It 
 was half-past eleven. Then suddenly the judge reap- 
 peared — rapidly crossing the bench — going to change his 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 889 
 
 rc( robe, people said. " Yes, it's always a black robe for 
 di^ orce '* ..." Same idea as the black cap, ehf " 
 
 Chen a few minutes later the judge returned — in black. 
 T I ere was a cry of " Silence ! " and all rose to welcome 
 h:i 1 and watch him take his seat. He said he was sorry for 
 tl ^ delay. But he could not be in two places at once. He 
 hal been employed in another court. 
 
 Claire recognized him immediately as a man who used 
 to come to her mother's dinner-parties at Hague House 
 years ago. She remembered him quite well — and his wife 
 to^, plump little middle-aged woman, with an amethyst 
 necklace. She felt a sense of comfort, if not pleasure, in 
 tins recognition ; it changed the arbiter of her fate from a 
 Di3re symbolic figure to a fellow human being. 
 
 Now that he had at last arrived, counsel not engaged in 
 li(?r case got up and talked to him about other cases. 
 
 Then somebody was reading out something with the 
 rame of Vaughan in it — " Issue joined " — and so on; and 
 next moment Sir James Holt was talking in a quiet, con- 
 'versational style just behind her back, saying he would 
 not take long — " If gentlemen of the jury will give me 
 iheir attention for a few minutes " . . . 
 
 It had begun. 
 
 Claire felt a tightening of the nerves, a reaction of the 
 fikin, and a catch of the breath, as if she had been plunged 
 into cold water. But she was glad. It was the end of that 
 ' ong torment of waiting — not only these last two years, 
 5ut the year before that, and all the other years before 
 Lhat. 
 
 Very quietly and pleasantly Sir James told the jury 
 how Roddy had left her and how she had wanted him to 
 come back and he would not. He spoke as a man speaks 
 when he stands on a hearth-rug with his back to the fire, 
 narrating something to friends. But when he talked of 
 the letter that Claire had written to her absent husband, 
 there came a vibration in his voice. He said he thought 
 
390 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 it would strike everybody as the most pathetically touch- 
 ing letter that a woman ever wrote to a man. He read it 
 aloud; and his voice sounded now as if he was struggling 
 to prevent sympathy from deepening to emotion. When 
 he spoke of Roddy's answer to the letter he startled Claire. 
 She would not have believed that he could speak so sternly. 
 He said he thought most people would designate it as 
 about as brutal an answer as a man ever made to a woman. 
 
 However, he did not wish to express any opinions of his 
 own; certainly he did not wish to be grandiloquent. 
 What he did wish was to be very brief. So he resumed his 
 ordinary man-of-the-world manner and went on talking 
 pleasantly and easily; just narrating the facts, and finally 
 saying that with full confidence he asked for the relief to 
 which Claire was entitled. 
 
 She looked at the clock. Those hands had been racing. 
 It was nearly one o'clock. 
 
 Leonard knocked down more papers and drew her gently 
 by the arm ; Basil Everett stood up to let her pass ; and 
 she was in the witness-box, swearing to tell the truth and 
 nothing but the truth. 
 
 Then, in reply to the courteous questions of Sir James, 
 she deposed to such necessary facts as that she was mar- 
 ried to Roddy; that they were husband and wife; that 
 they had thus lived together; that the date on the copy 
 of the marriage certificate was correct ; and so on. 
 
 She was nervous. The witness-box seemed giddily high 
 above the well of the court, and the walls at a great 
 distance. It was as if the court had expanded into a vast 
 arena. She looked down at a wide, vague sea of faces. 
 When she first spoke, her voice seemed to her harsh and 
 immensely loud ; its echoes rolled away like thunder. And 
 her confusion increased when she could not hear what Sir 
 James was saying to her; she had to make him repeat it, 
 and was amazed to find that he was asking her to speak 
 up. The judge was making the same request; he was 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 391 
 
 le.i ling towards her. He also asked her presently not to 
 sp( ak so fast; evidently he was writing down all her 
 ai wers. 
 
 • Thank you, Mrs. Vaughan," said Sir James. "That 
 is lU.'' 
 
 instinctively she turned to leave the witness-box, but 
 til' judge said, "no, no. Remain, please.'' 
 
 Then Mr. Moberley, K.C., rose and said that as the 
 wi ness was going into the box again he would reserve his 
 C3 )Ss-examination till then, considering this the most con- 
 \it lient thing to do. Of course he relied on the assurance 
 or his learned friend that he was really going to put her 
 ir :o the box again. Equally of course, this and everything 
 else was all as his lordship pleased. Then Sir James and 
 ]\Ir. Moberley bobbed up and down alternately while the 
 j c dge talked to them ; and a long discussion ensued, during 
 T^ Iiich Claire seemed to be utterly forgotten again. The 
 judge said his great aim and object was economy of time, 
 and he proceeded to tell each of them in turn exactly what 
 he divined as to their intended method of conducting their 
 cases ; and both complimented him on his extraordinary 
 good guesses. He seemed gratified; but then he debated 
 with them whether they could not improve on the plan, 
 f Jways with regard to the avoidance of waste of time and 
 yet not running the risk of complication or difficulty. 
 
 Claire, no longer the centre of attention, had recovered 
 i'uU composure. From her coign of vantage she looked 
 down reflectively. She saw empty seats. There were not 
 many people in court really, and those who were there 
 ieemed bored. They yawned and drifted away while she 
 ooked at them. The jury sat huddled and weary, as if 
 they had been there all night and were worn out. 
 
 Claire took this chance of studying Mr. Moberley. He 
 was a big, stout man of fifty or more, apparently somewhat 
 short of breath. After talking volubly he grew warm and 
 flushed, and more out of breath, like a man who has been 
 
392 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 running. Claire noticed his bushy eyebrows and his broad, 
 coarse checks. His diction and utterance were those of 
 an essentially common person who has educated himself 
 with great care but rather late in life. He had a confident 
 smile, as if sure that he was ingratiating himself with 
 everybody present, and there was a sort of sycophantic 
 ecstasy in his way of saying " As your lordship pleases,'* 
 It was difficult to believe that he could be clever. 
 
 The discussion ended, and the court abruptly ad- 
 journed. It was half -past one. The judge, having started 
 so late, had sat longer than usual, and he said they must 
 resume business " at two-fifteen sharp J"^ 
 
 Leonard, after coming to rescue Claire from the wit- 
 ness-box, led her through long corridors to a vaguely 
 crowded room where she could have some food. But she 
 was too excited and anxious to eat. 
 
 On the resumption of the hearing another delay oc- 
 curred. They were kept waiting, not by the judge, but by 
 that juryman who had protested and said " Time." How- 
 ever, the delay was slight, for the defaulting juryman 
 soon arrived, breathless and apologetic, and was hurried 
 into the box, where he trod upon the toes of his companions 
 while the judge reproved him. 
 
 This afternoon evidence was given by an hotel manager^ 
 a chambermaid, and a night porter, in regard to Roddy's* 
 visit to the hotel with an unknown lady. Roddy had to 
 stand up, and the witnesses swore he was the man. Then 
 Claire was told to stand up and they swore she was not 
 the lady. 
 
 The progress was very slow. It seemed to Claire that 
 all conspired to make it slow. Nothing was ever taken for 
 granted; the most obvious things had to be inquired into. 
 Moreover, everything that anybody wanted, such as a 
 date, a letter, a book, was always missing ; and in the hunt 
 and the tumbling and rummaging of papers the seeds were 
 being sown for rich harvests of future delays. Everybody, 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE S9» 
 
 to , said things three or four times instead of once. Often 
 th witness could not hear counsel's questions, counsel 
 cci Id not hear the witness's answer, and the judge could 
 n( hear either. Also difficulty was occasioned by counsel 
 f r ming questions in such a manner that when witnesses 
 h( rd them best they understood them least. How could 
 it ye otherwise than slow? 
 
 iTet notwithstanding all this, Claire felt respect, if not 
 adniration for the laborious, painstaking manner of the 
 p )cess by which the facts were searched and sifted out. 
 It was the grinding of a mill that would pass nothing 
 uii crushed. Ignorant as she was, she seemed to know that 
 Hi judge was competent, acute, and watchful. She under- 
 stood several times when he pointed out the logical drift 
 oj things, and believed that Sir James's profuse thanks for 
 h s assistance were genuine. Their slowness began to 
 si lengthen her confidence. It made them the more certain 
 to establish the truth. She thought, " Great is the truth ; 
 aid here, at least, it shall prevail." 
 
 Thus at the end of the first day she felt that things had 
 b 3en painful but satisfactory ; and as Leonard Joyce hur- 
 r ed her away from the court, she asked him to confirm 
 her impressions. 
 
 " Everything is all right, isn't it, Leonard.? '* 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " It has gone in my favour ? " 
 
 " Well, you know, Claire, it hasn't begun yet," said 
 liConard. 
 
 They had a little dinner-party at Hague House that 
 reminded one of the happy old days. Belton with fault- 
 1 ?ss manners waited on them as if he did not know what 
 T-as happening, or why his mistress had all the evening 
 j-apers on each side of her on the table. Emily was gay; 
 ( Id Derek benignantly cheerful. Mr»» Gilmour herself waa 
 ^ aliant, staunch, and optimistic. 
 
 " The Pall Molly'* she whispered, " calls it a Divorce 
 
39* FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Court Tangle.^* Then, when Belton had gone, she spoke 
 freely. ^' Claire, I like Sir James. He is such a gentle- 
 man. And what a piece of luck coming before Sir Henry 
 — a very old friend, though I have not seen him in these 
 last years! Did I tell you that Mrs. Drysdale was in 
 -court? Wasn't it nice of her to come? She wanted to 
 support you. She sent her love." Then Mrs. Gilmour 
 advised Claire to go to bed and make a long night. " Re- 
 member, it is not over yet. You have much before you." 
 
 Claire slept better that night than she had done for 
 months. But truly her ordeal was not yet over. She had 
 much before her. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 '^ ^k "T OW, Claire," whispered Leonard, " sit tight. Re- 
 
 1^^ member, this is his tale. Our tale comes later." 
 Immediately on the resumption of the hearing, 
 3Ir. Moberley had risen to open the husband's case. 
 
 He started in a confidential manner, as though the jury 
 ad told him they were puzzled all yesterday and had 
 egged him to explain things to them. 
 
 He said the marriage had been a love match, and these 
 voung people married with every prospect of happiness. 
 l^hey were highly placed, moving in the best society, sur- 
 rounded with crowds of friends and relations. The future 
 lay in their own hands. But all chance of solid felicity 
 was shipwrecked, as he believed would presently appear, 
 because of the disposition of one party to the contract — 
 the wife. An attempt might be made — he did not know — 
 but he thought quite possibly an attempt might be made to 
 arouse prejudice 
 
 "Why not wait and find out?" said Sir James Holt, 
 rather rudely. 
 
 " Please do not interrupt me," said Mr. Moberley, with 
 dignity. " I have shown great courtesy to you, and I 
 must beg you also to restrain yourself." 
 
 Then he went on again. He said he had been saying 
 when interrupted — and he paused and looked round at Sir 
 James, as if at a dog that had barked at him; he had 
 been saying that some effort might be essayed to create 
 prejudice in the minds of the gentlemen of the jury by the 
 allegation or insinuation that the husband was influenced 
 by mercenary motives ; was less wealthy than the wife. 
 But nothing could be further from a true appreciation of 
 the conditions. So far as fortune went at the time of the 
 marriage, the disparity of fortune was all the other way 
 
 395 
 
S96 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 round. " Here was a fashionable young man, with the 
 greatest expectations, heir presumptive to his uncle — who 
 was perhaps the richest baronet in England; courted, 
 feted by all. To use the common phrase, in a position to 
 pick and choose a wife — to throw his handkerchief wher- 
 ever fancy guided his hand." On the score of birth he 
 was equally the superior; for whereas the wife belonged 
 to the rich commercial classes, the husband traced his 
 descent from what have properly been considered the high- 
 est in the realm — the great feudal territorial families. 
 
 " But, as I have said, it was a love match — love on both 
 sides ; — on one side love of a volcanic character. As a fact 
 — there can be no dispute about it, — this young lady took 
 the extreme measure of running away from home and 
 placing herself under the protection of my client, before 
 the marriage. Please do not interrupt m.e. I have no wish 
 to dwell upon this, or in any way exaggerate its impor- 
 tance. I may have to refer to it again probably in due 
 course. All that is necessary to tell your lordship and 
 gentlemen of the jury now is that my client regularized 
 the situation as soon as possible — ^by the marriage." 
 
 The blood had rushed to Claire's face, and instinctively 
 she hid it in her hands. Sir James was on his feet pro- 
 testing. For a little while he and Mr. Moberley and the 
 judge all seemed to be talking together. She raised her 
 head, compressed her lips, and tried to catch every word. 
 The judge was talking alone now — speaking of his horror 
 of allowing the issues to be widened in all directions, and 
 his equal horror of shutting out matters relevant and es- 
 sential to one's adequate comprehension. He reminded 
 them that the time at their disposal could not be treated 
 €is limitless. But on the whole, he confessed that he did 
 not see ho,w, if you are telling a story, you can be pre- 
 vented from starting it at the beginning. 
 
 Then Mr. Moberley went on again. He said that before 
 the case was over, there might also be an attempt to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 397 
 
 i eate prejudice by the hint that the husband had wilfully 
 (! ssipated the wife's fortune. Again nothing could be 
 : .rther from the truth. He was a man of indomitable 
 r lergy and untiring industry. He passed from one enter- 
 
 rise to another, never sparing himself, actuated always 
 
 Y the same motive — to maintain his wife in the position 
 c f luxurious comfort to which she was accustomed ; to give 
 er all the good things of this world. His enterprises were 
 nfortunate. But a husband's misfortune did not supply 
 3 reason or an excuse for a wife to forget or break the vows 
 to which she was solemnly sworn. No, certainly not* 
 I/Iisfortune should have drawn them together rather thaa 
 })ushed them apart. As the prayer book says, it is for 
 better, for worse. 
 
 Why then — he asked again — ^had this marriage come to 
 }'uin and grief? He had no hesitation in tracing the 
 .'ailure to the temperament of the wife; he had no fear 
 of any kind in endeavouring to show, and to ask them 
 to adopt the view, that no other explanation of the failure 
 was possible. 
 
 During the absence of the husband fighting for his 
 country or on public service, the wife, in a fine-lady sort of 
 way, did war work. As his lordship and the gentlemen 
 of the jury knew perfectly well, there was war work and 
 war work. Some people gave their all, including life itself ; 
 others filled in their idle hours with occasional assistance 
 to the great cause. Mrs. Vaughan, with other fashionable 
 ladies, assisted off and on at a hospital — at a hospital 
 in Arlington Street instituted by the Countess of Pevensea.- 
 
 " Here she met a young attractive officer — the co-res- 
 pondent. I have said ^ met him.' But in fact they had met 
 before. He was a friend of her relatives. They had been 
 acquainted in youth. Perhaps it may be thought that they 
 had been boy and girl sweethearts. I do not make the 
 suggestion. I do jiot make any suggestions of that kind,. 
 At any rate, life had separated them, and they met agaia 
 
598 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 — renewed acquaintance — under these romantic circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " It was evident to the minds of all observers that an 
 immense sympathy appeared to have arisen between them. 
 They were never tired of talking to one another. They 
 had their little jokes and confidences in which others might 
 not share." He would prove that her attendance at the 
 hospital at once became more assiduous. The attendance 
 book would show every date. He would call witnesses to 
 show that she knew no weariness in attending to this par- 
 ticular patient. In due course all this watchful care had 
 its reward. The gallant young soldier was put upon his 
 legs and fit to leave the hospital. He left it. 
 
 And then what happened? Mrs, Vaughan never did 
 an hour^s duty at the hospital again. Never crossed the 
 threshold — never went there at all — not once! Really he 
 must pause for a moment to dwell on this. He could not 
 go rushing on, because it all did seem to him so extraordi- 
 narily diflScult to explain except in one way. You had 
 this significant series of facts. Until Colonel Everett is 
 admitted to the hospital Mrs. Vaughan goes there, we will 
 not say once in a blue moon, but perhaps once or twice in 
 a week, with sometimes long intervals between the weeks. 
 Colonel Everett arrives on the scene, and it is not a ques- 
 tion of her visits being rather more frequent ; she goes there 
 every day. She is there every day, and all night too. For 
 eight or nine or even ten nights running she is there. Then 
 — then Colonel Everett is discharged from the hospital^ 
 and the hospital never sees her again. 
 
 After saying this he paused, opened his hands, and 
 stared at the jury with a helpless expression, as of a 
 man staggered by the bigness of the phenomenon that 
 faced him. Then he smiled. " Very well, we wull leave it at 
 that. She does not go there again. No, her interest in all 
 the good work done at that hospital has vanished." 
 
 And he went on to say one might suppose that, the 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 399 
 
 li V between nurse and patient being now broken by the 
 CO nplete cure of the latter, this lady and gentleman would 
 s< no more of each other. On the contrary. The affec- 
 ts n between them led to many meetings. And this was to 
 b noted. All who saw them together appear to have de- 
 t 3ted the affection. Their mutual manner drew attention. 
 If they were making any effort to conceal the attraction 
 i\ at each exercised over the other, they were unsuccessful. 
 Jj e had a mass of evidence to present in support of what 
 L i was saying, and in its proper sequence he would present 
 it. 
 
 He said he came now to a part of the case which he 
 might call the psychological part of the case. There was 
 a female relative of the respondent, a spinster aunt, a Miss 
 Crraham; and without scruple he described her as a very 
 sinister influence — an influence that to his mind had played 
 B. large part iu weaving the tragic overthrow of all these 
 lives. 
 
 Then he gave a sketch of Aunt Agnes as a woman of 
 such advanced views that she was prepared to go to all 
 lengths in the subversal of our present social system. 
 She was a woman without a shred of religion, if she was 
 not an avowed atheist. She belonged to societies whose 
 sole aim. was to shatter what they termed the old-fashioned 
 code of ethics that governed ordinary citizens. If she did 
 not actually advocate the introduction of free love, she at 
 least denounced the trammels of our marriage law. And he 
 quoted words from a memorial to a secretary of state which 
 Miss Graham and many other people had signed. 
 
 ..." I sugge'St that if a young woman was in danger 
 of having her principles sapped and her virtue under- 
 mined, there would be no more dangerous companion — no 
 companion more likely to throw her weight into the scale 
 of passion as against the scale of law and order, and push 
 her niece over the brink. As a matter of indisputable fact, 
 the young woman and the old woman were at this time 
 
400 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 .almost constant companions. Miss Graham was far too 
 shrewd a person not to see what was going on under her 
 nose; and my suggestion, my contention is that she ap- 
 proved and abetted. She acted as go-between. Not as 
 dupe. Far from it. She knew; and I think that as men 
 of the world you, with me, will draw the plain inference 
 that she perfectly understood how it all would end, she 
 wished it so to end, she meant it so to end." 
 
 And he went on to say that in establishing misconduct 
 ■of the character alleged, you have to consider a normal 
 process of Inclination towards the lawless love. Infidelity 
 in thought towards the husband. Infidelity in deed. 
 *' When you have the two former, the next thing you have 
 to look for is Opportunity.'^ He should show that the op- 
 portunity existed. He should ask them to find that the 
 opportunity was availed of; that this miguided lady — 
 this ardent young woman, driven by her ow i temperament, 
 •egged on and abetted by one who ought to have known bet- 
 ter, did pass from the realm of merely longing and craving 
 to the full satisfaction of her desire — from the thought 
 of guilt to the fact of guilt. In regard to the two dates 
 on which specific acts of misconduct were alleged to have 
 been committed at the house in Brighton and a^. the co- 
 respondent's private chambers in London, he belie ed there 
 would be no getting away from it. 
 
 And Claire thought, with a hot throbbing in her brain : 
 ** He said all that about me. He is not talking of some 
 poor fallen creature that I read of in a book. He used 
 those words in speaking of me.'' She knew now, better 
 than the old solicitor could explain it, the meaning of " the 
 divprce court atmosphere." It was through that medium 
 that those twelve men over there were looking at her. 
 Through its foully-laden waves all these words came to 
 iheir ears. Because of its slowly gyrating particles al- 
 ways moving round and round this dusty shadowy well, 
 into which the sunlight never pierced and no breath of pure 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 401 
 
 tail ever came, vague, unsubstantial things and solid, im- 
 mv able things were all alike. Nothing seen in it could 
 pr. }erve its natural aspect and proportions; all must be 
 di; orted and fantastic. 
 
 Vhile the blood continued to beat against her temples, 
 sh^ ceased to listen. She thought of quite unimportant 
 thiigs. This morning there had been many more people 
 in court than yesterday; and now she knew that it was 
 full to overflowing. Not once had she looked round; but 
 «!<• could feel close-pressed ranks a little way behind her. 
 There were women there. To her right a small crowd 
 blocked the floor. A benevolent-looking man in a grey 
 suit, grey-haired, elderly, standing near the book-case 
 by the clock, kept smiling and nodding his head approv- 
 iiL^ly at €ach point made in the counsePs speech. Claire's 
 attention was fascinated by him. He was there, a long 
 tune. Then in a moment he was gone. Claire began to 
 listen again. 
 
 Mr. Moberley was finishing a dissertation on Familiari- 
 ties. By familiarities, he explained, he did not mean in- 
 decencies. No, he meant only what he had already re- 
 ferred to. He meant the outward signs of regard. He 
 laeant those indications of a too friendly relation that you 
 c[uite legitimately sought for when you were asking your- 
 self whether or not an illicit intercourse in truth existed. 
 When you notice smoke you know there is fire. When you 
 see straws all going in one direction you know which way 
 :he wind is blowing. Well, that was so in regard to this 
 ady and gentleman. Wherever they went — in London or 
 at the seaside — and it was to be remarked that the old 
 woman was generally with them — gentlemen of the jury 
 already knew what to make of her — " She is the Martha 
 and the Mephistopheles of the drama rolled into one "— 
 wherever these two and their shadow were seen, the indica- 
 tions were observed, suspicion was aroused. Yes, lots of 
 smoke ; any quantity of straws. 
 
402 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Here was an instance — perhaps it was as striking an 
 instance as you could expect to encounter. A doctor is 
 called into the house and meets these two people for the 
 first time. He has never seen them before — has never 
 heard of their existence till a few hours before. He goes 
 there and is received by them ; and at once mistakes them 
 for husband and wife. From his observation of the famili- 
 arities passing between them he assumes that that is the 
 relation, that it cannot be any other relation, and he so 
 addresses them. There are other people present. They 
 all notice the doctor's mistake. But now is not this na- 
 tural assumption of the doctor's very remarkable in one 
 way — ^very striking, as has been said? The more signifi- 
 cant, the more you think of it. Physicians — ^he is a physi- 
 cian — a very well-known physician — highly trained and 
 eminent physicians do not make mistakes of that sort with- 
 out good cause. The faculty of diagnosis is their strong- 
 est force. To use the colloquial term, they " size up " a 
 situation with astounding perspicuity. Well, that is how 
 he sizes up this situation. He sees this man and this 
 woman, and sizes them up as husband and wife. Can't 
 be anything else — going on as they are. Really famous 
 physician — ^no secret about his name — Dr. Rice-Wilcox 
 — probably known to many people in court — now here — 
 or coming here — to tell his lordship and gentlemen of the 
 jury in his own words just what happened. 
 
 And again Claire ceased to listen. Her shame and dis- 
 tress had passed into a deeper pain. The doctor's name 
 had evoked swift pictures of that terrible night when 
 reason itself left her in the agony of her loss. For a time 
 now her thoughts revolved on a wheel of torture. Memories 
 that had seemed almost dead sprang into burning life and 
 wrapped her in flame. 
 
 When she listened again Mr. Moberley was talking 
 about Roddy. 
 
 He was saying that so far Roddy had no suspicions of 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 403 
 
 anj impropriety between his wife and the co-respondent. 
 Ro<i ly did not know the co-respondent, could not remem- 
 ber 3ver to have heard of him. But what he did know, 
 wh^- . he was loth to recognize and for a lengthy period 
 str I ^gled not to believe — was the coldness and neglect 
 to \ hich his wife began to subject him. 
 
 Listening now to this fantastic and preposterous story 
 of er own life, Claire had the sensation that the speaker 
 po^. essed a supernatural knowledge of its minutest details. 
 Ke ( wing all, he was choosing his materials and warping 
 and twisting them to his purpose with diabolical ingenuity. 
 Everything he said was utterly false and yet it sounded 
 triji. So abominably true, even to her ear, that she herself 
 had to fight the illusion of its being a fairly accurate state- 
 ment of events. 
 
 Trhings, he said, had come to such a pass before Roddy 
 left for America, that some vague general suspicion did 
 at last enter the husband's mind, and on the eve of de- 
 parture Roddy charged her with her lack of affection for 
 him, and asked her this specific question: Why had she 
 turned against him? As she returned an evasive or un- 
 satisfactory answer, he asked her in the most solemn 
 manner a further question. Had she allowed anybody else 
 to enter into her life and take his place? And she had 
 then given him a solemn assurance that there was nobody 
 el^e, and there never would be anybody else. 
 
 Roddy had frankly accepted her assurance and had gone 
 a ray with as light a heart as a man can be expected to 
 carry in the circumstances — that was to say, when a man 
 ib leaving his home and country, to cross the waste of 
 o lean, and undertake hardship and toil in a distant land, 
 ^t any rate, his suspicions were lulled and allayed. He 
 hid not that added burden of care on his shoulders. He 
 
 V as willing to believe — he did believe that his honour was 
 s ife in his wife's hands. 
 
 Then, as if in a dream, Claire heard how his suspicion 
 
 V as again stirred ; how when he returned to England they 
 
4.04 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 had met by appointment and sat together in Hyde Park ; 
 and how on this occasion " she had made a communica- 
 tion to him." She heard how she had voluntarily confessed 
 that a man had now entered her life, and how she had 
 praised this man in quite extravagant terms as being the 
 noblest of his kind, speaking wildly and recklessly of her 
 gratitude to this man for the kindness he had shown her. 
 Roddy — as Mr. Moberley narrated — had sat crushed and 
 silent, not knowing what to say or do; but suffering 
 greatly under the revelation of her state of mind, and ob- 
 jecting in every part of him to the excessive praise and all 
 the rest of it. After a while he had asked her if she would 
 have any objection to telling him the name of this man. 
 She had replied that it was Colonel Everett. And that was 
 the first time, to the best of his recollection, that Roddy 
 had ever heard the name of the man who wronged him 
 — or let us say, if counsel for Mrs. Vaughan and Colonel 
 Everett both prefer it, — the man that Roddy now firmly 
 believes has wronged him. 
 
 So the story went on. It had already lasted hours. 
 Now it was going on again after the interval, and draw- 
 ing slowly towards its conclusion. The gentlemen of the 
 jury looked flushed and drowsy after their repast. Mr. 
 Moberley himself was warm and rather breathless; but 
 he seemed to be brimming over with confidence in the 
 righteousness of his cause. He turned here and there 
 showing his broad, ingratiating smile as if assured of the 
 sympathy, the friendly regard, of everybody in courts 
 His tone to the jury had become that of a life-long com- 
 panion; his nods and asides to them seemed to imply an 
 almost telepathic understanding between him and them. 
 He and they were men of the world putting their heads 
 together; they were birds too old to be caught with chaff. 
 And every now and then, as Sir James had foretold, he 
 did a little acting for them. It was execrably bad acting, 
 but it was good enough for the audience and the place. 
 
 He had come now to what he would call " the Brighton 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 405 
 
 inc lent," and he told it with increased vigour. " Here 
 an({ everywhere else it is the same thing — something un- 
 usi 1 instantly observed, questions asked, doubt engen- 
 de} d. The servants of the house knew Mrs. Vaughan as 
 an indolent, purposeless individual, lolling through the 
 da ) s over a novel, scarcely able to take the trouble to go 
 fo] a walk on the Parade with the old woman. She does 
 no care what she eats or when she eats : she is a picture of 
 eniid. Then in a moment they see her as a changed 
 pe ' son : she has come to life. Why ? The announcement 
 is riade that a male visitor is expected, and that nothing 
 is ioo good for him. He is to be feasted and feted — the 
 ric'iest food, the choicest wine must be procured. You 
 wil. be told how Mrs. Vaughan with her own hands ar- 
 ranged the bedchamber for this masculine guest, decking 
 it with costly flowers, fussing in and out* to add further 
 touches of adornment. 
 
 ^' The visitor arrives. It is Colonel Everett, of course; 
 ard immediately these two girls are set wondering. The 
 quiet, indolent Mrs. Vaughan and the Colonel laugh and 
 cl aff and carry on in a way these girls don't understand. 
 , Now, that first night of the visit, the night of Saturday, 
 August the twenty-third, one of the girls, Alice Pink, 
 makes a startling discovery. She has been out for a little 
 relaxation with friends, and, owing to unforeseen circum- 
 sl ances is prevented from returning to the house till a late 
 h )ur — about eleven o'clock, to be accurate — a late hour 
 for the seaside. Everybody has long since gone to bed; 
 t'le house is in darkness." 
 
 And he described how Alice Pink had disco"Vered Mrs. 
 \aughan and Colonel Everett alone together in the dark, 
 ill a room on the ground floor. Alice Pink would herself 
 c escribe their position in the room, their confusion on 
 I aing discovered, and so on ; he merely wished to lay suf- 
 i cient stress on the fact itself. Then he did a little more 
 i cting : assuming his heavy, puzzled expression. How 
 4,ould one explain the thing.? It did seem to him so as- 
 
406 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tounding, so amazing. A darkened room. A room without 
 any light. Eleven o'clock, and everybody else safe in 
 bed. How could you understand two people in their walk 
 of life so compromising themselves by such incredible be- 
 haviour.? Alice Pink could not at any rate understand it. 
 
 That, one might say, was Act I. of " the Brighton inci- 
 dent." Act II. occurred next day. Late in the day the 
 old woman was taken ill and put to bed, in charge of a 
 sick nurse. What do these two people do.'' Do they sit 
 by the sick bed and show solicitude .'^ No, they have a 
 whispered meal together and then go for a moonlight 
 ramble together. Whatever you may think of this old 
 woman, she is a faithful friend to them; she is, moreover, 
 their hostess. She is seriously ill; she has been stricken 
 down with the illness of which not long afterward she 
 died. One might expect that they would show some ordi- 
 nary good feeling towards her. But no — not a sign of it. 
 How are you to explain this callousness except in one way ? 
 Well, notoriously, people can be very selfish when under 
 the influence of an absorbing passion. They are thinking 
 so much about themselves that they can think very little 
 about anybody else. 
 
 That same night, at an advanced hour, say, about mid- 
 night, the second discovery is made. The other girl, Miss 
 May Wilding, has been out for relaxation; and on her 
 way upstairs to her bed at the top of the house she notices 
 that the door of Mrs. Vaughan's room is open. She goes 
 into the room. Mrs. Vaughan is not there. She will relate 
 in her own words the steps she took to ascertain where 
 Mrs. Vaughan was, and the irresistible conclusion at which 
 she arrived. It was, he said, a very terrible discovery for 
 a young, innocent girl to make. It almost unnerved her. 
 She went straight to the apartment which she shared with 
 Alice Pink, woke her companion, and reported what she 
 had discovered. Natural sleep was impossible for either 
 of them after that ; and in turn, from time to time during 
 the night, they cautiously descended the stairs to ascertain 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR 'WORSE 407 
 
 if Mrs. Vaughan had yet returned to her room. She had 
 m t returned to it at 3 a.m. She had not returned to it at 
 4. 10 a.m. It was then daylight, and the watchers were 
 a I raid to watch any longer. 
 
 He said he could not conceive a more distressing situa- 
 ti )n for two young girls to find themselves in. They were 
 Pighly respectable girls and they had their characters to 
 t i ink of. If this sort of thing was going on in the house, 
 it was not a house that they wished to stay in. On the 
 < 1 her hand, they ran a fearful risk in denouncing a lady of 
 }>)sition like Mrs. Vaughan, a person belonging to the 
 tipper circles, probably with powerful friends and far- 
 r<3aching influence. They debated the matter; and they 
 liad the courage to decide that, no matter what the risk, 
 tJiey would intimate to their employer that either these 
 jodgers must be turned out of the house, or they them- 
 salves must go. And they had the fortitude to carry out 
 their resolution. They spoke to the landlady the first 
 thing in the morning. 
 
 As a result, unquestionably, the thing would have hap- 
 pened. These people — this colonel and this fashionable 
 lady — would have been turned into the street, had they not 
 been too quick for any action on the part of the landlady. 
 But now what happens? This is Act III. of the Brighton 
 incident, and he could not see any possible explanation for 
 such incredible occurrences except the simple and obvious 
 one that these two people have taken alarm; they have 
 heard the footfall of those nocturnal watchers outside the 
 Colonel's door; they know that they are discovered. 
 " Anyhow, this is how they act. They go of their own 
 accord. They have the old woman dragged out of bed 
 — she agrees, of course — she would agree to anything — 
 especially if they have told her of their alarm — and they 
 rush her back to London. Before you can look round, the 
 house is empty. The whole party has disappeared. The 
 rent is forfeited, the uneaten food is abandoned. They 
 have flown. The nurse — a woman of experience in her 
 
408 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 profession — will tell you she was never more astonished 
 in her life than when she heard the rapid orders that 
 were being given, and learned that the patient was to be 
 roused for a railway journey and that she herself was 
 dismissed from the case." TPiat was the Brighton inci- 
 dent, and, as he had said before, he did not for the life 
 of him see how you were going to get round it. 
 
 He came now to what he would call " The Flat Episode '^ 
 — ^the second of the specified dates — ►and he rattled 
 through this with breathless determination. On that date, 
 Mrs. Vaughan, totally unaccompanied, went to the co- 
 respondent's rooms in St. James's. But she was now 
 under observation; she was being watched, not by mere 
 well-meaning amateurs like May and Alice, but by experts. 
 He would prove that she entered the building at thirteen 
 minutes past three in the afternoon and that she had not 
 yet left the building at five o'clock on the following morn- 
 ing. He enlarged briefly on the generally accepted opinion 
 that a self-respecting female, no matter what her social 
 status, cannot, without the grossest defiance of propriety, 
 visit one of these houses occupied solely by men, even if she 
 comes out again two minutes afterwards. For the rest he 
 seemed to think that he could safely leave " the Flat Epi- 
 sode " to take care of itself. 
 
 Then he reached his peroration. He told the jury tliat 
 he did not at all minimize the gravity of the consequence* 
 to this woman if their findings were what he anticipated 
 and asked for. To a person in her social position the 
 punishment would be very severe. He had no doubt that 
 his learned friend would bring all that to their minds with 
 great eloquence. His learned friend was always eloquent. 
 He himself had no gifts of rhetoric or oratory and he had 
 often regretted his deficiency, but, perhaps, never less than 
 on the present occasion; because it seemed to him that 
 when you had a plain, straightforward case the less you 
 dressed it up the better. Well, then, the jury must not 
 shrink from their duty, however painful it might be. As 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 409 
 
 li s lordship would tell them, you cannot have one law for 
 t le rich and another for the poor. They must deal with 
 t lis lady — this fashionable, highly-placed lady — just ex- 
 j 2tly as if she was the wife of the butcher, the baker, or 
 t le candlestickmaker. 
 
 Next minute Roddy was being sworn. He stood there, 
 bold and shameless; dressed in new clothes, with his hair 
 freshly cut and singed, and an expression of injury and 
 resentment on his naturally truculent face. 
 
 To begin with, Mr. Moberley asked him questions about 
 rimself, about his having fought in the late war and 
 his having served with distinction in the war before that 
 -—questions designed to show what a fine fellow he was 
 ^,^enerally; and, in reply, Roddy bowed very slightly and 
 laurmured an affirmative. 
 
 Then, with the assistance of Mr. Moberley, he repeated 
 Ids own part of that long story to which everybody had 
 just been listening. He spoke now resolutely and aggres- 
 sively, scowling and flushing as he uttered the co- 
 respondent's name. And from time to time he turned his 
 eyes to- Claire, and looked at her implacably before an- 
 swering another question. 
 
 Did he believe what he was saying.? Claire, who knew 
 every intonation of the dreaded voice, wondered if, after 
 all, he really believed. She knew, at least, that his jealousy 
 was genuinely aroused, and that his anger against Basil 
 Everett was real and not simulated. His mastery over 
 her had been disputed, and at all costs he desired to re- 
 assert it. She knew with absolute certainty that it was no 
 longer merely her money that he craved for; he wanted 
 revenge and victory. To that extent he wanted her her- 
 self. He was ready, as he had told her, to begin all over 
 again, and in the extremity of her disgust she almost 
 fainted as she thought of it. 
 
 " Use your smelling-salts," said Leonard, watching her.. 
 
 In cross-examination Sir James made himself as un- 
 
410 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 pleasant to Roddy as he possibly could ; but on the whole 
 Roddy remained unshaken, and the feeling of all hearers 
 was that no good had been done. Under Sir James, Roddy 
 became more aggressive; he shrugged his shoulders and 
 smiled contemptuously when driven into corners, and he 
 came out of them noisily. Dick Collie and Leonard Joyce 
 both thought that Sir James went on too long. The more 
 sharply Roddy was goaded; the more clearly he seemed to 
 convey that essential impression of the strong, indignant 
 male whose rights have been assailed by another male. 
 He was very briefly re-examined by Mr. Moberley. 
 
 That was the end of the second day. As Claire drove 
 away in Leonard's car she saw the posters of the evening 
 papers, with " The Vaughan Divorce Case " in enormous 
 letters. The Vaughans, commonplace as was their pre- 
 dicament, had caught the popular taste. Henceforth they 
 would be given all the space necessary, whatever else might 
 be crowded out. 
 
 It was a miserable dinner at Hague House; with Mrs. 
 Gilmour's face like a tragic mask, with Leonard silently 
 making grimaces at the table cloth, with even Belt on unable 
 to keep up pretences and so nervous that he broke a glass. 
 After the others had gone Mrs. Gilmour wept on her 
 daughter's neck. 
 
 " Oh, Claire, my poor, unhappy child, that I should have 
 lived to see this day ! But I must be brave for your sake. 
 Oh, that man, that Moberley! Why did Sir James let 
 him have such license.^ Why couldn't he stop him? Claire, 
 I do not like Sir James — and what is more, I do not trust 
 him. Now go to bed and try to sleep." 
 
 Claire did not sleep. She felt as if she would never 
 sleep again. She had told her mother that she wanted tp 
 have her things taken back to Hans Place in the morning. 
 She could not again meet their faces at the dinner table. 
 It would be easier to suffer in solitude. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 "^^ TEXT morning the corridor outside the court was 
 
 V^ already so full of people that Leonard had difficulty 
 ^ in conducting Claire through the crowd. The 
 
 u r if ormed attendants were keeping the doors locked, but 
 t ]ej opened them for Claire. Everyone knew her by sight 
 new. All the principals and their companions had become 
 fi miliar to the eye. At the solicitors' table it was like the 
 r 2 assembling of a desolate sort of house-party. Each guest 
 knew where to sit; and before each place the appropriate 
 bags and piles of papers were being laid out by clerks, as 
 aitentive to one's comfort as well-trained footmen. 
 
 All that day and most of the next day, the slow pro- 
 cession of witnesses continued ; and in every hour Claire felt 
 the horror of it deepening. It was like a nightmare. 
 
 Everybody that she had ever known, as it seemed, was 
 I>araded here to aid in her destruction. Quite meaning- 
 less people who had flitted past on the vague background of 
 }i€r life rose like ghosts to recall themselves to her memory 
 for a moment, denounced her, and disappeared. People 
 ihat she had instinctively disliked, people that she had 
 })een rather fond of, people to whom she had never spoken 
 — it was all the same: few or many words of the same 
 iibominable purport. 
 
 Here one after another were people from that hospital, 
 
 armed with books and forms, reciting over again the fact 
 
 4»f her sudden increase of attendances ; saying how they had 
 
 all talked about her behind her back, how they had heard 
 
 ler laughing with Basil, how he had been always asking 
 
 or her. 
 
 Here — ^most absurd and fantastic — ^was a real friend, 
 !vlrs. Morris, the Edgware Road lodging-house keeper; 
 
 411 
 
412 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 but instead of talking about the hot water pipes or the 
 bit of cold mutton which would make a hash, telling them 
 details of the doctor's mistake; how she had heard the 
 doctor address the Colonel as Mrs. Vaughan's husband; 
 and how she had thought the error was due to the Colonel 
 standing with his arm round Mrs. Vaughan's waist and 
 Mrs. Vaughan addressing him by his christian name. 
 
 Then — monstrous and incredible — it was Pope. Yes, 
 here was Mrs. Emma Dent, the wife of a soldier, formerly 
 Miss Pope and lady's maid to Mrs. Vaughan ; reluctantly 
 saying it all over again. 
 
 Then it was Doctor Rice-Wilcox, protesting against 
 being dragged here to his great inconvenience with nothing 
 of the slightest importance to say, and yet, nevertheless, 
 saying it all once more. He denied any power of diagnosis 
 or sizing up in such a connection ; told Sir James that his 
 mistake was the most natural mistake in the world, that 
 he might make a similar mistake to-day, to-morrow, or the 
 day after. Perhaps had sized up people wrongly a hundred 
 times in his career. But then immediately afterwards he 
 had to tell Mr. Moberley that perhaps the mistake, such 
 as it was, was based on those two facts — arm round waist 
 and use of christian name. 
 
 These three witnesses were alike reluctant ; they had been 
 iforced to come here against their will; they obviously 
 wished well to Claire, and for that reason did her the 
 more harm. 
 
 She herself did not hear the doctor's evidence. At sight 
 of him a paralysis of logical thought had swiftly fallen 
 upon her. She could only see his greyness and his quiet 
 intentness ; his black coat and his cameo tie-pin. The pain 
 of that dark time was burning her throat and tearing at 
 her heart. 
 
 All day long — and part of the next day. 
 
 They have reached the Brighton incident now, and maps 
 and plans are handed about, and called for, and mislaid. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 413 
 
 T le position of the rooms, the slope of the staircase, the 
 ri mber of doors on each floor, all must be understood to 
 er able you properly to grasp what the witnesses are saying. 
 
 The Brighton incident unfolds itself briskly under the 
 c( ntrol of Mr. Moberley. One after the other we have 
 tl e two young ladies. Alice Pink, wearing a soft yellow 
 e raw hat on the back of her head, with grey jacket and 
 slirt, puts her hands, in white cotton gloves, over the ledge 
 () ■ the witness box and twitches her fingers as she relates 
 h)w, when she entered the darkened dining-room, Mrs. 
 "v aughan was close to the sofa by the book-case and the 
 C olonel stooping over her ; how they both " stepped aside 
 like" in much confusion of spirit; how she had noticed 
 m electric torch among the Colonel's things in his dressing- 
 cag, and how she had seen it again in Mrs. Vaughan's 
 room. 
 
 May Wilding, in a blue jumper and a white chip-straw 
 hat trimmed with black ribbon and a sea-gull's wing, carries 
 black gloves which she twists in her hands while she tells 
 of the measures she took to ascertain that Mrs. Vaughan, 
 missing from her own room, was not in the drawing-room, 
 was not in this room or in that room, could not be in any 
 room except that room on the second floor — the one room 
 of the house that she had no business to be in. 
 
 Mr. Moberley is very suave and courteous to these two 
 witnesses, treating them as very nice young ladies, calling 
 them Miss Pink and Miss Wilding, although he always 
 calls poor Aunt Agnes " the old woman." " Take your 
 time, Miss Wilding. Just tell it in your own words ; '* 
 and so on. 
 
 Sir James, of course, is unpleasant to them. He makes 
 them look foolish, uncomfortable, miserable; shows them 
 as the two common little sluts that they are; but on the 
 whole their evidence stands. The story has not yet beea 
 shaken. 
 
 Then Miss Newman, the genteelly incompetent landlady. 
 
414t FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 tells of the communication made to her by her two maids> 
 May and AUce, of her genteel inability to cope with such a 
 situation, and her genteel relief of mind when the problem 
 was solved for her by the abrupt departure of her lodgers. 
 She would far rather speak of the old rectory, with its 
 associations of forfeited grandeur, and tries to do so, but is 
 checked. 
 
 Sir James interposing, she is told by the judge that she 
 may say a statement was made to her by the servants, but 
 must not say what they stated. On this she says it again, 
 and being again called to order becomes grievously con- 
 fused. In croifes-examination Sir James scores a distinct 
 success with her. She tells him that she did hear the 
 doctor say that Miss Graham wished to go, and the de- 
 parture may not, therefore, have surprised her at the 
 time, but only have surprisesd her at a later period. 
 Perhaps only when she heard it talked about in connection 
 with this case. Sir James, it is felt, has done well with 
 this witness. 
 
 But his great effort is in cross-examination of the nurse. 
 The nurse has recounted her impression of the too friendly 
 behaviour of the colonel and the lady, has given her yer- 
 sion of the hasty departure and the cruelty of taking her 
 patient on a journey, and Sir James puts it to her that 
 her notion of the patient's state is founded on guess-work, 
 because she was asleep all night, and that Mrs. Vaughan 
 sat in the room doing her duty for her. He reminds her 
 that her first words on entering the house were to say 
 that she was dead-beat and in sore need of sleep; but she 
 utterly repudiates these imputations. Asleep on duty! 
 What next, she would like to know ! 
 
 Mr. Moberley has fought Sir James in her defence to 
 save her from these odious aspersions ; he protests against 
 the line of cross-examination as outrageous and unfair. 
 Questions not arising out of her tale ! He, too, would like 
 to know what next. His lordship, however, does not quite 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 415 
 
 g I how he is to stop Sir James. This is one of many 
 f i nilar squabbles between counsel about what Is relevant 
 { A admissible. Now his lordship seems to feel he has 
 i ready let in so much that it is too late to try to keep 
 I lything out. And thus it is henceforth ; no one is stopped, 
 1 )thing is forbidden ; time is forgotten. 
 
 Sir James continues his tussle with the nurse ; but with 
 c )stinate tenacity she holds her ground. Forced to re- 
 c )unt her previous fatigues, she makes light of them, vows 
 iiiat when she arrived in Schomburg Square she could have 
 ]:3pt awake for another week if necessary. She says that 
 tiir James does not know what it would mean for a night- 
 nurse to fall asleep. Sir James says he knows perfectly 
 Mell, and declares that for his part he would think nothing 
 of it. If he himself had been as tired as she, he would 
 mve certainly yielded to slumber and would not have 
 :een ashamed to say so. 
 
 " Ah, but you are not a nurse," 
 
 And there is laughter. 
 
 " Suppose I tell you that Mrs. Vaughan is going to 
 prove with the most startling certainty that she was in 
 fact in the room and watched you sleeping for hour after 
 hour? " 
 
 " I shouldn't believe it. Because she wasn't there." 
 
 Then he cautioned her, telling her to be very carefuL 
 
 " If she had been there I should have seen her. She 
 wasn't there." 
 
 Pressed to admit that she knew perfectly well that Miss 
 Graham was fit to travel, she says, " Certainly not," with 
 obstinate determination. 
 
 " Did you not hear the doctor say so.^^ " 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " Did you not hear him tell Miss Newman that the 
 patient was fit to travel? " 
 
 " Of course I didn't. Why should he teU Miss Newman 
 when / was there? If he had said so to anyone, he would 
 
416 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 have said so to me." She seems offended and angry at 
 the notion of such a breach of etiquette. ' — 
 
 She sticks to her point, too, and will not be drawn into 
 entanglements. Throughout the long tussle one can recog- 
 nize the mental attitude of the woman who would die rather 
 than withdraw anything. 
 
 "... I wasn't asleep. ... I say I wasn't sleeping." 
 
 ** You think it is impossible to drop asleep without 
 meaning to? " 
 
 " I don't say I mightn't close an eye ; but this is a 
 question of being asleep for hours. Yes, I do say it's 
 impossible." 
 
 "You realize the importance of all this.?" asked Sir 
 James, in his most tremendous manner. 
 
 He was majestic and awe-inspiring, with grave signifi- 
 cant glances at the jury, and with a tone and gesture of 
 supreme contempt as he echoed the witness's answers; 
 but the nurse looked at him squarely, and showed no fear 
 of him. 
 
 In re-examination Mr. Moberley was brief and effective, 
 
 " You have no interest in this case? " 
 
 " None whatever," said the nurse firmly ; and Mr. 
 Moberley smiled at the jury. 
 
 So it went on. Claire, looking up after another lapse 
 of attention, saw standing in the witness box that hall 
 porter, wearing the same apple-green coat with the wound 
 stripes on the sleeve. He told how she had tried to escape 
 notice by hurrying up the staircase, and how he had called 
 her back and taken her up in the lift to the Colonel's 
 rooms. He was on duty till one a.m., and he did not see 
 her go out ; if she had gone out again he must have seen 
 her go out. After one a.m. she would have to get some 
 one to let her out with a key. The Colonel had such a 
 key. 
 
 Then one after another came the men who had watched 
 outside the building. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 417 
 
 It was worse than a dream; because the horror of it, 
 i:i itead of rising and falling in force as happens in 
 di earns, was steadily cumulative. A diabolical, merciless 
 L) ^ic governed its slowly developing phases. Each ghostly 
 ii ce seen, every wild word spoken, increased the torment 
 of it and seemed to push one a little nearer to the inexorable 
 V )rd of doom. She felt " I shall go mad if I go on think- 
 irg of it like this;" and she had an instantaneous 
 sense of relief each time that she allowed her thoughts 
 tc wander. 
 
 She noticed trivial details of the court itself, studied the 
 scrdid scene, glanced at the frequently changing faces 
 <;■ the crowd on her right hand. With absorbed interest 
 flie watched an elderly usher who had been told by the 
 judge to take a glass of water to one of the counsel. He 
 liLinted for a glass in a little cupboard in the book-case 
 facing the solicitors' table. A bunch of kej^s hung from 
 the lock of the cupboard door, and she wondered to what 
 receptacles they all belonged. Then again she tore herself 
 from these trifles to the terrible main fact. She was on 
 trial for more than life, and things were going against 
 lier. 
 
 Those people going in and out seemed to her the great 
 ■public. They were her real judges, the people who hear 
 only a few words and say, " That's enough for me. She's 
 guilty." 
 
 All at once Mr. Moberley announced that this was his 
 oase. 
 
 She began to breathe more freely as she listened to the 
 speech of Sir James. Her belief that in this place the 
 truth must triumph had gone utterly, but her courage and 
 her hope revived as the friendly voice vibrated behind her 
 back and the comforting words fell warm upon her ears. 
 This was the sort of thing that she had wanted to hear 
 said. This was at once truth and salvation. Yes, she 
 
418 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 denied it all with indignation and disgust. Yes, she would 
 go into that box again and tell them the simple un- 
 varnished facts. Yes, yes. 
 
 He was saying in effect that the whole thing was a 
 trumped-up accusation. It bore every well-known mark of 
 the artfully concocted tale. He was cautioning the jury 
 against giving ready credence to servants' reckless assump- 
 tions — the assumptions of none too nice-minded people. 
 In that court it was notorious that there was no more 
 untrustworthy evidence than the evidence of servants ; un- 
 less it was the evidence of the people employed by private 
 inquiry agents — people paid by results, people who must 
 find out something or pretend to find out something in order 
 to justify their existence. He was showing how there had 
 been an endeavour to make an effect by multiplying evi- 
 dence, seeing how weak it was intrinsically. He was point- 
 ing out the total absence of incriminating documents. No 
 letters. No telegrams. Not a single line in Claire's hand- 
 writing. His voice was vibrating more strongl3\ Good 
 heavens, if people were to be lightly condemned on un- 
 substantial charges such as these, what lady in the land 
 would be secure ? He was winding up his speech. He was 
 calling on his client to tell them the real story of all 
 these events, 
 
 Leonard patted her arm and whispered to her as she 
 moved towards the witness box, " Now, Claire, a brave 
 front!" 
 
 Then, in reply to her counsel's questions and faithful 
 to her oath, Claire told them the truth, the whole truth, 
 and nothing but the truth. 
 
 And that was the end of the fourth day. 
 
 On the following morning the crowd was bigger than 
 ever. Guardians at the doors had searching tests of con- 
 science as they found room for people with real business 
 or pocketed half crowns and admitted the pruriently 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 419 
 
 c -ious. Barristers in wigs were shepherding fashionably- 
 d ?ssed ladies, squeezing them into the fold with arrogant 
 j Tiality. A comfortable seat at the Vaughan Divorce 
 C =se would pay for a year's hospitality and leave a bal- 
 a : ce over to one's credit. " How can I ever thank you ? " 
 *' ^ot at all." And for to-day, too ! The day ! The lady 
 in the box! 
 
 There was a murmur of pleasant anticipation up and 
 C( wn the benches. Experts spoke of Moberley, K.C. — 
 stronger in cross-examination than anything else; more 
 t an a bit of a bully ; worse with women than men. The 
 s i ght movements of restless suspense ceased, and the mur- 
 imring grew soft. Claire was going up the steps of the 
 T'itness box. Only the ladies in furs and feathers con- 
 tinued to whisper. 
 
 " She's pretty." ..." Yes, in a way." ..." Tall, 
 isn't she?" . . . "I like her hat." . . . "Yes, she is 
 ])retty. I see it now. I see the attraction." 
 
 ''Silencer' 
 
 Mr. Moberley began very quietly and slowly, picking 
 up the thread at her final answers to Sir James. He told 
 iier that last night she had denied all the accusations 
 .igainst her, and asked her if she confirmed her denial this 
 norning; and she said, yes, she did. Then he asked her 
 f in her opinion her conduct with the co-respondent was 
 act even open to suspicion ; and she said that she saw no 
 reason to suspect it. 
 
 " The evidence is all a tissue of lies? " 
 
 " No, I don't say that. A great deal of it is quite 
 true. It is the inference drawn from it that is totally 
 false." 
 
 " What do you mean by the inference? " 
 
 " Isn't it obvious what she means? " said Sir James. 
 
 " Please do not interrupt. I have shown the greatest 
 reticence and Indulgence to you." And Mr. Moberley 
 repeated his question. 
 
420 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " I mean the interpretation you are trying to put upon 
 it.'' 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble about my interpretation. Don't, I 
 beg you, trouble about that. The gentlemen of the jury 
 and his lordship wjll attend to that. Just answer my 
 questions. . . . You have heard what the servant AHce 
 Pink told us of how she discovered the presence of yourself 
 and the co-respondent in the room on the ground floor 
 after the rest of the party had gone to bed? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 *^ And you do not deny it ? " 
 
 " I do not deny the simple fact, but I utterly deny 
 everything else." 
 
 "Everything else? But I am not asking you about 
 anything else. I am speaking of the night of August the 
 twenty-third. Please confine your attention to that. Now 
 I will put my question again — and in another form, so 
 that there cannot be any possible misunderstanding. Is 
 the statement of this witness, the servant Pink, correct or 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, it is correct as far as it goes." 
 
 " As far as it goes ! But it could not go further unless 
 she had been in the room with you from the beginning." 
 And there was a laugh. " Now, please answer my question." 
 
 " She has answered it." 
 
 ^* No, I want yes or no. I don't want these embroideries 
 and foot-notes and enlargements. Now, Mrs. Vaughan, 
 for the third time. Do you deny this girl's statement of 
 the facts?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 ** Ah, we have got it at last ; " and he gave a good- 
 humoured smile of triumph to the jury. 
 
 All this was taking time, and already she was feeling 
 the fatigue and strain of it ; but she understood perfectly 
 well that it was only sparring. This man meant to tire 
 her, to wear her down, to exhaust her strength if he could. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 421 
 
 b( : are he got to work. She braced herself to meet the call 
 Uj } )n her endurance. 
 
 ' And as far as you know — I am still speaking of Alice 
 P ik — so far as you know, she could have no reason for 
 IB' enting things? " 
 ' No.'^ 
 
 ^ So far as you know, she had no grudge or grievance 
 aaainst you.'^ " 
 
 •*No." 
 
 " Now, I want to take you to the night of August the 
 tvv enty- fourth, the following night — the night of the old 
 h.ly's illness. You heard the evidence of the second ser- 
 vant — Miss Wilding, the girl May. Now, I want an 
 ar swer — yes or no, please. Do you really deny the facts 
 to which she has sworn? " 
 
 " Well, what facts do you mean? " 
 
 " All of them. That she entered your room and found 
 that you were absent from it? " 
 
 " No, of course I don't deny it." 
 
 '* You only deny the correctness of her interpretation of 
 your absence? " 
 
 " You told her thirty minutes ago not to use the word 
 interpretation." 
 
 " Oh, please " and the big, coarse man assumed a most 
 j)itiful expression of helpless distress, as he turned to Sir 
 James. " If you cannot restrain yourself — if this out- 
 ] ageous manner is continued — I shall have to ask the pro- 
 iection of his lordship." And he stood for a little while 
 ])ufBng and blowing. 
 
 Then he asked innumerable questions about her use of 
 Ihe electric torch given her by Basil. Why had she taken 
 "t with her if she was merely crossing the corridor and 
 ^oing into her aunt's room ? Was it at all likely that she 
 vould require the aid of the torch in an organized sick- 
 •oom with a night-nurse in charge? Had she taken the 
 :orch with her without knowing why she took the torch? 
 
422 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 He suggested that she had taken the torch to help her in 
 findmg her way silently up the darkened staircase to the 
 room on the second floor. 
 
 So it went on. At one point she asked for and was given 
 some water. At a later point Sir James asked that she 
 might be allowed to sit down. 
 
 " Is she ill.^^ " asked the judge. 
 
 " No, but she has been standing for the better part of 
 three hours." 
 
 "... Now, I am going to ask for a little further en- 
 lightenment on some of your replies to my learned friend," 
 and Mr. Moberley turned round to his junior and had a 
 colloquy with him while they both wrestled with their 
 papers. " Oh, cannot you find it ? It is the undressing 
 that I want. Ah, Good ! " And he turned round again. 
 
 " You have said that you first undressed, and then went 
 into your aunt's room." And he asked her questions about 
 her garments. " Come, now, Mrs. Vaughan you need not 
 be shy about it. This is a court of law, you know. Tell 
 us exactly what you were wearing.? " 
 
 Claire said that she wore her night-dress with only a 
 dressing-gown over it ; and he wished to know whether the 
 dressing-gown was a thick one. Why did she walk about 
 the house in her thin dressing-gown.'^ Why didn't she go 
 to her aunt before she undressed .f^ Didn't think of it, 
 perhaps? Was it her custom to undress directly she got 
 into her room ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 "You suppose so? What on earth do you mean by 
 that? " 
 
 And he asked her whether she was not cold while sitting 
 in her aunt's room. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You say you sat near the window. Was it open ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " At the top or the bottom? " 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 423 
 
 '- Both, I think." 
 
 * But still you did not feel cold? " 
 
 ^' No." 
 
 ' * You sat there — I am giving your own version — by this 
 op« 1 window — open at top and bottom — with no other 
 clciiing than what you have described — and that is with 
 very little clothing at all — you sat there hour after hour, 
 and you say you did not feel cold? " 
 ' No. It was a warm night." 
 
 " It was a warm night," and he had a loud aside to his 
 jujiior. " Yes, I think it was, in more senses than one . . . 
 It '^as a warm night. That is your explanation. Very 
 we , we will leave it at that. For the moment we will 
 leave it at that. Now I want to take you back to the pre- 
 ceding night — the night of the twenty-third. You have 
 toJd us that after retiring to your room you came down 
 to letch your book. How long afterwards would that be? " 
 
 •• Some little time." 
 
 " Just so. We know that it was after eleven — ^because 
 th 3 electric light had been turned off. And we know that 
 you went out of the drawing-room with your aunt at half 
 past ten. According to the witness Alice Pink, it was 
 twenty minutes past eleven when she disturbed you in the 
 downstairs room " 
 
 " She did not disturb us." 
 
 " Very good, you were not disturbed. She opened the 
 dcor of the room, let us say. At eleven-twenty? Would 
 that be correct, as to time? " 
 
 " Yes, so far as I know." 
 
 " Very well. Then that gives us thirty to forty minutes 
 ujtstairs in your room. About forty minutes, more or 
 ieis?" 
 • "Yes." 
 
 ^ The spectators listened apathetically. All this was 
 t€ iious, and the big man was not living up to his reputa- 
 iim. People who had promised that he was rough with 
 
V 
 424 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 women, knocking them about till they had not a leg to 
 stand on, were ashamed of having made such large promises. 
 He had been funny once or twice, but this was tame. 
 
 " Then, after that period of forty minutes, you went 
 down to fetch your book? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How were you dressed.'^ " 
 
 The judge interposed. " If you mean was she undressed. 
 I asked her that very question myself." 
 
 " Oh, please, my lord." 
 
 " And she says that she had not undressed on the night 
 of the twenty-third." 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of that, my lord." 
 
 *' Then why did you ask her again? " said Sir James. 
 
 " Oh, really, really. In all my experience. — These cease- 
 less interruptions 1 " 
 
 " I did not mean to interrupt you," said the judge 
 suavely. " I thought you had forgotten my question. I 
 was trying to help you." 
 
 " With all deference, my lord, I do not need help. I 
 do not forget things." And he stood there with his help- 
 less expression, or turning to glare at Sir James. " Indeed, 
 I am no neophyte in this court. — More than thirty 
 years. — Pretty well known." Then, after puffing and 
 blowing he simmered down, shook out his hands, and 
 continued : 
 
 " You have heard what has passed. Do you adhere to 
 your statement that on this occasion you were fully 
 dressed? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Very well. Now, Mrs. Vaughan " And it was to 
 
 be noticed that as he put his question he turned to the 
 jury and gave them a triumphant stare, really addressing 
 the question to them rather than to the witness. " Will 
 you kindly tell us why you weren't undressed? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? '* 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 425 
 
 " Surely my meaning is plain? You have given us to 
 I tiderstand that on retiring to your room it was your 
 c istom to strip at once. Why on this particular night 
 ( id you depart from your custom and so strangely 
 ( day? '' 
 
 " There — there was nothing strange." 
 
 " Oh, wa^nH there? " He had turned to her again; he 
 s:ared at her insolently, and there was an affectation of 
 : antemptuous f orbearingness in his tone. " You know, 
 ) ou can't have it both ways, Mrs. Vaughan. You do what 
 S3ems a queer thing one night, and you tell us to believe 
 i: isn't queer because it is a habit of yours. Then when 
 i : is shown that you have broken the habit on the previous 
 r ight, you say that isn't queer either. Can't you find any 
 explanation to give us? . . . Well? " 
 
 " No." ■ 
 
 " And you see nothing odd — nothing requiring explan- 
 ation — in this discrepancy?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " May I suggest some possible explanations, since you 
 seem so completely as a loss? " And he had an offensive 
 smile. " It was a cold night, perhaps, and you therefore 
 required full clothing? How is that? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No, that won't pass muster — because, as a fact, it was 
 a warmer night than the night that followed. I have put 
 myself to the trouble of ascertaining; and the mean tem- 
 perature of the former night was higher than the latter." 
 
 Claire was deadly white; her eyes glanced round the 
 court as if vainly seeking help. She looked like an aristo- 
 crat of the French Revolution fallen into the hands of the 
 people, or a Russian princess among the Bolshevists. The 
 interest of the audience was intense now. They thrilled 
 as they watched. 
 
 " Don't look here and there and everywhere, please. 
 Look at me — and give me your close attention. Here is 
 
426 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE ^ 
 
 another explanation. You had a special reason that jaight 
 for not undressing? " 
 
 " No, — none whatever," 
 
 " Did you know that Colonel Everett was out of the 
 house and would soon return? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I knew that.'* 
 
 " And you had made up your mind to wait there till 
 he came in and then go down and join him? " 
 
 " No.'' 
 
 ** Since his arrival at the house early in the afternoon, 
 is it not a fact you had never once been alone with him ? " 
 
 " I don't remember." 
 
 " The old woman was there. She had never left you 
 alone, Bot even for a few minutes. Is that so? " 
 
 Claire remained silent. 
 
 " Answer me.'^ Of a sudden he had raised his voice, 
 and he spoke brutally; as men do not speak to women, 
 and not to other men unless intolerably provoked. " Answer 
 me." 
 
 Ah! It was so sudden and so savage that to many of 
 the audience it seemed exactly as If he had raised his hand 
 and struck her. People drew in their breath, and there 
 was a spasmodic movement all along the benches. The 
 experts felt justified at last. He was getting to work. 
 
 " Very well. I suggest to you that you were waiting 
 in your room for an opportunity of getting speech with 
 the co-respondent ? " 
 
 " It is not true." 
 
 " Then I put it to you once more. What were you doing? 
 One moment. Don't let's have another misunderstanding. 
 For forty minutes, more or less, you were alone in your 
 own room before you thought of going to bed. You must 
 have been occupied somehow. You were not reading, be- 
 cause you had left your book downstairs. Were you 
 writing letters, sewing, tidying the apartment? " 
 
 " No, I think I sat thinking." 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 427 
 
 " You sat thinking. You are fond of doing that. It 
 ^ems to be a favourite pastime. All right;** and he 
 i liled. " That is the explanation. This gap of time is 
 li led in so. It is the onli/ account you can give of it. You 
 rt thinking. Now," and his manner changed again. 
 *' Accepting your account of it, I want to put this to you. 
 J3 apposing that this man was your lover " 
 
 " He was not my lover." 
 
 " Be patient, please. I am merely putting a supposition 
 1'> you. If you and he had been carrying on a guilty 
 intrigue " 
 
 " I have sworn that we were not." 
 
 *^ Gh, please. I know what you have sworn. I quite 
 understand your attitude. I think everybody in court 
 understands it. According to you, there is nothing in 
 anything, nothing behind anything. But accepting all 
 that for the moment, I ask you to follow me in a hypothesis. 
 You have plenty of imagination. You can have no dif- 
 ficulty in following me. I will put it this way : Suppose 
 ]t was another woman in your place, a faithless wife 
 awaiting her lover. The lover arrives, but the presence 
 of a third party prevents any confidential talk between 
 them, prevents their making arrangements. Would she 
 not probably have waited upstairs exactly as you did, then 
 lurried down to the lover at the first opportunity, made 
 ill arrangements with him /for the gratification of their 
 passion, and then, and not till then, have returned and 
 iisrobed herself? And would she not have been found 
 absent from her room on the following night exactly as 
 you were.? Well? " 
 
 " I cannot answer," said Claire proudly. " I knoir 
 aothing of how such a person would act." 
 
 "But you do see what I mean? How very simple it 
 all seems if for a moment one assumes guilt. Do you see 
 that?" 
 
 " I see what you are trying to insinuate." 
 
428 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " No, no, I insinuate nothing. Come, Mrs. Vaughan, 
 aren't you tired of fencing with me? You are a very 
 clever lady — you cannot really fail to understand that I 
 am merely putting a hypothetical case. Now, don't you 
 see that under this assumption the facts all drop into their 
 places by themselves, there is no difficulty in explaining 
 them, no draft on one's credulity anywhere required.^ " 
 
 " Yes, I understand your assumption." 
 
 " Then, if the facts are so susceptible of this complexion, 
 you cannot continue to treat the accusations based on 
 them as wild and ridiculous ? " 
 
 " No, I don't agree." 
 
 " Oh, surely.? You cannot any longer blame people for 
 drawing their own conclusions, erroneous though they may 
 he? Human nature being what it is, they cannot all be 
 blamed? " 
 
 " I have not blamed all of them." 
 
 " There can be no necessity to find ulterior motives for 
 their forming their opinion.? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No necessity for the tissue of lies theory, conspiracy, 
 attempt to wreck you, and so forth?" 
 
 " I suppose not," said Claire wearily. 
 
 " Good. Well, I am glad we are agreed on that point," 
 and he drew a long breath. " We have cleared the air in 
 regard to that. We shall get on together much better for 
 having got that out of the way." 
 
 Then he resumed an easy confidential tone as he started 
 something else. 
 
 So it went on all day. Sometimes Claire felt as if she 
 had been stripped naked by these brutes and was being 
 publicly flogged to death. Sometimes she cast despairing 
 glances at Basil Everett, whose yearning eyes never failed 
 to meet her gaze. Sometimes she looked suddenly towards 
 Roddy, as if even he must feel pity and be willing to stop 
 this torturing. But it still went on. Once she looked for 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 429 
 
 a d from Sir James, and found his place empty. He had 
 g )ne, and she felt that even her paid friends had deserted 
 
 ll.T. 
 
 While he was there he protested and disputed. There 
 v^ ere long discussions as to what was admissible ; but in 
 t le end everything was permitted. 
 
 Mr. Moberley had been taking her backwards and for- 
 Mards through the Flat episode; saying that if for a 
 ii.oment he accepted the amazing explanation of her issue 
 f 'om the building by the back way, past all those domestic 
 offices without being seen, and her return to Hans Place 
 sDon after eight p.m., he wished to know how she filled in 
 all the time between. He begged her not to reply that she 
 had sat thinking; and there was more laughter. Now he 
 bad taken her back to the beginning of things — her es- 
 capade with Roddy. He expressed regret at raking this 
 up. He said he must again touch on this painful part 
 of the story, but he would do so as delicately as possible. 
 His client had chivalrously wished to keep it out altogether, 
 but it was impossible to keep it out. The questions that 
 he was about to put arose directly out of some of her 
 replies to his learned friend; but they were directed to 
 character, and in that sense his lordship might decide 
 to rule them out as irrelevant. 
 
 But he himself would not press for the admission of the 
 questions. 
 
 And again there was that movement of expectancy, a 
 tenser emotion in the audience. 
 
 He asked her about her love for Roddy. 
 
 *' You were passionately in love with him.'' " 
 
 " No, not passionately." 
 
 " Ardently, shall we say ? " 
 
 ^' I loved him, in the beginning." 
 
 " In the fullest sense of the word. You greatly admired 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes, I admired him." 
 
430 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 " And for this love you threw over everything. You 
 lived with him before marriage? " 
 
 In the absence of Sir James her junior counsel rose and 
 fought for her gamely. But Mr. Moberley was able to go 
 on. 
 
 " Believe me, Mrs. Vaughan," he said, " I do not allude 
 to this first fault of yours " 
 
 Mr. Eaton sprang to his feet again and again protested. 
 He made the big man very angry. Mr. Moberley said he 
 would not be bullied — " not by you or anybody else. I 
 will not submit to bullying. I demand fair play." He wa» 
 very indignant about it. 
 
 Then he put his question in a different form. 
 
 " I did not know what I was doing," said Claire. 
 
 " Just so. You were simply carried away by your 
 love? " 
 
 "No. I "" 
 
 '' Well? " 
 
 " I went to him to get married. He respected me. And 
 I never realized till afterwards that I had put myself in a 
 false position." 
 
 Then soon he was asking her about her love, or her 
 regard, for Basil Everett, and she admitted that she ad- 
 mired him. 
 
 *^Oh, you admired him! That was the start. Well, 
 you have told us what admiration led to in the case of 
 your husband; but on this second occasion you endeav- 
 oured to curb it and keep it within bounds? Is that so? " 
 
 " It was totally different." 
 
 So it went on — backwards and forwards. 
 
 " Now you have sworn that throughout your married 
 life there was not any time at which your husband had 
 occasion to impugn your conduct — I mean, of course, in 
 regard to other men. I will read you my learned friend's 
 question and your reply. . . . Now, do you stick to 
 this? ... I will give you another chance. Search your 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 431 
 
 I: emorj. Does nothing occur to you that makes it de- 
 s rable to withdraw or modify that statement of yours ? '* 
 
 « No." 
 
 "All right;" and he turned and stared at the jury. 
 ' Now answer me, please, with a yes or no ; " and he 
 t irned to her. " Have you forgotten Evan Giles? '* 
 
 Claire started in wonder. 
 
 "Ah! So you do remember.^ You know who I mean? 
 ']'he novelist? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He is dead now, but during his lifetime you knew him 
 '^ery well? " 
 
 " Yes, he was a great friend." 
 
 As she said it, the picture of Evan Giles rose before 
 her : so tragically sad, the grey-haired man weeping in the 
 dusty, littered room. 
 
 " Now, yes or no, please. No embroidery. Did your 
 husband on a certain occasion forbid you to receive that 
 man at the house again ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Giles had dined with us, and " 
 
 " No, no," he roared. " I will not have it. Yes or no, 
 madam." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you promised to obey his wish? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did you later on make a confession to him that m 
 spite of this prohibition you had had Giles to the house? '* 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And did his visits in fact continue until they were cut 
 short by something in no way connected with your 
 husband?" 
 
 " He came to see me several times." 
 
 " And then did not somebody else object — not your 
 husband at all? Yes or no." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who was it? " 
 
432 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 '' Mrs. Giles." 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Giles, the man's own wife. Why did she 
 object?" 
 
 " I believe they were not on the best of terms together." 
 
 "Well? Goon." 
 
 " I think she was of a jealous disposition." 
 
 " Didn't you know that she was jealous? " 
 
 " Mr. Giles had said so." 
 
 " Then soon afterwards he died. Are you aware of the 
 prevaiUng suspicion that he committed suicide? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Oh, surely? Don't you know there was an inquest? '* 
 
 " Yes, I know there was an inquest." 
 
 " And doubt expressed about his having thrown him- 
 self on to the rocks ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " If so, have you any idea why he committed suicide? " 
 
 Claire remained silent. The thing was too monstrous. 
 Again that presentment of the heart-broken man rose be- 
 fore her. She remembered his words about going quietly 
 and no one ever knowing. 
 
 " Do you refuse to answer? " 
 
 She rallied her strength, looked at her tormentor, and 
 spoke proudly and firmly. 
 
 " Yes, I refuse to answer. It is nothing to do with 
 me." 
 
 " And it has nothing to do with her," said Sir James 
 cheerfully — *^ or with this case either." Sir James had 
 come back, and Claire felt a flicker of comfort. 
 
 But Mr. Moberley was more indignant than ever. He 
 said Sir James's treatment of him amounted to persecu- 
 tion. It was impossible to collect the threads of one's ideas 
 while being dealt with in such a pitiless fashion. In all 
 his long experience he had never met the like of it. He 
 puffed and blew ; and it was a little while before he could 
 compose himself sufficiently to go on agani. 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 433 
 
 The hands of the big clock, as Claire looked at it, 
 t' emed to have stopped. The afternoon would never be 
 
 /er. 
 
 He had taken her back to the doctor's misconception as 
 t ) Basil's being her husband ; and all at once he spoke of 
 t le child. " This was the night the child died." 
 
 Claire was trembling, trying to speak. 
 
 " My learned friend is wrong," said Sir James. " It 
 V as three days before she died." 
 
 Mr. Moberley turned on him violently; shouted, splut- 
 tered, nearly suffocated. Then, with papers pushed into 
 
 1 is hand by his junior, he admitted that he was wrong. 
 
 " I beg pardon — I beg pardon — I beg pardon," he 
 said volubly. " Just so. My lord, I admit I was astray. 
 Ivlomentarily I had lapsed. In fact I was wrong. Three 
 clays ! It is not often that I miss a date. I have a fairly 
 established reputation for accuracy in these cases. But, 
 well, the mind works less surely when fatigued. I am not 
 in my first youth," and he had the same engaging smile, 
 as if certain of the sympathy and affection of all present. 
 " I have been at it since the first thing this morning and 
 the strain tells," and he turned round to his clerk. " Get 
 me my lozenges." 
 
 Then he turned to Claire. 
 
 " I will not press you as to that episode. Really you 
 have given me all I wanted. I will only ask you this. The 
 child Maudie " 
 
 '' Gladys," said Claire, in a whisper. 
 
 "What's that.?^ Oh! Gladys! Just so. The name is 
 of no consequence. Only the facts matter. The child 
 Gladys, or Maudie, or whatever you call her, was ill and 
 in danger of death. ..." 
 
 Claire had broken down in tears. She sat, with her 
 arms stretched forward across the ledge of the box and 
 her head upon her arms, weeping. All eyes were on her. 
 People all along the benches leaned forward fascinated by 
 
434 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 the picture; they closely watched the black hat bowed 
 down and the heaving of the frail shoulders. For a little 
 while one heard nothing but her convulsive sobbing. 
 
 " Take your time," said Mr. Moberley, with good 
 humour; and he sat down and began to suck his lozenges. 
 
 As soon as she was ready he went on again. But Claire 
 was without the least force of resistance now; she had 
 been broken by that last brutal allusion to the dying 
 child — " Gladys or Maudie or whatever you call her." It 
 was the last screw of the rack. She looked half crazed 
 and answered distractedly. 
 
 Soon he was making her say whatever he pleased. She 
 confessed that words of love had once passed between 
 Basil and herself; she said she had told Basil that she 
 loved him; she said that if this was wrong she could not 
 help it. She said whatever the inquisitor wanted her to 
 say. She was at his mercy. And he had none. 
 
 Next morning they brought her there again for re- 
 examination by Sir James ; and she stood with white cheeks 
 and red rims about her eyes, making all the ladies whisper. 
 Sir James did what he could for her. But she was like 
 the shattered subject fetched out of the dungeon and 
 brought before the inquisitors once more; not knowing 
 friends from foes now, not knowing whether she recants or 
 confirms a vow. 
 
 " I should take her out of court," said Sir James, lean- 
 ing over and touching Leonard's shoulder. " Take her 
 home. She won't be wanted again. Not to-day, at any 
 rate." 
 
 That evening and the evening of the following day 
 the newspaper reports were full of " sensations " and 
 ** laughter." Some of Claire's witness caused great merri- 
 ment; more especially her mother, who wandered round 
 and round the witness box, would speak to the juHge as 
 *^ Sir Henry ; " and when asked to consider him merely in 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 435 
 
 s official capacity, gave him a dignified stare as if men- 
 t illy removing him for ever from her visiting-list. Uncle 
 1 >erek provoked mirth, but in a lesser degree, telling how 
 i . was only the merest accident that prevented him from 
 ccompanying Claire all through " the Flat episode." The 
 [ ite Miss Graham's private maid amused only because she 
 ras such a character. The " sensational scenes " were 
 (hiefly due to the co-respondent, who stopped his counsel 
 ^"^hen explaining to the jury that, difficult as it might ap- 
 ()ear to the lay mind, they could find that Claire had been 
 /,fuilty of misconduct with Basil, but that Basil was in- 
 nocent of misconduct with Claire. He stopped him again 
 when inviting the jury to give the co-respondent the benefit 
 of any doubt. He was violent under cross-examination, 
 and had to be twice cautioned by the judge because of 
 ;hings he said to Mr. Moberley. 
 
 Then, after an adjournment of two days, it was the 
 last day of all. Claire sat in her accustomed place and 
 listened to the judge's summing up. He had started long 
 before luncheon; and he was going on now in exactly the 
 same chatty emotionless style, as if he would never cease. 
 
 . . . " I am not going into any further detail on this 
 point, because you have paid such patient attention to 
 the evidence. ... I am not laying down the law. I am 
 merely putting it all before you. . . . It is for you to 
 say if you believe the evidence on this point. ... I must 
 say that in my opinion the evidence of the lady on this 
 point was not very candid. ..." 
 
 The merciless deadly chat went on ; and Claire felt more 
 than despair, a bitterness worse than death. The truth 
 was nothing in this cursed place. No one could see it; 
 no one could understand it. 
 
 ..." To my mind the key to almost everything is the 
 credibility or not of the nurse. Which are you to be- 
 lieve? One of these two people has to be disbelieved. ... 
 If you are to believe Mrs. Vaughan's account of the affair 
 
436 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 it seems to me that the larger part of the case against 
 her falls to the ground, because everything else must be 
 read in the light that is thrown upon it by this Brighton 
 incident. That's how it seems to me. But it is how it 
 strikes you, not how it strikes me. ..." 
 
 The quiet flood of words poured over her head, drowning 
 her. It had been raining and the streets were full of mud ; 
 now a fog had gathered, swallowing the daylight, creeping 
 chilly into all the corridors and halls of the vast building. 
 She had a sensation of the cold, the filth, and the darkness 
 outside these high walls. 
 
 . . . " It is a serious allegation to say that a nurse is 
 asleep while on duty. It is like accusing a sentry at his 
 post. . . . The lady says she refrained from waking her. 
 She let her sleep in pity. It is quite conceivable. . . . 
 If the nurse, jealous of her professional repute, has lied to 
 cover her fault. . . . It is for you to decide. ... It would 
 be a cruel, a wicked thing for her to do, because of the 
 damaging effect on this lady. . . . Gentlemen, it may be 
 extremely difiicult for you." 
 
 It seemed to her that the fog came through the high 
 windows in long dark swathes; the lamps were burning 
 palely; she was going down in darkness. 
 
 ..." And again, gentlemen, you must apply your 
 own common sense. ..." 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, that is the whole case. You can 
 take all these maps and tracings with you." 
 
 The jury had gone, and immediately a new case started. 
 It was an undefended case of no consequence, to be heard 
 without a jury, and it rattled along at a tremendous 
 pace. 
 
 This was a love match, counsel told the judge. The 
 petitioner, a temporary officer in the Army, while on leave 
 made the acquaintance of the respondent outside the 
 Piccadilly Circus station; they went away together, and 
 were married two days afterwards. On his return to 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 437 
 
 F ance a communication was made to the petitioner by a 
 t: other officer. . . . 
 
 Nobody listened, nobody cared. The court was as full 
 a ever; but all these people were waiting to hear the 
 v< rdict of the Vaughan case. This common stuff was quite 
 b neath their notice. They had to wait a long time. Then 
 ir a moment the new case was shuffled aside. The door 
 li id opened and the jury were filing back into their box. 
 
 Someone reading out aloud, as if from the book of doom, 
 asked them if they found that Roddy was guilty of 
 desertion; and they said Yes. 
 
 Did they find that he had been guilty of adultery? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Did they find that Claire had been guilty of adultery.'* 
 
 Yes. 
 
 There was a sound of many footsteps. The crowd was 
 surging out of the court and along the corridor. It was 
 all over. Both petitions had been dismissed. Roddy and 
 Claire remained man and wife. 
 
 Leonard hurried her fast through the moving throng 
 and took her out by the Carey Street entrance, where his 
 car was waiting for them. All the way people were recog- 
 nizing her, pointing at her. Three common women just 
 ahead of them were talking loudly about her; at the en- 
 trance they turned, saw her, and as she passed out one of 
 them spoke with noisy scorn. 
 
 " There she goes, the ! '' 
 
 The obscene word, hurled after her into the fog and 
 mud, made her shrink a little closer to Leonard's arm. 
 
 It was the verdict of the gutter, it was the verdict of 
 the world, on a perfectly pure and good woman immolated 
 by our cruel and stupid law. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 IT was the evening now. She was alone, crouching 
 down near the fire, in that room beside the hall where 
 as a child she used to look with admiring wonder at 
 her aunt's pretty things. 
 
 The room was quite unchanged, just as she remembered 
 it then. The light flickered warmly on all the familiar 
 objects — the miniatures of gallant old gentlemen in red 
 tunics and delicately tinted ladies in powdered wigs ; the 
 blue and white china ; the soft coloured bindings of books 
 behind the latticed panes. Only Claire had changed. 
 
 She had given agitated orders to the servants that no 
 one was to be admitted to the house, but every now and 
 then she turned her eyes towards the door and listened; 
 for the fear of Roddy was upon her. He would certainly 
 come to her. Perhaps even now he was already coming — 
 somewhere out there in the fog, drawing closer and closer. 
 How could these women-servants keep him out? She 
 crouched lower in the chair, and trembled. 
 
 He was still her husband — her master. He could claim 
 her when he pleased. He could do what he liked with her, 
 and no one would save her. That protection of the court, 
 spoken of by Leonard, was gone from her now. It ended 
 with the end of the case. 
 
 Presently she heard the electric bell ring, the maid's 
 footstep in the hall, and the sound of a man's voice. She 
 sprang to her feet half mad with fear, drew back to the 
 wall, and stood staring at the door with hands outstretched 
 and shaking. Then her arms dropped to her sides. She 
 had recognized the voice, and it was not Roddy's. 
 
 " Say it's all right. Tell her that you don't mind seeing 
 me." 
 
 Basil had opened the door of the room, and the maid 
 
 438 
 
FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 439 
 
 w i 3 stanchly contesting his entrance. Claire spoke to her, 
 ai i she left them alone. 
 
 ^* Claire!'' 
 
 They stood looking at each other. Indeed, they had 
 be th of them changed. He was haggard, untidy, throbbing 
 wi:h hot anger — ^like a soldier on the line of retreat after 
 a reverse to his army, with courage unbroken but hope 
 destroyed. She, wild-eyed, white, limp, shaking, was like 
 a woman just escaped from the enemy after being out- 
 raged. 
 
 "Why have you come?" And she clung to him, 
 t -embling. " You ought not to have come to me." 
 
 " Yes, I ought." 
 
 " What do you bring? Poison, to put me out of my 
 misery?" 
 
 And for a little while they scarcely knew what they were 
 saying. 
 
 *' Basil, if he comes — if he tries to get me back — if he 
 forces me again, I'll kill myself. I'll throw myself from the 
 top of the house — as Evan threw himself upon the rocks. 
 Gladys will know. Gladys will forgive me." 
 
 ^' Hush. He won't come. If he comes now while I am 
 here, I shall kill him. That's why we must get away at 
 once. I shall stop with you till we go. Yes, I shall stop 
 here." 
 
 They clung to each other, and grew calmer. Her face 
 nil wet with tears was against his face and then sank to 
 Ills breast; and he held her more tightly, so that she should 
 not slide down to the ground. 
 
 ** A woman called me a foul name. That's what people 
 hiftk of me. Wherever I go, they will look at me — point 
 at me." 
 
 " Nonsense. To-morrow it will be all forgotten." 
 
 ** And next day it will be somebody else . That's 
 
 vhat you'll say to make me believe. Basil — I — I'm so 
 ;orry to have brought this trouble on you." 
 
 " Claire, don't — please don't. Come. We'd better go." 
 
440 FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 
 
 Then she released herself from his embrace. 
 
 " It's no good. We must say Good-bye. You — you're 
 very kind to me. But, Basil, I won't drag you down to 
 my level. You — you must go on with your career." 
 
 " My career is finished." 
 
 " No, no. You mustn't say that. You said people will 
 forget. They will, about you. If one drop of bitterness 
 could be added to my cup, it would be to know that I 
 had ruined you." 
 
 " Claire ! " 
 
 " You mustn't throw things over." 
 
 " I have done it." 
 
 " No.'' 
 
 " It's irrevocable. I am going to Australia. I have 
 taken that man's offer. And you are going with me." 
 
 " No. Never." 
 
 But he seized her in his arms and spoke with passionate 
 strength. " Claire. Put your arms round my neck. Hold 
 your dear face to mine. Now, who cares? What does 
 anything matter? We have got each other at last." 
 
 " Very well," she said finally. " Yes, I can't help it. 
 I give up. I can't, I can't go on. Yes, take me away — 
 hide me from people — save me from other women's eyes. 
 Oh, Basil, why has God been so cruel? " 
 
 " Hush." 
 
 " Take me with you — take a mistress. Use me — throw 
 me away " 
 
 " Claire — you are breaking my heart." 
 
 " I — I'll try to mend it. I'll do anything you say." 
 
 " Now shall I stay with you here or take you to my 
 rooms ? " 
 
 " Take me to your rooms. Take me now. I'm afraid 
 of this house." 
 
 Her cloak and hat were on the chair where she had laid 
 them down hours ago. He helped her to put them on, and 
 they went out into the darkness hand in hand. 
 
 ExTTvouth, May, 1919 — Richmond, January, 1920. 
 
rem t 
 
 ?venthtC r 
 
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